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tamingthemuseTitle: frontier [1/?] (tentative)
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Prompt: 487 - crucifix
Warnings: Some kind of bastardized western/ABO hybrid AU. (I don’t know. I blame my recent binge of Hell on Wheels 5A.) Will be Derek/Stiles.
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~1080
Summary: Derek starts the journey home after the war between the Supernaturals and the Hunters. He meets Stiles in a barn where he seeks refuge from the cold and the rain.
Disclaimer: It’s all lies and I own nothing.
-- = --
The war took Derek Hale as far east as the Mississippi. He’d ridden in a wagon with his father and two brothers—one older, one younger—from their home in the foothills of Northern California, up to Oregon, then across the Rockies on the Oregon Trail. The trip had been long and harrowing, wrought with sleepless nights in the cold, threats from mountain lions or bison or Hunters, but it had been spent with family and that had made up for anything else. For two weeks they’d lived in a camp in Missouri, with other werewolves and supernatural creatures and their human allies, while they waited to hear word on the Hunters’ movements. The first battle they saw was a siege, the Hunters surrounding the camp with help from a darach to trap them all inside, and Derek’s youngest brother, Benjamin, was taken by a poisoned arrow. Derek, his father, and his brother Samuel managed to escape with a third of the camp, though, not without injury.
Not one of them had ever seen war—they all lived peaceful lives outside the small community of Beacon Hills, ranching and farming—and each battle was bloodier than the last, was like Hell on Earth, but it was a war that needed to be fought. After three years, many Hunters had fled back to Europe, the remaining few factions reaching an accord with the alphas of the most influential packs, finally bringing the war to an end. In one of the last skirmishes, Derek lost his father, had taken his hand-hewn coffin back to Missouri to be buried next to Benjamin. He’d been separated from Samuel the year prior, but they’d known it was a possibility and had made a plan to reunite back in Beacon Hills if they survived.
Derek took a train as far west as he could, disembarking in Laramie and buying the best horse he could afford with what little he’d managed to earn working odd jobs in the wake of the war. He’d then purchased supplies from the general store and, with money still left in his pocket, followed the Oregon Trail north.
A week’s travel found him no further than Casper. There were at least a few good days of weather left before the frigid rains turned to snow and left the mountain passes too dangerous to attempt, so Derek pressed on, finally stopping outside a frontier town when the temperatures at night made it unbearable to sleep in his tent. It was pouring rain when he stopped in the saloon looking for a bed and a meal, and a place to stable his horse. He found a decent hot meal and a warm pint of beer at the saloon, but was turned down the road for an inn where he would likely find a bed for himself and a stable for his horse. Derek ate but didn’t dally, as much as he’d have liked to dry out at least a little, and found himself back out in the freezing rain, following the barkeep’s directions past the church with its leaning cross and taking a right at the apothecary. After a mile or so, he found the lane for the inn. The inn sat atop a hill and had few windows lit at that hour of evening. Between the weather and what the rain had done to the trail up to the house, Derek followed the lane along even ground to the barn beyond the house, at the base of the hill. He figured he could at least bed up for the night and wait for the rain to end then head up to the inn in the morning.
Of course, Derek hadn’t counted on anyone else being in the barn so he was surprised to find that there was a boy—surely a boy, for he looked all of twelve with his round face and soft eyes—huddled amongst the goats, who startled when Derek flung open the door with a gust of wind and a spray of rain. “Sorry,” Derek apologized, one hand gentling his horse while the other he showed to the boy, palm-out, placating, showing he meant no harm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. The barkeep at the saloon pointed me towards the inn but I fear the weather has made the walk up the hill almost impossible.”
Slowly, the boy climbed up from his place between two goats, worn quilt held tightly over his shoulders, reaching for his lantern as he approached Derek. “The stall on the end is empty,” he said, voice deeper than Derek had expected, passing the lantern over. “The hay is fresh. I’ll fetch you a feedbag of oats.”
As the boy shuffled past him, Derek caught his scent—under the pungent odor of the goats was something sweeter, like grass and lavender, that made Derek think of the sun drenched meadows around the farm and fields of his family’s ranch. The boy smelled of home and something else, something muskier that stirred Derek in ways no other had in many years.
The boy sidled up behind him as Derek was wiping the horse down, feedbag in one hand and a dry blanket in the other.
“Thank you.” Derek tried not to let his gaze linger as the boy laid the blanket over the horse’s back and scratched along her neck.
“You’re welcome. I’ll take you up to Miss Kate first thing in the morning, once the rain stops.” At the rumble of thunder that rattled the door he amended, “If it stops.” He reached for the lantern that hung from a hook just outside the stall, eyes never leaving Derek’s face. “The rest of the stalls are full, but there’s room with me and the goats, if you don’t mind. It’s warmer and it doesn’t take long to get used to the smell.”
The last thing Derek needed was to get used to the boy’s smell, but he nodded and followed him back to the pen with the goats. He felt the boy’s eyes on him as he quickly stripped out of his wet clothes and into a dry shirt and britches from his pack, fetching his damp blanket and settling in the hay on the other side of the pen.
After the long day of riding in poor weather, it wasn’t long before Derek felt the pull of sleep. As he was starting to slip under, he realized that he’d forgotten to ask the boy’s name.
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Prompt: 487 - crucifix
Warnings: Some kind of bastardized western/ABO hybrid AU. (I don’t know. I blame my recent binge of Hell on Wheels 5A.) Will be Derek/Stiles.
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~1080
Summary: Derek starts the journey home after the war between the Supernaturals and the Hunters. He meets Stiles in a barn where he seeks refuge from the cold and the rain.
Disclaimer: It’s all lies and I own nothing.
The war took Derek Hale as far east as the Mississippi. He’d ridden in a wagon with his father and two brothers—one older, one younger—from their home in the foothills of Northern California, up to Oregon, then across the Rockies on the Oregon Trail. The trip had been long and harrowing, wrought with sleepless nights in the cold, threats from mountain lions or bison or Hunters, but it had been spent with family and that had made up for anything else. For two weeks they’d lived in a camp in Missouri, with other werewolves and supernatural creatures and their human allies, while they waited to hear word on the Hunters’ movements. The first battle they saw was a siege, the Hunters surrounding the camp with help from a darach to trap them all inside, and Derek’s youngest brother, Benjamin, was taken by a poisoned arrow. Derek, his father, and his brother Samuel managed to escape with a third of the camp, though, not without injury.
Not one of them had ever seen war—they all lived peaceful lives outside the small community of Beacon Hills, ranching and farming—and each battle was bloodier than the last, was like Hell on Earth, but it was a war that needed to be fought. After three years, many Hunters had fled back to Europe, the remaining few factions reaching an accord with the alphas of the most influential packs, finally bringing the war to an end. In one of the last skirmishes, Derek lost his father, had taken his hand-hewn coffin back to Missouri to be buried next to Benjamin. He’d been separated from Samuel the year prior, but they’d known it was a possibility and had made a plan to reunite back in Beacon Hills if they survived.
Derek took a train as far west as he could, disembarking in Laramie and buying the best horse he could afford with what little he’d managed to earn working odd jobs in the wake of the war. He’d then purchased supplies from the general store and, with money still left in his pocket, followed the Oregon Trail north.
A week’s travel found him no further than Casper. There were at least a few good days of weather left before the frigid rains turned to snow and left the mountain passes too dangerous to attempt, so Derek pressed on, finally stopping outside a frontier town when the temperatures at night made it unbearable to sleep in his tent. It was pouring rain when he stopped in the saloon looking for a bed and a meal, and a place to stable his horse. He found a decent hot meal and a warm pint of beer at the saloon, but was turned down the road for an inn where he would likely find a bed for himself and a stable for his horse. Derek ate but didn’t dally, as much as he’d have liked to dry out at least a little, and found himself back out in the freezing rain, following the barkeep’s directions past the church with its leaning cross and taking a right at the apothecary. After a mile or so, he found the lane for the inn. The inn sat atop a hill and had few windows lit at that hour of evening. Between the weather and what the rain had done to the trail up to the house, Derek followed the lane along even ground to the barn beyond the house, at the base of the hill. He figured he could at least bed up for the night and wait for the rain to end then head up to the inn in the morning.
Of course, Derek hadn’t counted on anyone else being in the barn so he was surprised to find that there was a boy—surely a boy, for he looked all of twelve with his round face and soft eyes—huddled amongst the goats, who startled when Derek flung open the door with a gust of wind and a spray of rain. “Sorry,” Derek apologized, one hand gentling his horse while the other he showed to the boy, palm-out, placating, showing he meant no harm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. The barkeep at the saloon pointed me towards the inn but I fear the weather has made the walk up the hill almost impossible.”
Slowly, the boy climbed up from his place between two goats, worn quilt held tightly over his shoulders, reaching for his lantern as he approached Derek. “The stall on the end is empty,” he said, voice deeper than Derek had expected, passing the lantern over. “The hay is fresh. I’ll fetch you a feedbag of oats.”
As the boy shuffled past him, Derek caught his scent—under the pungent odor of the goats was something sweeter, like grass and lavender, that made Derek think of the sun drenched meadows around the farm and fields of his family’s ranch. The boy smelled of home and something else, something muskier that stirred Derek in ways no other had in many years.
The boy sidled up behind him as Derek was wiping the horse down, feedbag in one hand and a dry blanket in the other.
“Thank you.” Derek tried not to let his gaze linger as the boy laid the blanket over the horse’s back and scratched along her neck.
“You’re welcome. I’ll take you up to Miss Kate first thing in the morning, once the rain stops.” At the rumble of thunder that rattled the door he amended, “If it stops.” He reached for the lantern that hung from a hook just outside the stall, eyes never leaving Derek’s face. “The rest of the stalls are full, but there’s room with me and the goats, if you don’t mind. It’s warmer and it doesn’t take long to get used to the smell.”
The last thing Derek needed was to get used to the boy’s smell, but he nodded and followed him back to the pen with the goats. He felt the boy’s eyes on him as he quickly stripped out of his wet clothes and into a dry shirt and britches from his pack, fetching his damp blanket and settling in the hay on the other side of the pen.
After the long day of riding in poor weather, it wasn’t long before Derek felt the pull of sleep. As he was starting to slip under, he realized that he’d forgotten to ask the boy’s name.
