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tamingthemuseTitle: after the war [4/?]
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Prompt: 491 - guerrilla tactics
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-13
Word Count: ~870
Summary: Derek and his team are on Stiles’ team’s trail.
Disclaimer: It’s all lies and I own nothing.
-- = --
Argent’s map led them down an old highway that was overgrown, asphalt cracked and shifted to the point it was unpassable by any kind of vehicle. Derek and his modified team stuck to the tree lines and heavy brush that mostly hid them from view. As nightfall approached, they came upon the area Argent had marked on his map in red—it was where he and his team believed Stiles’ had last been, where they’d been ambushed.
They’d left the highway a couple miles back, taken a gravel access road that was dotted with abandoned farms. Two miles down the road there was a cluster of buildings, one of which still stood mostly in tact. “Do you smell that?” Lahey asked, sweeping the beam of his flashlight along the base of the structure as they approached. Just underneath the typical, expected scents—grass, dirt, wild animals, and rotting wood—there was Stiles, McCall, Argent’s daughter, Whittemore, Mahealani, and Dunbar. There was wolfsbane and gunpowder, blood, fear, other wolves. There was death, and it was fairly recent, within the last week. Derek couldn’t determine whose with all the other scents muddling it.
“What?” Argent asked, taking a deep breath himself.
“They were here,” Derek said for Argent and Parrish’s benefit—his team already knew what ever information this spot could give them using their own senses. “Their scents are at least a week old. They fired their weapons and they were definitely fighting werewolves. Someone died, but I couldn’t say who.”
Argent gritted his teeth and scanned their surroundings. “Can you track them?”
Derek and his team fanned out, trying to find the perimeter of the skirmish. Derek found older scents leading in from the opposite side of the access road, Stiles and his team.
“The wolves headed north,” Boyd said from near a trampled bunch of weeds that led off towards the denser woods. “There’s a lot of blood scent.”
“Their scent is heavy here,” Reyes said, poking her head into another building. “They were holed up here for a while.”
“Stilinski’s team went this way,” Lahey said from further down the access road. “Someone was definitely injured.”
There was a rumble of thunder in the distance. “We should track Stilinski’s team until the rain makes their scent trail impossible to follow,” Parrish proposed.
Argent nodded. “I agree.”
Lahey, Reyes, and Boyd also gave their subtle assent, Lahey leading them along the trail and closer to Stiles.
— = —
For nearly an hour and a half, they followed the scent trail before the heavy rains completely washed it away. Derek and his team sought refuge from the storm inside a large shed that was missing a wall and a half, but still had a decent roof. Lahey took first watch while Derek, Parrish, and Argent sat around the map and plotted possible courses Stiles’ team might have taken. There was a small town another five or so miles down the road that seemed a likely destination. But there was no telling how many farms stood along the way. Not to mention any other roads they might have come across. Also, if Derek remembered correctly, Dunbar was originally from the area. “Dunbar is familiar with the area, isn’t he?”
Parrish nodded. “It’s why the sheriff allowed him to go along with Stiles and his team.”
“Where was he from, exactly?”
“Weaverville, I think. Then Beacon Valley after that.” Parrish leaned over the map. “That’s about 15, 20 miles southwest of here.”
Argent tapped at the faded blue of Trinity Lake. “They’d try to stay near water.”
“Depending on what Dunbar remembers, they could be anywhere,” Derek said. “We have a long day ahead of us. “I’ll take watch with Lahey, then Boyd and Argent, and Reyes and Parrish.”
After everyone had bedded down in the driest spots beneath the in tact sections of roof, Derek headed outside into the rain and scented ahead a couple of miles, zig-zagging a path towards the village indicated on the map. There were a few buildings, but the scents that lingered were old and unfamiliar. Derek made his way further south before starting back towards camp. If Stiles’ team had headed for Weaverville, they would’ve passed through there. There wasn’t much by way of buildings or any kind of shelter, but the one small hut Derek found in his sweep stood empty, completely clear of anything that may have once occupied it. But Derek searched it nonetheless—Stiles was clever and had his tricks, ways of leaving his own version of breadcrumbs. There, near the corner of the south and west walls, were two small leaves. The could very well have been nothing, but the place was otherwise empty. And, with Allison being a daughter of a prominent hunting family, it was entirely possible that they had been able to mask their scents—the hut smelled of nothing but dust and damp. If the placement of the leaves was indeed a breadcrumb, Stiles and his team were headed southwest, just as Parrish had predicted. They could stick close to Trinity Lake or any other major water feature to appease Argent, but at least Derek had a definite idea of which direction to search in.
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Prompt: 491 - guerrilla tactics
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-13
Word Count: ~870
Summary: Derek and his team are on Stiles’ team’s trail.
Disclaimer: It’s all lies and I own nothing.
Argent’s map led them down an old highway that was overgrown, asphalt cracked and shifted to the point it was unpassable by any kind of vehicle. Derek and his modified team stuck to the tree lines and heavy brush that mostly hid them from view. As nightfall approached, they came upon the area Argent had marked on his map in red—it was where he and his team believed Stiles’ had last been, where they’d been ambushed.
They’d left the highway a couple miles back, taken a gravel access road that was dotted with abandoned farms. Two miles down the road there was a cluster of buildings, one of which still stood mostly in tact. “Do you smell that?” Lahey asked, sweeping the beam of his flashlight along the base of the structure as they approached. Just underneath the typical, expected scents—grass, dirt, wild animals, and rotting wood—there was Stiles, McCall, Argent’s daughter, Whittemore, Mahealani, and Dunbar. There was wolfsbane and gunpowder, blood, fear, other wolves. There was death, and it was fairly recent, within the last week. Derek couldn’t determine whose with all the other scents muddling it.
“What?” Argent asked, taking a deep breath himself.
“They were here,” Derek said for Argent and Parrish’s benefit—his team already knew what ever information this spot could give them using their own senses. “Their scents are at least a week old. They fired their weapons and they were definitely fighting werewolves. Someone died, but I couldn’t say who.”
Argent gritted his teeth and scanned their surroundings. “Can you track them?”
Derek and his team fanned out, trying to find the perimeter of the skirmish. Derek found older scents leading in from the opposite side of the access road, Stiles and his team.
“The wolves headed north,” Boyd said from near a trampled bunch of weeds that led off towards the denser woods. “There’s a lot of blood scent.”
“Their scent is heavy here,” Reyes said, poking her head into another building. “They were holed up here for a while.”
“Stilinski’s team went this way,” Lahey said from further down the access road. “Someone was definitely injured.”
There was a rumble of thunder in the distance. “We should track Stilinski’s team until the rain makes their scent trail impossible to follow,” Parrish proposed.
Argent nodded. “I agree.”
Lahey, Reyes, and Boyd also gave their subtle assent, Lahey leading them along the trail and closer to Stiles.
For nearly an hour and a half, they followed the scent trail before the heavy rains completely washed it away. Derek and his team sought refuge from the storm inside a large shed that was missing a wall and a half, but still had a decent roof. Lahey took first watch while Derek, Parrish, and Argent sat around the map and plotted possible courses Stiles’ team might have taken. There was a small town another five or so miles down the road that seemed a likely destination. But there was no telling how many farms stood along the way. Not to mention any other roads they might have come across. Also, if Derek remembered correctly, Dunbar was originally from the area. “Dunbar is familiar with the area, isn’t he?”
Parrish nodded. “It’s why the sheriff allowed him to go along with Stiles and his team.”
“Where was he from, exactly?”
“Weaverville, I think. Then Beacon Valley after that.” Parrish leaned over the map. “That’s about 15, 20 miles southwest of here.”
Argent tapped at the faded blue of Trinity Lake. “They’d try to stay near water.”
“Depending on what Dunbar remembers, they could be anywhere,” Derek said. “We have a long day ahead of us. “I’ll take watch with Lahey, then Boyd and Argent, and Reyes and Parrish.”
After everyone had bedded down in the driest spots beneath the in tact sections of roof, Derek headed outside into the rain and scented ahead a couple of miles, zig-zagging a path towards the village indicated on the map. There were a few buildings, but the scents that lingered were old and unfamiliar. Derek made his way further south before starting back towards camp. If Stiles’ team had headed for Weaverville, they would’ve passed through there. There wasn’t much by way of buildings or any kind of shelter, but the one small hut Derek found in his sweep stood empty, completely clear of anything that may have once occupied it. But Derek searched it nonetheless—Stiles was clever and had his tricks, ways of leaving his own version of breadcrumbs. There, near the corner of the south and west walls, were two small leaves. The could very well have been nothing, but the place was otherwise empty. And, with Allison being a daughter of a prominent hunting family, it was entirely possible that they had been able to mask their scents—the hut smelled of nothing but dust and damp. If the placement of the leaves was indeed a breadcrumb, Stiles and his team were headed southwest, just as Parrish had predicted. They could stick close to Trinity Lake or any other major water feature to appease Argent, but at least Derek had a definite idea of which direction to search in.
