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Caught My Eye

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Scott and Stiles get there first.  Mostly because Stiles has been kind of manic about the entire situation, dead-set on making this meeting happen.  A truce is way better than dealing with more dead bodies and a suspicious father who just so happens to be the Sheriff.

Still a bit belligerent, Scott drags his feet the entire way to the meeting point—a worn down, empty warehouse and Stiles wonder when his life became the setting to some supernatural drug deal.  Derek and his gaggle of pups show up not long after.  Stiles watches as his best friend and the Alpha shake hands, both a bit tense, but visibly agreeable.

Stiles takes it with a grain of salt.

“When are they supposed to arrive?” Derek asks.

“I told them nine,” Scott replies.

“And you told us eight.” Derek frowns, arms crossing over his chest.  “Why is that?”

Scott shrugs a shoulder.  “It’s what Stiles told me to do.”

All eyes fall on him, and Stiles clears his throat, shifting from foot to foot.  Derek looks accusing, angry, and for a moment Stiles think his entire plan is going to fall apart simply because he and Scott don’t have the best track record with Derek and his Pack.  Then Erica brushes by Derek pointedly, moving to Stiles’ side and slipping an arm around his shoulders.

Her fingers brush over his cheek where there is still a bruise, pressing to his side and smiling faintly.  Stiles shivers, and she knows as her gaze strays back over to where her Alpha is watching her wearily.

“He’s the one that convinced Chris Argent to let us go, Derek.” Erica says, and Scott looks down at his own feet with a frown; Stiles knows he’s still beating himself up about the whole Gerard thing.  “You really should trust him a little more.”

“Should I?”

“Yes,” Boyd replies for her.  “He risked himself for us. He’s more Pack than Scott is.”

“Guys, this really isn’t what we should be focusing on.” Stiles cuts in.

Isaac speaks up from Derek’s side.  “Then what should we be focusing on?”

The sliding door on the other side of the warehouse slams open with a groan of rusted metal.  Derek’s eyes flash an enraged red, and everyone’s postures drop into a defensive stance except for Stiles.  As the Alpha Pack enters, a low growl pitches from deep in Scott’s chest as the boy shuffles closer to Stiles.

“I believe you should be focusing on us,” Deucalion says, a disarming smile on his face.  “But that’s only a suggestion.”

Scott’s growl grows louder, and Stiles lays a gentle hand at his shoulder.  “Easy.”

“Oh, yes, easy Scottie. Down boy.”  Kali mocks from Deucalion’s right.  “Be good and you’ll get a treat—“

“Manners, darling.” Deucalion scolds.  “Play nice or don’t play at all.”

Derek is the first to smooth his hackles back down, striding forward with his jaw set.  “You’re early.”

“As are you,” Deucalion replies.  “Unless, of course, that was your intention.  To set a trap, perhaps?  Working with Hunters like that mutt your uncle created, Hale?”

Derek ignores the jibe, but Scott tenses further under Stiles’ hand.  “We’re here to make a deal, Deucalion.”

The man hums, expression disinterested.  “You’re right.  Here are my terms: surrender and we won’t kill each and every one of you.”

“Bullshit,” Stiles spits.


“No,” he cuts Derek off, moving closer; Scott straightens watching after him with a lopsided grin curling over his lips.  “That’s bullshit, and everyone here knows it.  So here are our terms: you and your Pack move on or not only will you have all of us to deal with, but you’ll also have to deal with Chris and Allison Argent—and the entirety of the Beacon Hills police force.  And before you go and brush the threat off, just know that with that many people gunning after your asses, you aren’t likely to survive.  No matter how human they may be.”

A silence falls over the warehouse.  Stiles’ jaw flexes as Deucalion’s gaze rakes over him.  The were inhales deep, taking a step forward, and Derek places himself between them before he can get any closer to Stiles.

Deucalion grins.  “That’s a bit unreasonable, don’t you think?”

“If you’re going to make outlandish demands, so am I—“

Stiles,” Derek growls—casting him a warning look, brow furrowed.

“Let him speak,” Deucalion insists.  “I like the sound of his voice.”

What—?” Derek’s glare snaps back over to the Alpha in front of him.

“You like the sound of it?” Stiles taunts, expression cold from over Derek’s shoulder.  “Well here’s the sound of me telling you to fuck off.”

Deucalion hums, eyes closing briefly like he’s pleased.  “I’d much rather fuck you.”

Words die on Stiles’ tongue.  His eyes go wide, cheeks flushing as his lips part.  A rumble of growls purr up from behind Stiles—and even from Derek—and Deucalion laughs.  The Alphas all shift closer, though Deucalion holds up a placating hand. 

“Alright, alright.” He says, grinning faintly.  “Let’s negotiate.  Honestly.”

Stiles straightens, giving a terse nod.  “Good.”

“We stay in town, keep to ourselves—“

“You stay in the Preserve.” Derek says.  “And you keep to yourselves.  No harm comes to anyone.”

“If they attack first?”

“Call us,” Derek replies. “Defend, but don’t kill.  Then call us.”

Deucalion regards him for a moment, then nods.  “We stay as long as we like.”

“You stay until you find somewhere to move on.” Derek bites out.  “You have two weeks.”

“Two months.”

One month.”

“Fine,” Deucalion smiles, though it’s much less polite now.

“Fine.” Derek nods.

“Daily updates,” Stiles adds.

Deucalion’s brow lifts, eyes on him again.  “Pardon?”

“One of your meets with one of us every day to keep us updated on what you’re doing.” Stiles clarifies.

“Every other day,” Deucalion replies, smiling slowly.  “Make sure it’s you and me meeting, and we have a deal.”

“No,” Scott protests instantly.  “Stiles, you can’t.  It’s too—“

“Me and another member of my Pack.” Stiles says.

Derek looks at him sharply, but Deucalion speaks first.  “You and another member of your Pack—but they wait outside.  We meet here.”

“Derek?” Stiles glances over at him.

He hesitates, but then sighs.  “Okay.”

“You have a deal.” Stiles tells Deucalion, slipping around Derek and holding out his hand.  “If you break any part of it, we’ll kill you.”

Deucalion smiles brightly, taking the offered hand with a firm grip.  He tugs sharply, pulling Stiles close and earning a startled gasp.  Derek lets out a low sound, looking so tightly coiled that he might spring right out of his own skin.

When Deucalion raises Stiles’ hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to his knuckles, both of the twins behind him roll their eyes.  Deucalion’s eyes flash red over the rim of his glasses, and Stiles’ jaw goes tight.

“I look forward to seeing you again.”

“Um.” Stiles blinks, frowns, and pulls his hand away.


“Do that again and I’ll unload a clip of wolfsbane bullets into your creepy ass.” Stiles says.

Deucalion grins.  “Feisty.”

“Annoyed,” Stiles corrects.  “We done here?”

“For now.”

Derek steps closer, shaking Deucalion’s hand firmly.  “Be here at six on Tuesday.”

“Of course,” Deucalion bows his head slightly.  “See you then.”

Without another word, they leave.  Though Deucalion lingers for a moment, glancing back at Stiles before the door shuts behind him as though he can see.  It promises more things that Stiles can't name.

Oh, boy.