Blood on the Moon

Summary: With a new pack in town, Stiles is put in danger and Derek has to find a way to protect him without pushing him away completely. Slow!burn Sterek. Tropes galore.

A/N: So this is my third Teen Wolf/Sterek fic... and my first multichapter/plot driven fic in the fandom. I am completley obsessed with Sterek, because... well, it's Sterek! I'm hoping to update this pretty frequently - at least once a week, maybe more depending on how quickly the writing goes.

Takes place post Season 2

Rating may change, but currently this is suitable for teens and up...

Warning: Slash!

Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me, I'm just playing around with them.

There's blood on the moon,

And shadows in the streets,

There's a fire in my heart,

So I push to keep you safe.

Chapter 1

If there was one thing Stiles had learned about werewolves, it was that he was never done learning. There was always something else out there that would surprise him. It made preparing for the worst continually harder. Especially since when you never really know exactly what to expect, there was little you could do to prepare at all.

That was the curse that came with having a werewolf for a best friend. One of many, many curses. Another curse was how a certain other werewolf, who brooded so much that Stiles was sure the guy practiced it in front of a mirror just to make sure he had it right, kept popping up at some of the worst times. And Stiles would swear, he would swear on his own mortal, non-werewolf ass, that Derek 'Broody McBrood' Hale did it on purpose, just to torture Stiles.

But surely, of all the places in Beacon Hills, the boys' locker room had to be a safe, Derek-free zone. Because somewhere had to be.

"Dude, you're overreacting," Scott informed him, changing into his jersey and rolling his eyes as he did so.

Stiles shook his head in disagreement.

The topic of choice today was to do with a phone call of his dad's that he may have overheard earlier that morning. Two teens had gone missing since the start of the new semester that week. The cops were assuming they had ran away, because hey – apparently that was going around. A little like werewolf bites. The body discovered on the outskirts of the woods? Well, that was just the icing on top of the already sugary, chocolate coated, cream filled cake.

And it was only Thursday.

"None of this sounds fishy to you?" Stiles countered. "Two more runaways? Count them, Scott – two."

"Derek wouldn't do that," Scott argued, tone hushed and uncertain.

Stiles hadn't even mentioned Derek, and thinking about him didn't count, which just went to show that no matter how much Scott declared the big bad Alpha to be innocent – he was thinking the exact same thing.

"Really?" Stiles questioned, doubtful with just a hint of condescending. He jerked his head toward Isaac, who stood several lockers down from them, gearing up for lacrosse practice. Stiles still hadn't even changed his shirt, one arm caught in the sleeve. "Derek wouldn't do that?"

"He's saved our lives, Stiles," Scott offered up, "And he helped save Jackson."

"Yeah-ah?" Stiles answered, brain and mouth stalling for a moment. "But not before trying to kill him. And by the way, just for the record – we saved his life. In fact, no – I saved both your asses."

But Scott closed his locker door and shook his head, not in disagreement but in the usual way he did when he was beginning to get exhausted just from listening to Stiles talk. Too much protein and meat in his diet, not enough fresh fruit to help with his stamina.

"I'm just saying, dude," Stiles continued, "People have gone missing, and I don't know if you've noticed but ever since he showed up last year – when stuff happens around here, it usually involves werewolves, or Derek... or both. Mostly both."

Arm still trapped in his shirt, he decided to just go for it and pull the whole thing off over his head. Not his wisest move. He wasn't quite sure where it went wrong, but it definitely went wrong and yep, he was definitely trapped now... unable to see anything with his shirt halfway up over his head and his arms tangled somewhere inside it.

"Hey, Scott..." he started, voice muffled by the fabric. When Scott didn't answer, he swung left and right, attempting to dislodge himself from the shirt whilst also trying to get Scott's attention.

Neither worked.

"Scott? Buddy?" He took a step forward. "A little help here-" And toppled right over a bench and straight to the ground with a painful bang. On the plus side, he was free now. "Nevermind..."

Silence answered him, and it was when he recovered enough to pull the offending shirt completely free that he realised the locker room was almost deserted. Everyone else had made their way out onto the field – well, except for Scott and Isaac – and right there, in the doorway, Derek loomed. He loomed, because Derek couldn't just stand there – he had to do it in an opposing manner that could only be described accurately as looming.

There went Stiles' Derek-free zone.

"You shouldn't be here," Scott spoke, and there was definitely a level of tension there and really, it didn't surprise Stiles at all. Sure, Scott defended the guy, but ever since the whole thing with the warehouse and Jackson, there had been a level of tension between the two. But then, there always had been.

"Relax," Derek answered, hands dug deep into the pockets of his leather jacket, "I didn't come here for you." His eyes flickered to Isaac briefly before going back to Scott. "I could use your help though, if you're not too busy running around without a pack."

"Hey!" Stiles called up from his position on the floor, then, remembering he was still on the floor, he pulled himself up and tried again. "Hey, I'm pack."

Derek raised an eyebrow, either sceptical or amused – Stiles couldn't decide which.

"I mean, I'm his pack," he clarified, moving to stand beside Scott and nudging his best friend lightly in the side. "You said so yourself, remember?"

Derek said nothing, just shook his head a little, his mouth quirking a mere smidgen in one corner. And Scott, he just acted like neither of them had said anything regarding packs.

"Why do you need my help?" he questioned, redirecting the conversation with a tone that suggested he hadn't decided whether Derek would actually get his help or not yet. Usually that meant that whatever decision he went with, Stiles would end up getting dragged along for the ride.

Stiles didn't wait for Derek to answer, cutting across the Alpha before he had even managed to open his mouth fully. "You're here about the body! I knew it! You know something. Werewolves, right? Another pack?"

There was an excessive rolling of eyes, mostly on Derek's part, before he answered on a heavy sigh. "Yes, no, and I don't know – maybe..."

"So why'd you need me?" Scott's brow furrowed.

"I need to check out the place they found the body, but..." Derek trailed off, his eyes falling to the ground, and Stiles knew why. He hated this, he hated asking for help, and yet there he was, asking all the same. "There's something else I have to check out tonight as well, and it has to be tonight. By the time the cops have cleared the crime scene, I won't have time to do both."

"So you want me to be your sniffer dog?"

Isaac took a step forward, head cocking to the side in puzzlement. "What about me?"

"You'll both check out the crime scene... see if you can find any traces of a pack, you'll work better in a pair. That is – if Scott agree." Derek lowered his head, but kept his eyes level with Scott awaiting an answer that came in the form of a reluctant nod.

"Is this about th-"

But Derek cut over Isaac's question in too much of a hurry to not be suspicious, shaking his head. "No, I don't think so."

That just seemed to confuse Isaac even more, though honestly, Stiles felt if anyone should be confused – it should be him, and maybe Scott. But then, he was never quite sure about Scott's level of confusion anymore after the stunt he pulled with Gerard Argent.

"So, I guess this means another night of reruns for Stiles then," Stiles cut in.

Derek's mouth definitely quirked that time, his eyes gleaming in a way that made the smile drop from Stiles' lips and caused his shoulders to sag. It was the type of look that said 'I've got some special punishment in mind for you', and as the next words passed the Alpha's lips, Stiles knew it to be true.

"You? You're coming with me."

"What?! Can't I just go with Scott and Isaac? I mean, you don't really need anyone tagging along... do you?"

"I need a lookout."

"And your uncle is too busy catching up on his shows to help out?"

There was a low growl from Derek and a flash of a predatory smile that was really more of a warning.

"Okay, fine! No need to get so grumpy about it. But really? You can think of no one better than me to be your lookout? Someone who you maybe won't threaten to maim and injure all night long?"

Apparently though, the answer to that question was no, which was how Stiles found himself sitting in the passenger seat of Derek's Camaro with Derek warning him to shut up for the umpteenth time. This was exactly why he needed a Derek-free zone.

"We've been sitting here for two hours," Stiles informed him, not that he had been counting each long, drawn out minute as it ticked away far too slowly for Stiles' liking. Nor had he been watching as the bright blue sky turned a darker shade, or taking notice of how the street before them had gradually emptied, leaving just them... sitting in an unbelievably conspicuous, shiny black Camaro. "Just, tell me you at least brought snacks?"

He waited for a response and got nothing.

"A drink? A stick of gum?"

Still nothing.

"Anything at all? No? Nothing? Nada... zip?"

"Stiles," Derek drew out the name in low warning, no growl present, but definitely a hint of tight impatience.

"Okay, okay... shutting up."

And he did, for all of ten seconds.

"Just... what exactly are we doing here?"

"Waiting," Derek answered, before adding, "Quietly."

Stiles had to scoff at that. How could he not? Of all the people Derek could have chosen, he had dragged Stiles along – the one person of the group who knew the Webster's definition of the word 'quiet' off by heart because he had been forced to read it aloud in front of class that many times. But then, this was Derek... and there really was no one else, and Stiles actually kind of hated him for that because he understood how it felt. But Derek was a big bad ass werewolf, and that had to count for something, right?

The sound of the engine turning over brought Stiles out of his thoughts and he sat up straighter in his seat, gaze searching ahead for any sign of activity. He barely caught the shadows shift ahead but there was no doubt in his mind that Derek could see what was happening perfectly. After another breath, the car started to move, slow and steady.

Stiles opened his mouth to say something, but the almost immediate glare from Derek had him snapping it shut once more. Of course, it made sense to stay quiet if the person they were tailing was a werewolf – one wrong word and they would give away their plan. Not that Stiles really had the first clue about what the actual plan was.

He began to catch on though, when he lost sight of the figure ahead completely and felt the car coming to a stop a little way down from a couple of old warehouses that were clumped together.

"You're going in there, aren't you?" he questioned before Derek had even turned the engine off and reached to undo his seatbelt.

"Yes," Derek answered, short and clipped. "And you're staying here, in the car."

"What am I? Your pet Chihuahua?"

Derek didn't answer, just gave him the patented 'you're talking again' glare that Stiles had fast become accustomed to. He opened the door and stepped out, allowing the cooling breeze in from outside before blocking it again as he leaned back in to look at Stiles.

"Don't move from this car," he warned, because it did sound more like a warning than an order. Things often did with Derek.

"Or you'll beat me to a bloody pulp with the parking brake, yeah – I get it." Stiles rolled his eyes.

When his gaze found Derek again, he couldn't help but notice the slight hesitancy there and what couldn't be worry, but looked very similar. He was actually reconsidering having Stiles there and Stiles didn't know whether to be insulted or happy about that. But, he was already there so there was no use in Derek changing his mind.

"Could we hurry this along at all?" Stiles asked, cutting Derek off before he could voice or act on the change of mind clearly written in his eyes. "I have a chemistry quiz tomorrow that I can't study for while I'm playing lookout for your little spy-wolf ass."

The look on Derek's face didn't melt away completely, the frown still evident, but he nodded all the same and closed the door. Stiles lost sight of him not long after he had crossed the road, but his gaze still traced the shadows along the path he thought Derek may have taken. As for the rest of the street, it was as silent and as boring as the inside of Derek's car.

One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi.

And Stiles was bored, his knee bouncing continuously, desperate to be out of the car and wandering about and just doing something. He still searched the street, letting go of a deep sigh, but his eyes never lingered on one spot long enough to notice any movement that may have happened. It was official, being stuck in the car alone was only marginally worse than being stuck in the car with Derek. At least with the latter he had the option of dragging Derek down to his level of despair.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the display. Ten minutes, that's how long he would give Derek. Ten minutes was plenty of time to check out whatever he had to check out and then get back to the car. If he wasn't back by then, Stiles would just have to pull up a webpage on his phone on how to hotwire a car.

Okay, maybe seven minutes... or five. Yes, definitely five. Maybe even three if Stiles went to help.

"Next time," Stiles muttered, opening the car door and pushing out, "you stay in the car and keep lookout."

He barely made it across the road before the noises from within the warehouses started to filter through on the empty air. Cheering, like at a lacrosse game, except it lacked innocence, holding a strange brutality about it that made Stiles pause. The voices were rough, the words unclear, and Stiles took another few steps until he could see the first few orange flickers of warming fires.

It was the hand on his shoulder that stopped him dead, and considering the way his heart sped up – he was pretty damn sure he would be dead any moment.

"I thought I told you to wait in the car," Derek demanded, spinning Stiles around to face him, voice and grip even harsher than usual, a spark of something in his eyes that made Stiles speechless for a fraction of a second.

"Yeah, well," he forced out, "my dad told me to be home by nine, but I don't see that happening either."

Derek just shook his head and tightened his grip, turning away from Stiles and back to the car. "We're leaving."

"Leaving? Why? What's happening back there? What are they-"

The shrill cry of pain sliced right through his words, and right through him, a cold shiver setting him on edge. Derek's head had snapped around again, gaze searching the direction of the flames, that spark burning even more intensely in the depths of his eyes. Panic. That's what it was.

"Move," Derek ordered. "Now!"

Stiles didn't hesitate. His feet were already moving, Derek's grip now on his lower arm though just as tight, dragging him along. But instead of lumbering him into the car, Derek stopped just short and forced Stiles to a stop too.

"Take your jacket off," the Alpha ordered, already slipping out of his own leather jacket.

"Dude?" Stiles moaned. "What? Why?"

And there was that glare again which made Stiles relent, unzipping his hoodie and starting to pull it off. As soon as he was free of the material, Derek tugged it away and thrust his own jacket into Stiles' hands.

"Put it on."

"You want me to wear your jacket?" Stiles shook his head. "I'm not gonna wear your freaky leather jacket."

"Put the jacket on, Stiles," Derek went on, slow and commanding, but still with that strange sense of urgency.

"Why? Why are you making me wear your jacket?"

"Because any moment now, those werewolves back there are gonna catch your scent, and right now – they're just looking to slap a collar around the first human they find to play in their little 'games'."

Stiles didn't need to ask what games. He was fairly certain he didn't want to know, not if that cry of pain was anything to go by. "And wearing your jacket will help me, how?"

"Because you smell like a human, Stiles. My jacket will mask that scent."

"Yeah, maybe, but I'll still smell like me."

Derek shook his head. "My scent is stronger."

A small scoff slipped past Stiles' lips and he looked Derek up and down briefly. "You've got that right, buddy."

The look Derek gave him was more bored than affronted, his jaw tightening only slightly. He said nothing, but Stiles was slipping the leather jacket on, so he was probably left speechless at Stiles doing something he was told for once.

"Ya' happy?" Stiles asked, a tight smile forming across his face.

Still silent and far too stoic, Derek nodded his approval and immediately began the process of pulling Stiles' jacket on... which, really? Was that necessary?

"Oh man... come on! You're gonna stretch it! You've got too many... muscles." He waved his hand all over Derek to emphasise his point. "And there... yep. Stretched. That's never gonna shrink back, you know that, right? You totally owe me a new jacket now."

"I'll buy you a new one as soon as I'm finished saving your life," Derek answered, a low and tight growl to his voice. He inched forward and dug a hand into the pocket of his leather jacket, surprising Stiles somewhat, until he pulled out the keys to his Camaro. "Just make sure you keep my jacket on until I find you. If you take it off beforehand, I'll kill you myself."

"Wait? Find me? Where are you going?"

Now the keys were being thrust into his hands, and this night had taken a hugely surprising turn.

"I'm going to try and lead them away, what do you think?"

"But you just said..." Stiles began, the argument falling away at the look in Derek's eyes.

"I know what I said... but, just... trust me, okay? It's the best chance we have. They're more likely to catch a whiff of me wearing your jacket whilst on foot, than of you in the car." Derek paused, raising his eyebrow as if expecting Stiles to interject and argue some more. When Stiles said nothing, Derek continued. "Get in the car and drive, just drive. I don't care where you go, just so long as it's away from here. Find Scott and Isaac – have them babysit you until I'm done here."

Speechless, Stiles stood there, keys in his hand, mouth hanging open.

"Go!" Derek demanded, pushing him toward the car a little. Then his attention was back on the warehouses, his head snapping around so fast that Stiles knew he must have heard something. "Stiles, go – now!"

And really, Stiles couldn't argue with that command at all.

Thank you for reading! More soon...