Derek gets taken by hunters. Stiles will do anything to get him back.
Stiles kicks down the door where his husband must be. There is a wave of bodies behind him and upstairs. The body count doesn’t matter when Derek could be dead in this shitty basement in Mexico.
“Derek?!” he yells again, and there he is. Or there they are, Peter’s here too and somehow Stiles isn’t surprised.
“Stiles,” Derek croaks out, his voice is shaky, like he’s been screaming, his lips are dry and cracked.
He sets his guns gently on the ground, and rushes to get the werewolves off of the chainlink fence they’ve probably been tied to for a month. “I’ve got you.”
The cuffs are charmed, which explains why they couldn’t just break them. They aren’t immune to lock picks though, which Stiles is grateful for. Derek falls onto Stiles, bringing him into an embrace and collapsing in exhaustion. Stiles wipes some of the dirt on his face away, and kisses his lips while tears fall from his face.
“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” Stiles admits. He called in every favor he has, and has killed to many people to get here and find Derek another added to the body count.
“I knew you’d find me,” Derek rasps out, and Stiles goes in for another kiss.
“This is cute and all, but I would also like to not be locked onto this fucking fence anymore,” Peter calls out, his voice in the same state as Derek’s.