Chapter Text
“I told you to avoid that pothole!”
“Have you seen the road? It’s all pothole!”
Derek rolled his eyes, feeling a headache coming on with this, the newest of Scott and Cora’s arguments.
“I said swerve right weave left.” Cora shouted, mimicking the directions as if her hand was the humvee. Scott watched, confusion etched into his sweaty, dirt-covered face.
“I did that!” He protested, shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand while emphatically waving the other.
“No, you wove right and swerved left!”
“What the hell is the difference?!”
“Would you both just shut the hell up and fix it?” Derek grunted, the heat and unrelenting sun removing his sense of humor.
“Sorry, Jacks.” They both muttered, looking apologetically to Jackson who had singlehandedly begun jacking up the humvee and removing the flat tire. Derek dragged his forearm across his forehead, reaching underneath his helmet to wipe away sweat. They had broken down at the edge of the city and without any shade, the stagnant air and the direct sunlight was growing more and more intolerable.
Boyd reached the broken lead vehicle, looking pensively at the six humvees and one truck that composed the company. “CP wants to know how long till we’re Oscar Mike.”
Derek nodded and turned to Jackson. “How long?”
“Ten minutes.” Jackson pulled the flat off as Scott came around the humvee, rolling the spare.
Derek looked at his watch. They were already overdue to reach the FOB, situated about fifteen klicks north. If they delayed too much more, they could get caught out in the dark.
“Ok.” He pinched his radio. “Bravo to Alpha, we will be another ten, how copy?”
Static filled the radio for a moment and then a response filled it. “Solid copy Bravo. Charlie is already home. Delta is still rolling through the NZ.”
Derek let the radio go dead and the pinched it again. “Copy Alpha.” He looked over his shoulder at Jehathza, taking in its enormity and alien aesthetic. Three years in country and he still couldn’t get over how different it was from Beacon Hills. The air was always fouler, hotter, more violate. The constant noise of the city also set his teeth on edge.
This wasn’t the worst place to break down, but it surely wasn’t his favorite. The expanse of flat brush and sand between the city and the road offered a good vantage to anticipate an attack, but gave them no cover.
Boyd knocked his shoulder against Derek’s, acknowledging their shared anxiety.
A gust of wind suddenly picked up, blowing directly from the city, and Derek was overwhelmed. A single scent in the mix, like honey and warm clove, assaulted his nose, crushing his heart and lungs in a vice. He nearly fell to his knees.
“Derek?” Boyd was at his shoulder in an instant, gripping his bicep in support. “What is it?”
“Do you smell that?” Derek barely breathed as he spoke, trying to block out the scent. Boyd lifted his nose and took a long breath.
“No. What is it?”
Derek took a small, careful whiff. He again was nearly bowled over. “Like cinnamon and fresh grass.” He struggled to put the extraordinary into words. Boyd looked carefully at him.
“Like home?” Derek’s eyes flew open.
“How did you know?”
“DEREK!” Boyd and Derek barely had time to look over at Cora before the blast threw them back. Derek felt the power of it rip through him, cracking like lightning and boiling his blood. His ribs broke before he hit the ground. His arm broke after.
He could barely breath when he woke. The dust danced in the air so thick, it was impossible to tell if it was day or night. Derek’s head pounded and the ringing in his ears made it hard to hear the others.
“Cora?”
A cough. “Here.” It was to his left. “I’m here.”
Derek pinched his radio. It disintegrated in his hands. “Is your radio intact?”
“No. Goddamn blast.”
Derek hauled himself off the ground, stumbling as he found his balance. He could feel his arm and ribs knitting back together.
“SIT REP!”
“Gunnery Sargent Boyd ok!” Boys called from somewhere behind him.
“Corporal McCall ok!”
“Corporal Hale ok!”
“Corporal Whittemore ok!”
Derek felt Cora place a hand on his back. “That wasn’t some bomb, Derek. That was magic.”
“I know.”
“Delta was in the city.”
“I know.”
Stiles was so glad he remembered his training. Waking up to the weight of an entire building pressing him into the ground wasn’t his favorite but it sure beat being dead.
He reached out to Isaac and Lydia's minds, bonds of magic allowing him to speak to them across the city. 'You both alright?'
'That was not the plan.'
'I nearly had him.'
'You’re lucky to be alive, Stiles. He could have killed you.'
'He could have killed us all.'
'He’s gotten stronger.'
'Fucker. Are magic steroids a thing?'
'Stiles. Focus.'
'Meet back at the old bath house?'
'Seeing as a building just fell on it, I think we may need to use the old market.'
'Shit! I left my phone charger in the bath house.'
'Market. One hour.'
Stiles sighed. Probing at the edges his protective shield, there didn’t seem to be a good way to roll the entire collapsed building off of him without causing more damage. Dematerializing didn’t seem to be a good idea either. He was way too dehydrated and hungry for that.
Focusing on the earth beneath and around him, an intact sewer tunnel appeared to be the best way.
“Looks like I’m going to have to go with the ol’ El Chapo.” Stiles began using his magic to dig.