#there’s someone either in the backseat or trunk and they’ll fucking kill me

[akkpipitphattana]

truly if i explained some of the things my anxiety convinces me of, i’d be admitted

[thewhumperinwhite]

Café: Cottage 4/Car Ride

Pax reacts quickest. For better or worse.

Previous: Teaser 1 / Teaser 2 / Hospital/Squad Car / No More Squad Car / Empty Bar / Used Car Lot 1 / Used Car Lot 2 / Gas Station / Roadside 1 / Roadside 2 / Forest / Treetops / Cottage (1) / Cottage (2) / Interlude: Police Station / Cottage (3)

TW for: gun violence, blood/gore, guilt/self-loathing.

@whumpitywhumpwhump

Short update so I don’t get blocked. Also please note that Sol cares about cars but I don’t so please forgive any inaccuracies regarding Specific Models Of Jeep.

----

The worst thing in the world, Sol is discovering, is when you can see the disaster happening like it’s in slow motion, and you’re just too slow to stop it.

Kent’s face runs through the whole gamut of emotion when he lowers his bloody hand from his mouth: mild disgust into worry into realization and then he looks up at the little girl, Sam, who is maybe thirteen and doesn’t have time for any look on her face other than fear which is all it takes for her to dive for the shotgun and point it at Kent’s face.

Sol has been waiting tables for six months now. Before that he did some scurrying around the streets of the city, avoiding trouble, but that’s what he’s good at, avoiding; he’s never been in a gunfight before. The only guns he’s ever seen in real life are the two he’s seen in the past however many days since the real world ended.

So he sees the gun moving and he freezes. Just for a second.

Pax gets there much faster. Sol doesn’t even really see them move, because he’s frozen by the knowledge that he’s about to see Kent Graves die.

The shotgun going off is the actual loudest sound Sol has ever heard. Pax grabbed ahold of the barrel to yank it away from Kent’s face which means the shot hits their shoulder at absolutely point-blank range, and they spin backward onto the floor in an explosion of blood.

That’s what unsticks Sol’s muscles, finally. He runs forward, drops to his knees next to Paxon, who has curled into a ball, clutching the bloody mess of their shoulder, their eyes wide, their mouth opening and closing like a gutted fish.

“Oh, god,” Sol hears Kent say, and the little girl says, “I— I— I— didn’t I— I wasn’t even— I wasn’t—”

Sol doesn’t dignify any of that with a response, doesn’t even really see the stricken expression on her face, just reaches forward to yanks the too-big gun out of her relaxing grip and without looking throw it over his shoulder toward the hallway as hard as he can.

“He’s not bit,” he snaps at her, already turning back to Pax and the blood pulsing out of his shoulder in a spreading pool on the dirty carpet. “He’s sick. He was sick before you pointed a gun at him.”

He leans over Pax, and knocks their hand out of the way to press his own over the wound. It’s— it’s bad, he can feel sharp things that must be bone, but it’s essentially a very terrible graze, not an actual hit, which he hopes is better.

“I didn’t,” the girl is muttering, still leaning against the door, doing absolutely nothing useful, “I, how was I supposed to know that, this isn’t—”

There’s a lot of blood, too much, squeezing through Sol’s fingers; he presses down harder on Pax’s shoulder, feels something shift under his hand. Pax makes a horrible wounded-animal noise; Sol feels very nauseous but muscles past it.

“I need— something to bandage it with,” he says. The hand he isn’t using to hold Pax’s arm on sort of hovers at the hem of his shirt; in a different world he’d take it off and use it, but—

“Here,” Kent says desperately, already tugging his borrowed shirt off over his head, sounding almost relieved. “Here, take this, here.” He presses it into Sol’s free hand; the cloth is warm from his still-too-high body temperature, and Sol feels a moment of complete panic; Kent is dying of fever and Pax has just had his arm blown off, and Sol is alone.

“Wait,” the little girl says, and she crawls forward into his space, taking the t-shirt from him. “Wait, I can— I know how to do this.” And she pushes Sol’s hand away from the wound, her lips pressing into a thin white line at the sight of it, and winds the shirt around their shoulder, tight, pulling it into a messy but serviceable knot.

“Fuck,” Pax says when she pulls it tight, with a full-body wince. They roll onto their back, slamming their opposite fist into the carpet, arching their spine. “Fuck that hurts!”

The little girl stares at them, then up at Sol, the set of her shoulders somewhere between defensive and expecting-a-slap.

“I,” she says, and then she takes a deep breath and meets Sol’s eyes firmly. “There’s—there’s a clinic a few miles up from here. I bet it’s not still open, but there might be— stuff to take. Real bandages at least.” She glares at Sol, and then at Kent, who is breathing hard, staring straight ahead like he’s on a different planet. “If you swear— If you swear to me you’re not bit. Hey.” She reaches forward, and shoves Kent once on the chest; it doesn’t look like a hard push, but he jumps like he’s been shot, his eyes refocusing with a truly worrying amount of effort. “If you killed my sister and now you’re hiding a bite, I’m going to kill you, all of you, I swear to god.”

Kent looks at her with his blue eyes reflective as glass, and then slowly shakes his head and croaks, “No. No, I haven’t been bitten.”

She nods, apparently satisfied. “Then you can use my dad’s car, I guess. I’ll get the keys.”

——

It’s a soft-top jeep, because of course it is; Sol’s always kind of liked the look of them, before zombies ripping through the roof and eating him was a concern.

Sam is thirteen, which Sol hates, but tall for her age and wiry, and Kent is apparently either too foolish or too Kent to protest her swinging his arm over her shoulder and supporting him on his way out to the car. Which leaves Sol half-carrying Pax, avoiding the mess of their shoulder as best he can; they’re already gray with pain that clearly gets worse with the slightest shift of their left arm. Who knows when they’ll be using their sword again.

“My duffle’s in the bedroom,” they mutter through gritted teeth as Sol supports them out to the carport. “Don’t— I’m not leaving it.”

Sol sighs. “Fine. Yeah.” Getting Pax in the backseat is a terrible operation; their shoulder shifts once and they make a noise Sol is going to remember until the day he dies, and Sol is almost grateful for the opportunity to scurry back and grab their duffle from the bedroom. He tosses their horrible pink jacket on top of the bag too and slings their sword over his shoulder, and on the way back he pauses and, hating every second, picks up the gun from the hallway floor, carrying it by the end of its stock like it’s a dirty diaper.

Sol didn’t have a strong opinion on guns one way or the other a week ago. Those were the fuckin days.

——

Pax has experienced many injuries in their life, but this is actually their first shotgun blast. 

It is not the most fun they have ever had.

The bright side is, it’s pretty clear none of their vital organs are involved; the downside is that as a result they are very much still awake by the time Sol has finished arranging them on the back seat with jittery hands, on their back with their useless arm dangerously close to the edge of the seat and their head in Kent’s lap.

“Sunshine,” they say, and Kent looks down at them, with an expression that makes it clear that he’s about to start saying very stupid things. “Don’t let my arm— fall off the seat, or it’ll strain the joint. And if you say ‘sorry’ one single time, I— will kill you.”

Kent blinks down at them, his pretty face even more tragic than usual, and rearranges Pax in his lap so he can hold their arm in place. He’s shaking, but not hard enough to jostle Pax too badly— if anything, it just feels like the car is already running.

“You didn’t— have to do that,” Kent says in a quiet, horrified voice.

Pax reaches up with the hand it doesn’t hurt to move, and then realizes they have no idea what to do with it. They grab a lock of Kent’s sweaty hair and give it a light tug.

“Shut up,” they say, and they stick their tongue out at him.

At this point the front passenger door opens, and the little girl who shot them climbs into the passenger seat. Pax meets her eyes in the mirror, and makes sure to give her an unimpressed look. She glares at them, and then looks away. 

“Wouldn’t mind— a sorry— from you,” they point out, and have time for her to look back in the mirror at them defensively before the sound of the trunk slamming shut startles them all and makes Pax jump in a way they immediately regret. “Fuck me,” they mutter, and Kent slides a shaky hand into their hair in a way that will fuck up the curl pattern but does, admittedly, feel pretty good.

“Okay,” Sol says, sliding into the driver’s seat and running his hands over the wheel with transparent nervousness. “Where the fuck are we going, kid?”

“I’ll give you directions,” the girl says tersely, and Sol starts the engine. Pax squeezes their eyes shut, and keeps it together.

——

Pax jolts in his arms every time the car hits a bump. By the end of the ride their teeth are visibly clenched together and they’re covered in sweat. 

Kent isn’t thinking very clearly. His skin feels tight across his face, and his hands feel like they’re— in a different room, or attached to someone else’s body. 

Which isn’t nearly enough. There isn’t— there just isn’t anything he can do that will make this right.

Kent almost wishes his father were here. He’s the only one who might be able to come up with a fair price for him to pay.

[multiplefandomfics]

Grimes Sisters Chapter 17

And we keep going. keep reading on you own volition ;)

Pairings: Shane x Fabienne; Daryl x Alex

Words: 1852

Warnings: angst, drama, implied smut, cliffhanger

Alex POV

I blinked my eyes open and the first thing I did was trying to orientate myself. I soon noticed that I was being carried by Daryl. When he noticed I was awake he set me down in a bed of moss against a tree trunk and stroked my cheek gently “You okay?” he asked me concerned and I just nodded insecurely. “Where are we? We were just in the cell block and a bomb exploded.” you stated confused. “Can you walk? I’ll explain later, alright?” Slowly I pushed myself up and we walked in silence for a while until “Daryl wait up.” I stopped him. “What is it? The prison is lost.. we can’t get back. We gotta move!” he tuned around looking at me intently. “I don’t understand… I..” I interrupted him. “Alex, sunshine. I gotcha out of there. The governor attacked us with a tank. No one could’ha done nothing. I threw a grenade into the tank but before it exploded the bullet flew into the block so I ran inside and found ya knocked out so I grabbed ya and ran like hell. I looked for your sister n brother but I couln’ find ‘em. They were probably already out.” even he looked worried though he tried to stay strong for me. Fabienne? Rick, Carl and Judith? I hoped that they were all fine and we’d find them soon.  I needed to stay strong and keep my head up high. I had no idea where we were headed but one thing was for sure, away from the prison.

Talking, we decided to head to the street where we waited when Rick and Daryl had swarmed out to search for a place to stay and found the prison. Thinking about it it had been really dumb not to agree on a place to meet up in case we got separated. When it slowly got dark we had still not found a refuge for the night. I was getting really cold and I was still weak from being sick. We build us a small camp. Daryl making a fire for us to get some warmth “I shot a squirrel earlier. I can roast it.” he suggested and just then I noticed how hungry I was so I thanked him. I had no idea what I had expected from him, maybe some kind words of encouragement but he wasn’t the man for that so it wasn’t gonna happen and I accepted that. He was always there when he was needed and I loved him for that. Together we stared into the flames completely in thought eating the squirrel. The fire wasn’t warm enough so I started shaking slightly. Immediately Daryl noticed and handed me a blanket “Here. Take it.” he said dryly. I knew that he didn’t wanna hurt me with his manner so I just nodded toward him, grabbed the blanket and laid it around my shoulders. When I noticed him freezing too I lifted one side of it “Come move under.” you suggested. But it didn’t matter how intently you watched him he declined “Nah, I’m gonna keep watch. You close your eyes for a bit.” I knew I could always count on him. With him I felt safe as I could be in this world. It took me some time but even under the given circumstances I fell asleep eventually. The recent cold was still not fully out of my system and we had been walking for a long while that day.  

“Wake up, sweetheart.” a male voice whispered gruffly and I startled awake before I realized that it was Daryl and I relaxed visibly.

The sun had already gone up. How did I sleep through this? Well exhaustion made a lot possible. I blinked up at him sleepily and pulled him down for a passionate kiss. That was exactly what I needed in that moment. Love and warmth just to get my head cleared for a bit. The kiss got more and more passionate and he fell down on me until he pulled away “Not here and now baby.” but his smirk said something different. He was probably right though. Not a good moment to get dirty. One last kiss and we straightened up again, took down our camp and kept going.

While I had already completely lost track of where the hell we were, Daryl had the complete overview. What did I expect? He was the best tracker and hunter I’d ever seen.

We had been walking though the woods the whole day so it was already afternoon and the sun was really hot burning down on us. We had come to a street that was supposedly the right one so we kept moving. “This’s the right one. Just some miles down there and we should find it.” Daryl remarked. I was really relieved because my lungs burned and my feet stung like a bitch. I prayed to whatever entity that we were gonna find the others there. When the darkness kicked in we decided to sleep in a car by the side of the road. Why not? There was nothing better in sight and it was the safest at that moment. Sleeping outside and always being afraid of something stumbling over us be it walker or human wasn’t my definition of comfortable sleeping.

Daryl pulled a biter out of the car while I checked the trunk to luckily find some cans. He had already started to kindle a small fire again to warm up the cans. Shortly after we had heated them we killed the fire again to not pull any attention toward us. We found our way onto the backseat of the car to eat our lukewarm ravioli in tomato sauce. When Daryl suddenly exclaimed “romantic ain’t it?” and scooted closer laughing. I shoved his shoulder playfully laughing too. What a douche he could be sometimes I rolled my eyes. Then my thoughts went back to my family and I turned melancholic again “Don’t overthink it. They’ll be waiting for us there. You’ll see.” he sounded confident. I tried to turn my brain off for a while and settled into the backseat with my head in his lap. Soon I fell into a dreamless slumber.

I awoke in the same position I had fallen asleep in. my head still resting in his lap him sleeping in the sitting position he was in. Didn’t look like a comfortable sleeping position but he managed to look peaceful nonetheless. Head thrown back and snoring softly. So cute. I slowly straightened up to stretch my aching muscles but suddenly I heard groaning noises from outside. The sight was not a pretty one. Walkers everywhere! Fuck! “Wake up!” I hissed over to Daryl and he was opening his eyes slowly. Seemed like he had been sleeping calmly the first time in a while and I hated to wake him from that.

“Outside are walkers everywhere. Seems like a whole herd.” just then he realized the situation to its full extent. “I’m sure the herd is gonna move past us if we stay still for a while.” he calmed me. Well he tried at least. I have to admit I really needed to get outside to pee and stretch my limbs but it seemed like I had to hold that for some time longer.

We really waited and most of them moved past. Just a few strays stayed behind so we got out and killed the closest ones. After we stretched a bit and Daryl’s shirt rid up a little and I involuntarily licked my lips. I shook out of that fantasy and we packed our stuff again to keep walking.

After walking a while we suddenly heard shooting not too far ahead of us. Just that we couldn’t make out a source. Maybe it was the others. My brother or sister or both. The thought was too good to be true but we had to try. But we had to be careful it could also be foreigners. We listened for more shooting but couldn’t hear any. And no human being in sight either.

The sun had already hit its highest point and it was getting warmer and warmer without the shadow of the trees in the middle of the street. We made a small break and had something to drink. Daryl always had an eye on the surroundings. He was always so on edge that I felt I needed to distract him somehow so I leaned in closer, pulled his face to mine and kissed him sensually “Relax, baby. Let it happen!” I whispered but he tried to pull away so I laid my hand demanding on his belt. “Not here!” he grumbled in warning. I knew that he didn’t like being decided for but he had to let himself fall into my arms once in a while and trust me. While he leaned against a car I tried it again and opened his belt and pants pulling down hastily. I couldn’t wait but before I could pleasure him he snatched my hand away again and looked me straight in the eyes “Not here and now Alex!” and this time he sounded really serious so I let it go. “I just wanted to make you feel good. I’m sorry” was my last comment to that. Offended I grabbed my backpack and headed forward him trailing behind me not saying a word. Until “Sweetheart I didn’t wanna insult ya.” when in didn’t answer him did he grab my arm and pulled me into his broad chest. I looked up into his honest baby blues in which I could see so much love and then he closed the distance between our lips. I couldn’t stay mad at him for long.

Suddenly we noticed that we had already reached our destination and decided to wait here for our group. Daryl wanted to have a look around while I prepared a car for us to sleep. He had promised to stay close and I went through some more cars that we hadn’t looked through the first time we were there. I took a break sitting on the hood of a car waiting but suddenly I got a really bad feeling and I couldn’t see Daryl anywhere so fear started to rise inside me and tears threatened to spill. But I just wiped them away. He could be back any second and shouldn’t see me crying over nothing. I got startled by more shots being fired from somewhere in front of me but they couldn’t have been Daryl’s he just had his crossbow with him so I started to panic. My heart beat wildly inside my chest as I was hectically looking around. I prayed that nothing had happened to him. A rustling in the bushes to the side alerted me of someones presence so I spun around. Immediately I spotted Daryl but there was someone behind him holding a gun to his head.

[brattywriters-anonymous]

House Party 2

Erik x OC story

Erik "Killmonger" Stevens meets his potential partner during a job..

Warnings: Cursing, Crime

Erik quickly closed and locked the bedroom door, "FUCK!" he clicks his safety back on, removes the silencer, and places his weapon back in it's original place. He grabs his phone to reconnect his communicator, while Mirah stands back up, talking to herself, or at least that's what it seems like. "Gotdamn. Yeah, I know. I thought I was the only hitter here!" She glances over at Erik as she says that, he realizes that she's communicating with her own associate. "What's up, E? Is it done?" Inga is snacking on something in the background, "Inga, I don't know." "What do you mean you don't know? Either you hit him or you didn't." "It's not that simple, Inga." "I think we got him at the same time!" Mirah yells into her earpiece. "I caught him in the room, but another closer led him to the room. We got him at the same time." "Ou did yuh let dat?! Yuh bloodclot idiot!" she scoffed at him, typing viciously, Erik hears every key being slammed on as he hung his head. "Now we have to get him to our mortician. Decide who's trauma hit first. Both of you have to figure out a way to get him out of there." 

Erik and Mirah must have gotten the same information simultaneously because they both looked at each other, then looked at the corpse formally known as Andrew. His bled through his clothes and there was no way they were going to get through a party with a bloodied dead body. "FUCK." They both exclaimed in frustration. "I had him first! You just should've backed off!" Mirah shoves Erik. He stumbles back and presses his index finger into her left shoulder to catch his footing, "You should've fell back when you seen me walking in here! Why would you bring a knife to a gun fight?" She slaps his hand away, "Nigga, I can bring whatever I see fit on any hit that I take." Erik's dimples appears as he takes in his upper lip, showing his canines. "Inga, what's it lookin' like down there?" Inga clicks some more on her laptop, "You might be better off sneaking out back." Erik starts looking for the closet, "Bet. I'll be out in five." "E, did you hear me? Both of you have to bring him in. This is not a joke. The contract holder can and will cancel the contract even though the deal is done and neither one of you will get paid. You both have to get him in." 

Once again, they both must have gotten the same intel because they exclaimed at the same time, "FUCK!...OKAY!" Erik opens the closet door and finds a black over sized hoodie as Mirah goes into her fanny pack to pull out some gauze to stop further bloodshed, at least until they got out the house. Erik throws the hoodie on Andrew and placed the hood over his head to cover the womb that he placed there. before he could pull it down Mirah yelled, "Wait!" She places the gauze that she rolled up into the stab womb that she inflicted. Erik peaks outside the door, looks around and finds the linen closet at the end of the hallway. He pulls out two towels, then he hears a voice,  "Hey, everything okay?" Some white boy climbs up the steps, clearly drunk. "Yeah, my girl is in the room and...it got a lil wet, ya know?" Erik lifts up the towels in explanation. "Ahhh! Okay. I getcha. As long as it's not my room..You're all good my man!" He points to the bedroom adjacent from the crime scene. Erik shakes his head, "Nah. We good." "Okay, good. Well, enjoy!" He turns around to go back downstairs. Erik lets out a sigh of relief and goes back in the room. He wraps the towels around Andrew's chest underneath the hoodie, "This shit not getting in my car seats!" Erik looks over at Mirah, "Okay. The best exit is through the back. We just gotta hold him up like he's drunk. My car is parked at the end of the corner. You got a car?" "Yeah. It's across the street." "Okay, I'll drop you back off in the morning is that cool?" She nods and place sunglasses over his eyes.

They lift the 6'0" 278 lbs. corpse and lug him down the stairs. The same white guy from earlier comes up behind him, "Aw man! He must be messed up!" Erik answers, without turning to him, "Yeah. Too much Jack." He glances over to Mirah and she rolls her eyes at him. "Alright. You guys get home safe! Thanks for coming!"

--

Mirah and Erik finally cramp Andrew into the small McLaren and Erik shuts the door. "Okay, we got him out." Inga sighed into the mic, "The address to the community mortician is programmed into your GPS." Erik's eyes blink in confusion, "Community mortician? So We're just gonna go into the morgue at one AM?" Inga cackled at his stupid question, "No. You would get locked up if you did that. The assassin community's mortician. He has his own funeral home in Virginia Heights. He's been contacted and he's on his way there now. Hurry." Erik disconnected his communicator again. He turns back to his car to see no trace of Mirah. He hears heaving and splashes near the house closest to his car's yard. "Are you seriously puking right now?" Mirah finished chucking up the last of her dinner and whispers, "I've never had to carry a kill before, okay?" Erik goes into his trunk and grabs water bottles, offering one to her, "But you kill though. What's the problem?" She shrugs, "I don't know. I just kill em and leave. I've never had to actually touch them after the fact." She takes a mouthful to gargle and spit. "Well, I got the location so whenever you ready.." She walks over to his car, waiting on him to click his alarm. "What you waiting for?"

--

The twenty minute ride has excruciating silence. Mirah was just looking out of her window, trying to ignore the body in the backseat and Erik was focusing on not getting pulled over. He got off of 75 South to make a left and kept straight until his GPS informs him that the destination is on the right. He pulls up to an empty mortuary. Inga's voice takes over the speakers in the car, "The mortician's name is Philip Lee. He's in the morgue on the basement level." Mirah became startled, "Who the fuck is that?" Erik put his car in park, "My associate, Inga. I'm sure you have one." She nods, "Yeah. His name is Sloan." He shakes his head and unbuckles his seat belt. "Why you shaking your head?" Mirah lifts her right brow at him. He shakes his head again, "Nothing. Let's get this done."

They struggle even more getting Andrew out of the car than they did trying to get him into it. They drag the lifeless body in the funeral home from the main level, down the steps, past the cremation room, to the morgue. They see an old man, probably in his mid sixties, brown skin, and gray hair. "Hello. You must me Erik and Mirah!" His voice was deep and eerie. The place is barren and cold, which makes Mirah shiver. "I'm Dr. Lee. I see you brought our friend. There's someone here that would like to meet you two."

A figure peaks out of the far right corner of the fridges, "Hello. I'm Parker. The contract holder." They both nod at their employer. "I understand that you both got to Mr. Anderson at the same time, yes?" The man strokes his goatee looking at the corpse being held up by the duo, then he points over to the empty mortuary washing table. Erik and Mirah lay his body on it. "Yeah, that's right." Mirah folds her arms, looking Parker in his eyes." "She stabbed him, I shot him." Parker strokes his face again and grins, "Alright, we'll leave Dr. Lee to make his deliberation, you two, come upstairs with me." Parker walks through the double swinging doors first, Erik motions his arms in that direction, "Ladies first." Mirah walked out with Erik close up behind her. She purposefully lets Parker walk out of their sights before speaking, "Don't be looking at my booty, Stevens." He caught up with her, pulling her arm and pushed her against the hallway wall, "How you know my--" She turned her head so he could see her communicator. "Your associate?" She nods, "Yes. He says he knows--" 

"ANY DAY NOW!" Parker's voice intrudes the hallways echoing from upstairs.

--

They reach the top of the stairs, walking on red velvet like carpet. They find Parker in the middle of the showroom standing next to a gold casket. "Ya know, I've always admired the mortuary business. They are the last people to see a person, as humanly as they'll ever be. Of course that's before they cut em open, embalm them and stitch their mouths and.." He points to Mirah's ass. "It's one of the best professions to go into, for the obvious reasoning. Everyone dies." Erik agrees, "Mhm." Parker turns to the casket, then back to the pair, then he claps his hands together. The sound echoed once again, "So.. Whomever this kill belongs to, I have another job for you. It is an international contract and I am sure that other contenders will fight you tooth and nail to get the kill." He points to Erik, then sways his finger to Mirah, "But I'm sure either one of you can handle that in the way that you handled this target tonight."

Mr. Lee clears his throat from across the room. Erik and Mirah jump up, Parker just simply turns his attention to him. "My apologies, I just wrapped up my analysis. It appears that the trauma to Mr. Anderson's aortic valve and his frontal cortex happened at the exact same moment. Give or take some milliseconds which I cannot exactly determine." Parker perks up and gives Erik and Mirah a round of applause, "Well, well! Looks like I have a job for the both of you then!" They both looked at each other and shook their heads, "We're not partners!" Anderson laughs at them, "Could've fooled me! You two even talk in unison! It's almost cute! Look, it's either both of you or neither of you." Mirah gave Erik the stink eye then she peered back at Parker, "What about our compensation? Are we splitting it?" Parker closes the gold casket then replies, "No. You both get 3 million. The next job is 10, each." Erik approaches Parker and reaches out his hand, "Consider it done." Parker seals the binding contract. Mirah nods and extends her hand, "You got it."

--

[andavs]

Stiles cracked his eyes open against the rising sun directly in his face and frowned. He looked around him, and frowned some more. The jeep was parked, empty aside from him and his duvet crunched up in the passenger seat, and there was a wheat field beyond the windshield.

With a massive yawn, Stiles straightened up—or tried to. His back was stiff, his spine popped, and one of his legs was a little numb; his body did not appreciate sleeping in his car these days. He tugged his blanket a little tighter around himself against the chill of the early morning and sat there for a second, shuffling through his memory for an explanation as to why he was sleeping in the front seat of his jeep.

Six finals, moved out of the dorm, late night flight back from DC, went to bed...

Scott.

Scott had definitely been there at one point, he was the one who drove them here, after all.

Wherever here was.

“Scott, what the fuck,” Stiles said to the quiet morning air, knowing that wherever Scott was, he could hear it.

He dug his shoes out from under his blanket and climbed out of the jeep, taking the duvet with him, wrapped around himself like a cape. He was still in his pajamas, the grass was wet with cold dew, the sun was in his eyes, just peeking out over the trees in the distance, and Scott was still nowhere to be found. He was taking his damn blanket.

“Scott!” He called halfheartedly, not all that loud as he shuffled towards the field. They were probably trespassing. “Buddy, pal, what the hell!”

“Hang on!” Scott’s voice called back, and Stiles looked everywhere else around him before realizing that Scott was yelling at him from up a tree.

Right.

Stiles yawned and squinted out at the wheat.

It was barely six in the morning, they'd driven three hours to get there, specifically for this field of wheat, and Stiles still had no idea why. It looked like an average field of wheat from where he was standing, but then he wasn't up a massive tree with a vantage point or super alpha vision, which was Scott’s current situation. Twisted up around the trunk for dear life with his phone out, taking pictures.

Of wheat.

“Why are we here again?” Stiles called up to him. He hadn't bothered to ask when Scott pulled him out of bed at 3am and threw both Stiles and his blankets into his own jeep. All that registered at the time was that it was Scott and he didn’t seem to be panicking, and Stiles was exhausted after finals and the trip back to Beacon Hills, so he went right back to sleep for the drive.

Scott focused on taking pictures for a minute, then called back,

“Crop circles! It popped up on your news alert last night!”

Oh right, that ping on his computer Stiles had woken up just enough to ignore and go right back to sleep. Because crop circles were stupid.

This entire field trip was stupid.

He was still half asleep, it was cold out at the end of April, and he was standing on the edge of a wheat field in his pajamas and wrapped in his duvet. He hitched it a little tighter around himself to keep the brisk air off his neck.

“Right, and why are we here again? I don't care about crop circles.”

Crop circles were the one phenomena that he didn’t have to care about, so he gladly didn’t, because they were literally always made by assholes with way too much spare time pulling pranks.

This time Scott didn't answer, because he was starting the careful climb down. At least he was careful until he hit some arbitrary height he deemed non-lethal and just jumped.

Stiles squinted against the rising sun, just high enough to be too bright.

Stupid werewolves.

“We’re here because this isn’t a crop circle,” Scott explained as he stomped over through the long grass, focused on his phone. “I checked it out last night. There was lightning here the same night this appeared, but no rain, and I couldn’t really tell from the blurry pictures online, but it didn’t look quite right, something was off. And if that something is off, and if it's what I think it is, and I'm pretty sure it is, then I wouldn’t have time to go back home to get you.”

Stiles squint-glared at him this time. “Scott, do you have any idea how little sleep I've gotten in the last three weeks? Clear and concise answers, buddy.”

Scott finally held out his phone, showing whichever picture he decided was the best. Stiles squint-glared at that and waited for his foggy brain to catch up. When it did, his heart skipped a beat.

Burned into the wheat field, in a way Stiles was pretty sure was not normal for crop circles, were two concentric circles.

McCall Pack.

“I think it's Kira,” Scott said, clear and concise. “I think she needs help.”

Luckily, while Stiles had been dead asleep and blissfully unaware of anything at 3am, Scott had the foresight to pack a bag of clothes for him, just in case. And grab his passport. Because they were heading back to Mexico.

Again.

He wasn’t thrilled about the news, because every time he crossed that particular border, he almost died. They all almost died.

They should really start looking into Canada.

But it wasn’t like they could ignore the pack symbol being lightning blasted into a field, and leave Kira wherever she was, especially if she needed help. And a few google searches revealed that there had been some odd lightning storms throughout Sonora, Mexico over the last few months, and that was the last place they left her.

So they crammed Stiles’ blanket into the tiny backseat, bought some snacks, and hit the road. Or, Scott hit the road, Stiles fell right back asleep with a half-eaten gas station breakfast wrap in his hand. He’d only got back from DC the night before on a very late and very cheap flight with way too many layovers; he really shouldn’t be driving anyway. Either way, they were in the car on the open road, listening to really bad music.

The jeep didn’t have anything needed to hook up a phone or play a CD, and the tape deck was broken, so they were stuck with listening to radio stations that faded into static between counties and came back playing a completely different genre.

It was just like old times, except someone in the pack had taken the jeep in for a serious tune up in the last year (no one would own up to it, he suspected Mason) so it wasn’t breaking down every three miles, and they could actually use the air conditioning without the engine overheating. And there wasn’t the whole I killed Donovan and you kind of kicked me out of the pack for a second thing hanging over their heads.

This time they could sit back and talk about school, people they’d met, classes they were taking in the fall—totally normal college kid stuff. It was like an actual, real, normal road trip, just with a potential rescue at the end.

Again.

“So how exactly are we going to find her?” Stiles asked, still a little groggy after sleeping another few hours while Scott drove. He had coffee clutched to his chest and a bag of Cheetos jammed between his thighs. They’d forgotten napkins and had to swipe a bunch of toilet paper from the last rest area.

Scott paused guiltily before admitting, “I...haven’t figured that part out yet. I didn’t really think about it too much, I just packed a bag. But I’m guessing the place I dropped her off with the skinwalkers would be a pretty good place to start.”

“Oh, they’ll be thrilled to see us,” Stiles muttered, and took a sip of his coffee. It was still way too hot, but he was desperate and still recovering from finals.

Scott shrugged and said unconvincingly, “We’ll just...try being polite this time.”

Stiles squinted at him, Scott ignored it, Papa Loves Mambo faded in from static on the radio.

Kira had apparently ditched the skinwalkers at some point, and they weren’t all that happy about it. They were also less than thrilled to see Scott and Stiles, and the jeep had a new dent and a concerning rattle to show for it.

“Okay, plan B,” Stiles announced once they’d gotten far enough away that he didn’t think the skinwalkers would try to come after them and he felt comfortable slowing down from 80mph. “Stick your head out the window and see if you can sniff her out.”

Scott quirked an eyebrow and went back to poking around at the gash still healing on his bicep. “It sounded like she left a while ago, I doubt she’s anywhere nearby. There’s nothing out here to survive on.”

“Hey, if you’ve got a better idea, I’m all ears.” Stiles was starting to come down from the adrenaline rush of escape from death, and after a year off in DC being safe and not having his life threatened weekly, his body really wasn’t used to it anymore. It probably wasn’t good that he felt like he needed to practice.

“My idea right now is to find a place to sleep,” Scott said around a yawn and shook his head a little, and Stiles remembered that Scott had been up and driving since 3am when he dragged Stiles out of bed.

“Yep, sounds good. Whose phone?” 

They were trying to alternate data usage since they were roaming in another country, but wifi wasn’t exactly common along a lonely highway in the middle of the desert where cities were very spread out.

“Um...we used my phone to find the gas station after the border.” Scott dug around the seat for Stiles’ phone, punched in the pin he’d known for years, and started to poke around google.

The only hotel even remotely close to them was another hour away, but it had good reviews, wifi, and a 24 hour restaurant, and once they converted the heart-stoppingly high price from pesos to dollars, they realized they could actually afford it. Stiles waited in the jeep while Scott got a room, and then they both collapsed into sleep, face down on their beds, fully dressed, on top of the blankets.

Scott was still dead asleep when Stiles dragged himself back to consciousness at some point too early in the morning. He was starving, his eyes felt gritty, his teeth were fuzzy—he was a mess and he didn’t even know where they were. What he did know: the hotel had wifi and the little card on the bedside table said something about desayuno, and he remembered enough high school Spanish to know that meant breakfast.

He grabbed his laptop and his phone, and stumbled out of their room into the parking lot that already seemed too hot for how early it was.

The night before, half asleep in the dark, he hadn’t had a chance to actually look at the place they were staying, and in the morning light, he realized that all roadside motels looked exactly the same. He felt like he had the authority to say that after driving across the country last summer with Lydia for school, and this very same motel was in every state they passed through. It was a long, low, one level motel that could’ve been picked up and plopped down along a highway anywhere in the US, and it still would’ve fit right in.

He groggily found his way to the front office and tripped on the welcome mat, and he must’ve looked a wreck because the woman behind the desk just pointed him on through another door with one word: café. He knew what that meant and he wanted it desperately.

There was a full restaurant attached to the office, empty aside from a couple who looked just as tired as Stiles, so he took a corner table, clumsily ordered food in terrible Spanish, and bothered Deaton until he agreed to a chat.

“Desayuno!” Stiles announced as he fumbled back into their room. He had a plate of food for Scott balanced on his laptop, and two mugs of coffee tucked between his arm and his chest so he could unlock the door. His shirt was stained and his nipple was a little burned, but the important thing was that there was coffee and food.

Scott jumped at the noise, still sprawled out on his bed and probably still sleeping, and squinted back over his shoulder at the sunny parking lot streaming in through the door.

“What?”

“Breakfast.” Stiles waved it around enticingly. “Pretty sure it’s some kind of huevos rancheros, but I don’t actually know. I just asked for comida and this is what they gave me.”

“Uh...thanks,” Scott said, somewhat delayed, as he pushed himself to sit. He was still blinking hard as he accepted the plate. “You’ve got some…” he gestured to his chest, mirroring the coffee soaking into Stiles’ shirt.

“Yeah, I don’t want to talk about it.” Stiles handed the coffee over too and set his next to his bed. “But! I did talk to Deaton!” He said as he stripped off his shirt and started rooting through his bag for another.

“He have any ideas?” Scott asked through a mouthful of eggs.

“Yeah, but we’re missing a key ingredient for it, so...” Stiles gestured vaguely with a fresh shirt at a metaphorical pile of nothing they had to work with.

Scott continued to shovel food into his mouth. Werewolf appetite. “What do we need?”

“Something that belongs to Kira.” Scott’s brow furrowed. “Yeah, you didn’t happen to swing by her parents’ house and grab a sock or something, did you?”

Stiles was definitely being sarcastic as he pulled his shirt on, but by the time his head poked through the collar, Scott was already moving, putting his plate on the bedside table before scooting over to his backpack. “Not a sock, but…” He unzipped it and started tossing everything it held across the bed. There were still a lot of supplies from school in there, and Stiles realized just how slapdash this entire trip really was; Scott hadn’t even taken his iClicker out before he packed.

Finally he straightened and held up…

Actually Stiles had no idea what that was. A throwing star?

...a not very well done throwing star? It was kind of lumpy in places, and it didn’t look very sharp.

“It’s Kira’s first tail,” Scott explained, and Stiles’ hand froze where he’d been about to grab it. That sounded very personal and like random people shouldn’t be holding it. “She gave it to me before she left with the skinwalkers.”

Yep, definitely something to be careful with, and clearly she entrusted it to the right person if Scott had been carrying it with him for two years now.

Good thing he didn’t fly much, Stiles absently mused, because that would be tough to explain to TSA.

“That sounds like it would work much better than a sock,” Stiles admitted, then clapped enthusiastically. They finally had something to go on! No more directionless driving through the Mexican desert! “Okay, let’s find Kira!”

Luckily everything Stiles needed for Deaton’s tracking spell was in his little emergency supernatural pack in the bottom of his tiny trunk, so they didn’t have to go hunt any obscure ingredients down. He was only just starting to learn anything that wasn’t mountain ash, and it was slow going since his teacher was on the other side of the country for eight months of the year, but Deaton assured him this one was easy and wouldn’t have any negative side effects.

Well, maybe a sort of internal compass tuned to Kira for a month or two, but that would fade.

No excuse not to do it, unfortunately.

“Okay,” Stiles breathed, bracing himself. In one hand he held Kira’s tail, in the other, his coffee mug now filled with hot murky water with herbs and powdery residue floating in it. It looked like swamp water he scooped up after sitting in the sun for a week.

He had to drink all of it. It was very unfortunate.

“Want me to hold your nose for you?” Scott asked, face twisted up at the concoction. A single bubble chose that moment to breach the surface with an unattractive bloorp.

“Just clear a path to the toilet.” Stiles’ gag reflex was already doing warmup stretches.

Scott nodded, stepped to the side, and patted his shoulder in silent support. He’d already filled his mug with water from the sink to wash it down, ready and waiting.

Stiles took a deep breath, then another because he still wasn’t ready, said fuck it, and downed as much of it in one go as he could.

Think of Kira, think of Kira—

He swallowed and then gagged violently, trying not to let any come back up.

“Holy God, why is it spicy?” It was like six different hot sauces mixed together with a dash of ghost pepper, and his vision was going blurry with tears. Hopefully it was just the tears and it wasn’t actually making him go blind.

Scott shrugged a little hysterically, looking equal parts concerned and disgusted, hands hovering to do...something.

“Just a little bit more,” he said sympathetically while Stiles alternated between breathing through his mouth to avoid the taste and smell and burn, and through his nose to try to avoid vomiting.

Magic was the worst. He couldn’t wait to go back to DC.

“Dude, just get it over with,” Scott advised when Stiles couldn’t stop staring at the last swallow in the mug. Now he could see the herbs poking out of the surface, the bit of ash twig, and if he tipped it to the side, he could see more sludge gathered at the bottom. His jaw quivered like it wanted to fall off in protest, probably his taste buds trying to make a break for it.

He took another deep breath, forced down another gag, and tipped the rest back.

It was like hot, watery fire sand, and this time, a little bit came back up.

Scott took the empty mug from his hand and replaced it with the cup of water, already tugging him towards the bathroom sink. Stiles just went where he was led, his eyes were too full of painful tears to actually see where he was going.

“Rinse and spit,” Scott murmured, rubbing his back while he gagged over the sink. “Just rinse and spit.”

It took another hour and a massive pile of rice from the restaurant for the taste and burn to finally fade from his mouth, and by that point, it was almost time to check out of the motel. Which sucked, because even though Stiles forced down food, his stomach was still very not happy with the way it’d been treated and he wasn’t sure how it would take to motion.

That’s normal, Deaton assured them when Scott called to panic, it’ll go away in a few hours. But you should start to feel the effects shortly.

Ever since, Scott had been sitting on the edge of his bed, staring intensely at Stiles like he could drop dead at any second. Stiles was curled up in his bed wanting to die.

“‘Bout ready to get back on the road?” Scott asked carefully, a little impatiently, to be honest, but he’d been resisting the question for an hour. It was impressive restraint when Kira was on the line.

“Yep,” Stiles croaked. He burped and more fumes singed at the hairs in his nose. “Maybe.”

“Feeling anything yet?” At Stiles’ pointed glare, he added with an eyeroll, “Besides an inferno of a thousand suns in your stomach.”

“Don’t know yet.” Stiles pushed himself up carefully, testing the waters. When nothing tried to make a reappearance, he waved a hand towards the throwing star on Scott’s bed. “Hand me the thing.”

Scott did so, and Stiles stared at it for a long, anxious minute of silence, aside from the floor creaking softly under Scott’s nervously jiggling leg.

“Well?” He finally broke. “Any idea where Kira is?”

Stiles continued to stare at the tail in his palm, trying to process what he was feeling. There was a tingling that was a little concerning, a little warmth, but mainly a...pull. It was like a tug along his thumb, and when he let his hand move in that direction, it shifted up into his fingertips.

“I think she’s that way,” he answered, nodding towards the wall. “This is so weird.”

“So cool,” Scott breathed, then clapped him on the shoulder—in excitement, this time. He was already up and packing everything back into their bags. “Let’s go find her! I’ll buy you any snacks you want to get that taste out of your mouth —anything!”

Stiles wanted zero snacks right then. All he wanted was a very cold drink. Milk, that was good for spicy stuff, right? He could really go for some milk.

“I wanna try real horchata!” He demanded, a little petulantly, but he’d been through a gastrointestinal trauma. Something cold and milky sounded perfect. That, and a lifetime of Scott snubbing every drink of horchata they managed to find in northern California had made Stiles a little bit bitter. He needed to try this magical drink of wonder that Scott claimed was garbage in the US, and see for himself.

“Real horchata!” Scott echoed, pretty much already out the door. “Done!”

Back on the road, Scott drove while Stiles sat in the passenger seat, holding Kira’s tail, focused on feeling any minute changes in direction. She seemed to be somewhere to the west, which meant they had to leave the highway and take back roads that snaked around small mountains and met at intersections with nothing nearby.

It wasn’t very exciting, actually. There were parts where the scenery was nice to look at, some cool colors and weird looking plants, but for the most part, it was a lot of flat brown. Very little to hold Stiles’ attention.

Two hours into their desert trek, that changed.

“Dude.” He slapped Scott’s arm and held out his hand, where Kira’s tail had started vibrating and spinning wildly, getting hotter and hotter from the friction.

Scott glanced over, and did a double take. “What the hell? What does that mean?”

“I don’t know, Deaton didn’t—ah!” One of the blades sliced his palm and Stiles dropped it to the floor where it started to spin even faster.

They both stared down at it, then up at his palm. His hand was red, raw where the stone had been spinning, and it felt like it had been burned.

“You okay?” Scott asked, slowing down the car to pull over. The highway was empty around them, but better safe than sorry.

Stiles looked a little closer. “I think so.” Aside from the cut just starting to well up and the residual heat, nothing felt too bad. He looked back down at Kira’s tail, still spinning wildly. “This feels like a bad sign.”

“Does that mean we’re close or did something happen to her?”

“Let’s go with close.” Stiles looked around them, trying to see if there was anything nearby that could possibly have a Kira inside. “What about that?” He nodded towards the only thing in sight: a low, one-level building with a parking lot a little further down the road. He couldn’t tell what it was with all the signs in Spanish, but he recognized the Coca-Cola logo standing proud at its entrance.

Scott squinted at it, probably with his alpha eyes. “Worth a shot.” He quickly dug out a couple napkins for Stiles to press against his palm, and started driving again.

They pulled into the dusty and sparsely occupied lot, Scott turned off the car, and they sat in silence for a minute, staring at Kira’s tail, which had stopped all movement completely. It was supernaturally still.

“So...is this the place?” Scott wondered aloud, and they both looked up at the building in front of them. It was painted a cheery red around its big windows, with planters out front full of flowers. It certainly didn’t look like a sinister hunter hideout where they would keep supernatural creatures prisoner, but hunters could be tricky. The Argents kept Boyd and Erica in a basement in suburbia, after all.

As they stared at the building, the door opened, and a family with two small children walked out speaking quick, enthusiastic, and happy Spanish. No fear or darkness to be seen, none of the usual ominous feelings that came with hunters.

If this was a hunter cover, it was a good one.

“It’s just a restaurant,” Scott said, and gestured back where the family was pulling out of the parking lot and back onto the highway. “They stopped for lunch on a road trip.”

“Seriously?” Stiles muttered to himself, Scott, Kira’s throwing star, and the universe around them.

Deaton’s big idea was stupid. This entire trip was stupid. His burning hand was stupid. Kira probably wasn’t even in Mexico anymore.

They looked at each other, Scott shrugged, said, “I am kind of starving,” and they climbed out.

Stiles should be starving, it’d been a few hours since he last ate, but his stomach was still feeling a little tenderized and unsure of food. Still, he followed Scott inside.

And walked right into his back when he stopped abruptly, bouncing off solid werewolf muscle and back into the door.

“Dude.”

“Kira,” Scott breathed, and Stiles had to shove his way past before he noticed her too. Sitting at a booth by herself, hair pulled back in braids, her sword casually propped up next to her with a bag. As if it were totally normal for a teenage girl to be hanging out in Mexico with a sword.

She was not in any kind of visible distress or danger.

She hadn’t even noticed them yet, focused completely on her meal, shoveling rice into her mouth. She only stopped to take a sip of her drink, which seemed to snap Scott out of whatever frozen shock he was in, and he speed-walked towards her.

“Kira!” Scott hissed, and practically dove into the booth across from her.

She almost spat her drink out, slapping her palm over her mouth. Her eyes widened with shock, and it took a long second for the realization to sink in, then they got evey wider. Finally, she swallowed and beamed.

“Oh my god, Scott! Stiles!” She shoved her plate to the side. “What are you guys doing here?” Her smile dropped. “Wait no, it’s nothing bad is it? Is everything okay? Is Lydia alright? What about Malia?”

Stiles blinked at the onslaught of questions, and realized that his professors must feel the exact same way with him in their class.

Used to being around both Stiles and Kira, Scott recovered faster, mostly. Kind of. He really just said haltingly, “You’re...okay.”

Kira stared back at them for a second, tried a shy, uncertain smile for a second, then frowned, also uncertainly. “Was I not supposed to be?”

Stiles glanced at Scott, who glanced back looking bewildered. He opened his mouth, closed it, then,

“You...blasted the pack symbol into a wheat field two hundred miles south of Beacon Hills.”

Kira’s mouth dropped in shock, her eyes widened, and Stiles just nodded when she looked at him like she couldn’t believe it.

“I what?”

“Yeah, it made the news,” Scott continued. “We thought you were trying to get our attention.”

She shifted somewhat awkwardly. “Well not that I’m not happy to see you guys, because I really am, but I’ve actually been fine? I’ve been...traveling.” She shrugged like she knew exactly how anticlimactic that was.

“Traveling,” Stiles repeated faintly. They’d driven over twenty hours to save her, he drank liquid fire sludge, and she’d just been...traveling.

He leaned forward to give her a proper look, pushing an empty plate with the remains of a meal out of the way. Kira’s appetite, while already impressive, had apparently flourished during her time in Mexico, because there were like five plates across the table, all polished off.

“Then what the hell is with the wheat death rings?”

She smiled guiltily. “I’m still not always in control. But I’m working on it! I’ve got help!”

Scott took over the next point of confusion. “I thought the skinwalkers were helping you.”

“They were! Kind of. They just,” she shrugged again, “had some ways of doing things I didn’t agree with.”

Stiles frowned. “Wait, then who’s helping you now?”

“That would be me,” a new voice said right behind them, and Stiles yelped as he flailed around.

And then flailed a little more, because,

“Derek?” Scott sounded surprised. Stiles sounded like nothing, because he was too shocked to do anything other than stare with his mouth hanging open.

Derek Hale was standing three feet away from him, fully bearded and alive, eyebrows raised in that slightly mocking way, and Stiles was having heart palpitations.

“Dude, what are you doing here?” Scott’s voice asked from somewhere distant and off to the left, and Kira might’ve said something in response, but Stiles had an unexpected tunnel vision problem for only Derek.

And tunnel hearing.

And every other possible sense.

There was a lot happening in his mind, he couldn’t be expected to process everything.

“You guys hungry?” Derek asked as he moved around to the other side of the table, and slid into the booth next to Kira.

“Starving!” Scott answered like there was nothing odd about this at all, finding Derek and Kira hanging out in the middle of the desert in Sonora when they hadn’t heard a peep from them in two years. Stiles was still gaping, and his eyes were starting to dry out a little bit.

A waitress came over, and Scott and Derek both ordered in Spanish—and god, Stiles had forgotten that Derek spoke Spanish—but Stiles couldn’t get his brain to calm down enough to even think about what he wanted to eat. His stomach was dead last on the list of relevant things to consider.

Derek turned back to him, still with those slightly mocking eyebrows and a tiny grin and his stupid, full beard, and said, “You okay, Stiles?”

It was like hearing his name from that mouth flipped a switch, because suddenly Stiles had zero problem blinking or reacting or angrily flailing.

“What the hell, Derek?” He hissed, flapping his hands at the guy’s stupid, bearded face, and winced when his still very raw and very cut palm didn’t appreciate it. “What the hell are you doing here? Why are you with Kira? You guys couldn’t send a text in the last two years?”

The outburst didn’t faze Derek in the least, but Kira looked surprised. “I didn’t want to get your hopes up about me coming back before I was in control. And besides, I figured you guys were off at college doing college-y things, and I mean, you are, right?”

Scott nodded for both of them. “I’m at Davis, he’s at George Washington.”

Kira beamed even harder with so much genuine happiness it warmed even Stiles’ indignant and cynical heart. She was practically vibrating with excitement. “You got into Davis! I knew you would. Animal science?”

“Yeah, I haven’t declared yet,” Scott said with a dopey blush as if they hadn’t been dating, “but I’ve loved the prereqs I’ve taken.”

The lovesick and smitten gleam in their eyes had Stiles wondering how they’d managed to survive apart for two years. They were totally and completely lost in each other’s eyes, and Derek and Stiles might as well have been potted plants. Fake potted plants, so they wouldn’t even have to worry about watering them. Nothing that would distract them from each other.

He rolled his eyes, only half annoyed at it all. He was mostly just happy that this had all turned out so well; no death, no big rescue, no danger, no heartbreak.

“George Washington, huh?” Derek’s voice drew his attention back across the table, where he was looking at Stiles intently, like there was nowhere else he’d rather look. Total focus, which was still something of a novelty for Stiles.

“Um, yeah, they’ve got a good FBI internship program, and I got a pretty good scholarship.”

Derek raised his eyebrows, but there was no judgment behind them. “FBI?”

“Eventually.” Stiles shrugged. “Maybe, yeah.”

Usually when he told people his career goals, he got a lot of doubtfully raised eyebrows, like he just told them he wanted to join the CIA to be an international man of mystery. As if it were a fictional career that only happened in movies. But Derek looked genuinely interested and there was no surprise in his expression.

“Any ideas on majors yet?”

Wow, Stiles was already so sick of that question. “Right now I’m thinking International Affairs and Arabic.”

Derek’s raised eyebrows lowered a little in surprise. “Arabic?” And then he added in Arabic, the bastard, “it’s a beautiful language.”

Stiles glared without any heat behind it. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. How many languages do you even speak?”

Derek smirked and said vaguely, “Enough. I’m still working on Arabic.”

“Still wo—” Stiles’ eye twitched and he had to tamp down his initial demand of and you couldn’t call while learning Arabic? Instead he went with the much more mature, calm, admittedly passive aggressive: “So you’ve been, what, learning Arabic for two freaking years?”

Maybe not that passive.

“Among other things,” Derek said with a head dip to the side.

Stiles waved his hand in a motion that very clearly said get on with it and tell me literally everything, but Derek’s attention was—infuriatingly—pulled away when their server returned with a few plates and set them down in front of Scott. And Stiles was very surprised when a burrito was placed down in front of him, followed by a side of rice and beans.

“Wait, what?”

“Derek ordered for you,” Scott explained, already digging into his food. “You looked a little too shellshocked to say anything.”

Stiles sputtered indignantly. “Well yeah, he came out of nowhere!” He threw an arm towards Derek across the table and then squinted at him. “Seriously, why are you two even together? How?”

His stomach went a little heavy as his brain caught up with his question. Were they together? It would certainly be unexpected, but stranger things had happened—Kira sent a dude to hell and Stiles sat in a ghost train station for three months. And they were traveling together through Mexico, after all, that wasn’t really a we’re only friends kind of activity.

Derek smirked like he knew exactly what Stiles was thinking. “I kept hearing about strange lightning in the area when there weren’t any storms, so I decided to check on it.” He looked pointedly at Kira, who blushed. “Found her trying to hitchhike in the middle of the desert with a sword and a sunburn.”

“He’s been helping me work on the whole lightning thing,” she explained. “I just can’t always control it with certain emotions. Like missing my pack,” she added with a sad smile at Scott.

Screw love letters, true love was blasting your boyfriend’s tattoo into someone’s livelihood 900 miles away. Not that Stiles would ever say it like that to Kira, she looked guilty enough about it.

He would mention the whole magical tracking thing though, that seemed like the kind of thing to divulge. Even sitting across the table from her, he could feel the pull to be even closer, and it was weirding him out. Totally worth it, even with the fire stomach, but—

“Wait, do they have horchata here?” Stiles asked, suddenly remembering Scott’s offer. “You totally owe me, dude.” He looked around the table for a drink menu of some kind, then around the restaurant for any kind of sign.

“No, not here,” Derek answered, “but I do know a place with great horchata. It’s in Puerto Peñasco.”

Stiles had no idea where that was, and that was of exactly zero help at the moment. At least until Kira jumped in eagerly, all sadness forgotten in a second.

“It’s only a few hours north of here, on the coast. And you guys can head back up to California from there.”

She sounded and looked so hopeful, biting her lip nervously, there was no way they could say no. And also, the whole spending more time with Derek thing was definitely not a downside by any means. It was actually like eighty percent of the reason Stiles kicked Scott under the table to say yes, because he had so many questions.

Derek was going to be so sick of him by the time he and Scott left, because he had a laundry list of late night questions ready and typed up on his phone, just waiting for the right opportunity.

Scott knew this, and like the ultimate bro he was, he agreed enthusiastically as if his shin was totally fine.

Kira’s face had previously looked to be at smile capacity before, but somehow her smile managed to widen. Even Derek looked pleased.

“Great,” he said, catching Stiles’ eye and holding it. “You can drive with me.”