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tamingthemuseTitle: after the war [1/?]
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Prompt: 480 - home soil
Warnings: AU (some kind of not-quite post-apocalyptic, slightly militaristic, maybe in-the-future, werewolves-become-known I don’t know). Derek/Stiles, with background Erica/Boyd and Scott/Allison.
Rating: PG (for now)
Word Count: ~700
Summary: Derek and his team return to camp to find that there’s a threat lurking beyond their gates—and Stiles is out there somewhere with it.
Disclaimer: It’s all lies and I own nothing.
A/N: Title is tentative. And god knows I need another WIP like a need another hole in the head, but this was the first thing that came to mind when faced with this week's prompt. so.
-- = --
The sunrise was barely a smudge of color on the horizon when Derek’s team returned to camp. When the perimeter gate closed with a heavy clunk, Derek finally let himself relax. He watched the tension seep out of Lahey’s shoulders in front of him, glanced behind himself to see Boyd’s loosened strides and Reyes snugged up under his arm. After a two-month scouting mission to the north, it was nice to be back on their home soil.
Derek had been dreaming about a decent shower and a full night’s sleep in his own bed for weeks. Once they were debriefed, that was exactly what he intended to do. Maybe eat something that wasn’t hardtack, jerky, foraged berries, or some small, gamey woodland creature. But a shower and his bed… that was all he really wanted.
Lahey held open the door to the camp’s command center and let Derek enter ahead of him. It was surprising to see the building so brightly lit so early in the morning, but anything could’ve happened in the time they’d been gone. Down the hall, in the largest room used for mission planning and team assemblies, Sheriff Stilinski stood over the tactical map on the table against the far wall with three of his highest ranking officers. The group turned in tandem at the sound of Derek and his team entering the room. They didn’t seem any less tense.
Derek strode towards the sheriff. “Sir. What’s going on?”
“Eleven days ago we received word of an omega prowling around Beacon Hill and we sent out a team,” Stilinski said, face blank save for the stress lines around his eyes and the dark circles beneath them. “Argent and his men arrived the day after to alert us that what we believed to be an omega was actually the primary scout for an alpha pack.”
“Which team did you send out?” Derek asked, noting the sudden spike of sourness to the sheriff’s scent.
“Based on our intel, we determined the threat was minimal,” Stilinski said. The blank look on his face wavered as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I sent Stiles.”
Derek felt his stomach drop. He and Stiles weren’t on the best of terms before Derek had accepted his most recent assignment. By the time he’d left, Stiles had mostly been avoiding him; they hadn’t even said goodbye. “Ten days ago? And he—his team still hasn’t returned?”
“No. When they failed to return after two days, Argent and his team headed out to their approximate location but reported back that there were obvious signs of some kind of confrontation. We’ve sent out two additional teams but they’ve had no luck locating Stiles’ team or the alpha pack.”
Derek glanced at his weary team—the closest thing he’s had to a pack since he lost his family at the start of the war—Boyd and Reyes both nodded at him and Isaac looked as anxious to leave as Derek felt. “We’ll go.”
“You just got back,” the sheriff said with a shake of his head. “You need to be debriefed and you need to rest.”
“Then we’ll leave at sundown—”
Stilinski didn’t look like he wanted to argue, but he did nonetheless. “If you go after Stiles and his team, you will not leave this camp until tomorrow morning.”
“Sir—”
“That’s an order. Your team needs rest. You’ve been in the field for two months, you need time to decompress.”
Derek recognized the stubborn set of the sheriff’s face—he’d seen it often enough on Stiles—and knew better than to try to convince the man otherwise. Instead, he nodded and straightened his spine, held his shoulders back. “I’m ready for debriefing, sir.”
Stilinski sighed. “Very well. Parrish, if you’d kindly see to Hale and his team’s debriefing.”
Parrish immediately appeared at the sheriff’s side, standing at attention. “Yes, sir.”
Derek offered Stilinski a nod as he followed Parrish out into the hall. He led his team into one of the interrogation rooms and waited for Parrish to join them before taking a seat at the table and drawing his book of field notes from his satchel. “Where should I begin?”
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Prompt: 480 - home soil
Warnings: AU (some kind of not-quite post-apocalyptic, slightly militaristic, maybe in-the-future, werewolves-become-known I don’t know). Derek/Stiles, with background Erica/Boyd and Scott/Allison.
Rating: PG (for now)
Word Count: ~700
Summary: Derek and his team return to camp to find that there’s a threat lurking beyond their gates—and Stiles is out there somewhere with it.
Disclaimer: It’s all lies and I own nothing.
A/N: Title is tentative. And god knows I need another WIP like a need another hole in the head, but this was the first thing that came to mind when faced with this week's prompt. so.
The sunrise was barely a smudge of color on the horizon when Derek’s team returned to camp. When the perimeter gate closed with a heavy clunk, Derek finally let himself relax. He watched the tension seep out of Lahey’s shoulders in front of him, glanced behind himself to see Boyd’s loosened strides and Reyes snugged up under his arm. After a two-month scouting mission to the north, it was nice to be back on their home soil.
Derek had been dreaming about a decent shower and a full night’s sleep in his own bed for weeks. Once they were debriefed, that was exactly what he intended to do. Maybe eat something that wasn’t hardtack, jerky, foraged berries, or some small, gamey woodland creature. But a shower and his bed… that was all he really wanted.
Lahey held open the door to the camp’s command center and let Derek enter ahead of him. It was surprising to see the building so brightly lit so early in the morning, but anything could’ve happened in the time they’d been gone. Down the hall, in the largest room used for mission planning and team assemblies, Sheriff Stilinski stood over the tactical map on the table against the far wall with three of his highest ranking officers. The group turned in tandem at the sound of Derek and his team entering the room. They didn’t seem any less tense.
Derek strode towards the sheriff. “Sir. What’s going on?”
“Eleven days ago we received word of an omega prowling around Beacon Hill and we sent out a team,” Stilinski said, face blank save for the stress lines around his eyes and the dark circles beneath them. “Argent and his men arrived the day after to alert us that what we believed to be an omega was actually the primary scout for an alpha pack.”
“Which team did you send out?” Derek asked, noting the sudden spike of sourness to the sheriff’s scent.
“Based on our intel, we determined the threat was minimal,” Stilinski said. The blank look on his face wavered as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I sent Stiles.”
Derek felt his stomach drop. He and Stiles weren’t on the best of terms before Derek had accepted his most recent assignment. By the time he’d left, Stiles had mostly been avoiding him; they hadn’t even said goodbye. “Ten days ago? And he—his team still hasn’t returned?”
“No. When they failed to return after two days, Argent and his team headed out to their approximate location but reported back that there were obvious signs of some kind of confrontation. We’ve sent out two additional teams but they’ve had no luck locating Stiles’ team or the alpha pack.”
Derek glanced at his weary team—the closest thing he’s had to a pack since he lost his family at the start of the war—Boyd and Reyes both nodded at him and Isaac looked as anxious to leave as Derek felt. “We’ll go.”
“You just got back,” the sheriff said with a shake of his head. “You need to be debriefed and you need to rest.”
“Then we’ll leave at sundown—”
Stilinski didn’t look like he wanted to argue, but he did nonetheless. “If you go after Stiles and his team, you will not leave this camp until tomorrow morning.”
“Sir—”
“That’s an order. Your team needs rest. You’ve been in the field for two months, you need time to decompress.”
Derek recognized the stubborn set of the sheriff’s face—he’d seen it often enough on Stiles—and knew better than to try to convince the man otherwise. Instead, he nodded and straightened his spine, held his shoulders back. “I’m ready for debriefing, sir.”
Stilinski sighed. “Very well. Parrish, if you’d kindly see to Hale and his team’s debriefing.”
Parrish immediately appeared at the sheriff’s side, standing at attention. “Yes, sir.”
Derek offered Stilinski a nod as he followed Parrish out into the hall. He led his team into one of the interrogation rooms and waited for Parrish to join them before taking a seat at the table and drawing his book of field notes from his satchel. “Where should I begin?”
