Archive of Our Own ^beta

• step one: providing for the alpha

Derek was a weird guy.

He had always been a weird guy, it was what Stiles lov- liked so much about him. 

He was intense about the weirdest of things, had an allergy to shirts, willingly hung around teenagers, liked to stand very still and scare all the non werewolves who did not notice him fast enough, routinely broke into Scott and Stiles’ room for no reason – and those were only things he had done this week.

Stiles was not complaining, of course.

Well, technically he did complain about it a lot, and loudly, because he was a natural complainer; but it wasn’t like he wanted Derek to stop (except the breaking into Stiles’ bedroom part: he’d very much want that to stop because he did not know how many ‘walking out of the shower after selling out the best concert of this leg of the tour and have a heart attack at the sight of Derek standing in front of his window with his judging Eyebrows of Judgment’ he had left in him).

But point was, Stiles had gotten used to Derek’s existence and weirdness in the same ways he had gotten used to communicating with his eyebrows. He had mental charts and categories and everything, so he knew what made Derek tick and he usually knew why.

So he did not mind his favourite wolfman (don’t tell Scott or Erica) being a little bit of an oddball.

... Usually.

“Are you okay?” he asked, putting the various bags on the counter.

Derek had opened the door for him, and been his usual amount of grumpy and judging at the sight of Stiles at the door (this was his way of showing affection, Stiles was pretty sure).

Everything had gone normally, until Stiles had put down some of the food he had brought with him down on the table. He had baked too much stuff over the weekend, and since he obviously couldn't give so much carbs and sugars to his father, he had decided to bring the leftovers to his favourite Sourwolf (obviously, he had not told him the part about it being leftover food).

And then Derek had just... frozen.

“Der-ek?” he called out, waving a hand in front of the Alpha’s face, trying to get him to blink or emote at all. “Sourwolf? Alpha my alpha? Derbe-”

“Do not call me that,” said Derek, snapping out of whatever trance the brownies and blondies had put him into. “Do not call me any of that.”

“You say that, and yet you answered to the names, so what does that really tell us, Mr Hale?”

“Are those for me?” asked Derek, ignoring Stiles completely.

Again, Stiles had decided this was a form of affection on his part.

“Yeah,” he said, trying to not look nervous. “I thought you might like them. I mean, you usually like my baking. Not that that means you have to like and eat them. You don't have to. You can share them if you want, obviously, and–”

“No,” said Derek, quicker than Stiles had expected him to. More vehemently, too, than he had expected.

Stiles was surprised for a second, but when he started to smile, Derek scowled and spoke first. “Thank you.”

Oh. That was... unexpected.

Stiles' heart did not do a summersault at that.

Whoever said it did, was a lying liar who lied.

It wasn’t like Derek did not appreciate his help or like he didn’t thank him for it, but it was still... a little weird, hearing him thank him so readily and easily.

Still, Stiles smiled. “Anytime, big guy.”

Even more surprisingly, Derek smiled back.

Stiles thanked all the stars for the lack of mean betas in the house, because the pace his heart was going at right now was simply embarrassing.

Derek was kind enough not to mention it.

• step two: giving the alpha a token

“What are you doing?”

“Good morning to you too, Derek,” said Stiles not bothering to look up or remind him, for possibly the 100th time, that his house came equipped with a functioning front door and a Sheriff that would like to know how many people were in his house at any given time - especially when those people were ex suspect grown werewolves.

“What are you doing?” he repeated, forgoing greetings like the wolf Stiles was certain his mother had never raised him to be.

“School is doing a ‘give something to someone in need’ sort of day,” explained Isaac. “Stilinski said I can take whatever I want if I help him sort through his things.”

Derek frowned. “You could have taken something from me.”

“I know,” said Isaac, dismissively. “But Stilinski has a lot more useless stuff than you do, and nobody said anything about me not using both of your stuff and end up as the most charitable person in there. Between that and the whole orphan thing, I will automatically become the next recipient of the Nobel prize.”

"Nobel prize for being annoying, maybe." Stiles turned to Derek with a long suffering expression. “Why did you have to bite him? Seriously, why him?”

“I was drunk on Alpha power and did not stop to think it through,” said Derek, which made Stiles let out a full out cackle while Isaac glared at them both.

"And that's why you're my favourite werewolf."

“I'll tell Erica and Scott," threatened Isaac. "Also, neither of you is funny.”

“Excuse me, anyone would watch a sitcom that is just me and Derek doing stuff. That’s how iconic we are. Speaking of,” he added, leaning towards the pile of things he had put aside to keep. “I put this aside for you.”

“Me?” asked Isaac.

“No, Derek,” corrected Stiles, fishing out the small wrapped up package from the pile of ‘I never used this stuff and should, by all means, get rid of it but what if I need it later?’ pile.

“This is for you,” he said, throwing the small package at him.

Derek caught it reflexively, one handed, because he lived to show off. “What’s this?”

'Oh that? Well, back when I was not so sure if your weirdness was a way to hide the psychopathic tendencies you might have inherited from your uncle or not, I went through your criminal record, and happened to find out when your birthday was. Then, in an attempt to ensure the safety of my neck from your Big Bad Wolf claws or jaws or canines I thought to myself ‘why shouldn’t I get Derek a birthday present? That's a perfectly normal thing to do with a man who you've accused of murder before and who does not like you.’

But then, by the time Christmas and your birthday came along I had a full blown crush on your weird self, and I did not want to give you a present that embarrassing and not so well thought through, and ended up forgetting all about it.

Now I am still in love with you, but we are at the point where we can gift each other weird stuff without thinking too much about it, so what’s up?'

Of course, he could not say this out loud.

“Present,” was what he said out loud, winking. “A token of my appreciation for our esteemed alpha, if you will.”

Derek’s eyes snapped to him, a strange look passing over his face. “A token?”

Sometimes, Stiles still struggled to figure out if Derek was asking a question or stating a mere fact; his allergy to punctuation was deeply upsetting.

“What about me?” said Isaac, bringing attention to himself as he was wont to do.

And then he got mad at Stiles for calling him an ‘attention seeking puppy’. If it walked like a duck...

“You annoy me,” answered Stiles, pretending he was not paying extreme attention to Derek as he opened the small present.

It was a dumb present, to be fair. Nothing fancy that he’d imagine Derek really liking or using for a prolonged amount of time.

But he also knew that while he might glare when he realised what it was, Derek would never throw it away, and that was equally as touching.

There was a reason Stiles l-worded him so much.

“A keychain,” said Derek, in that so very emotionless way of his that sometimes Stiles himself could not decode.

“A wolf keychain,” said Stiles, with emphasis. “For the big bad wolf himself.”

“That is the lamest thing I have ever seen,” scoffed Isaac, standing up to inspect it more closely. “Seriously, and... did you get it engraved too? Dude. It’s–”

“Don’t touch it,” said Derek, pulling it away before Isaac’s fingers could even touch the air around it. The keychain was in his fist, and he was unexpectedly glaring at the beta, not at Stiles. “It’s mine.”

Isaac paused, appearing confused. “I was just-”

“Don’t,” said Derek. He gave Stiles a look, and then nodded curtly at him, before exiting once more through the window.

Stiles stared at the window, baffled, while Isaac followed his shadow until he disappeared.

Only then did he turn to look at Stiles.

“What the hell?”

“Don’t ask me,” said Stiles, rolling his eyes. “It’s your alpha.”

“Our,” corrected Isaac. “And a little more, if–”

If anybody asked Stiles, Isaac totally deserved being nearly suffocated with a pillow before he could finish his sentence.

• step three: the alpha accepting the courtship with a token

Stiles’ favourite day to hangout with the pack was training day.

Training day had everything Stiles liked:

1. Half naked and sweaty Derek Hale
2. Jackson Whittemore and Isaac Lahey suffering
3. Scott lamenting being a werewolf and suffering for his super powers
4. Him and Lydia hanging out with books and judging them all

Of course there were times where Stiles and Lydia were also called and expected to train with the others. 

But Lydia and Stiles trained differently, and normally not as violently – or in a different type of violence.

Which meant normally Stiles got to sit with a book he was ‘translating’ and smile at the pain of his werewolf friends and annoying acquaintances slash packmates.

Yes, he, Scott, Jackson and Isaac were all part of the same pack (alongside Boyd, Erica, Cora and Lydia).

Yes, they were all technically friends and would die for each other.

Yes, Isaac and Jackson’s pain still brought immense joy to him.

“Stop smiling like that,” said Lydia, smacking him lightly on the shoulder. “Nobody would believe you are reading about the Sumerian arts of sorcery, looking like that.”

“Jackson and Isaac just headbutted each other,” said Stiles, still smiling. “How am I meant to not be filled with joy about it? It’s the greatest thing that has ever happened to me.”

“You are a man of simple joys.”

“And don’t you forget, Martin,” he said, before jumping as something was dropped on his shoulders. But before he could truly freak out, the familiar smell of leather and woods hit his nose, as well as the warmth of-

He turned his head, touching his shoulder and yep. That was Derek’s jacket around his shoulders.

He turned around again, seeing the man striding towards the rest of the pack without a single comment or look back.

“What?” he asked, staring between the jacket on his shoulders and the weirdo he had for an alpha. “What just happened.”

“Derek gave you his jacket,” said Lydia. “Are you blind?”

“No, I’m just... why?”

“Maybe he wanted to repay you for something,” said Peter’s voice from behind him, and this time Stiles definitely jumped.

Peter was not the crazy psycho he had been back at the very beginning. His death seemed to have fixed some loose screws in his brain, as had the return of the niece he hadn't killed.

But he was still the famed uncle from all those ‘show me where the bad man touched you’ classes, and having him behind you without your knowledge was always suspect.

Maybe not death bringing, but definitely still suspect.

“You creep me out,” told him Stiles, glaring with little heat.

“I know,” said Peter, smiling. “It is one of my favourite past times. You are so easily startled.”

“He’s right,” agreed Lydia, continuing to read her book, having not moved an inch.

Stiles shot her a glare, before turning back to Peter. “And what do you mean? Repay me for what?”

“I don’t know,” said Peter, shrugging with that enigmatic smile that made Stiles suspect he knew exactly what had just happened. “Maybe this is just a token of his thanks. An acceptance of you.”

“But for what?” questioned Stiles, frowning at the werewolf who still had his back obstinately to him.

It was a good view, mind you. But Stiles had never learnt to read his back muscles or his ass, and needed some good clear eyebrows conversation.

God, his life was weird.

Peter shook his head. “I would say I don’t know what he sees, but I guess you are pretty. For some people, that is enough.”

“You are not making any sense,” protested Stiles.

Peter just shook his head, retuning to creep inside the loft.

"Have I ever mentioned that I do not like Peter Hale?"

Lydia just rolled her eyes, and continued to read her book.

• step four: taking care of the alpha's den

One thing Stiles never got used to, when it came to living around werewolves, was the mess.

Stiles was not a clean guy. He was a teenage boy with ADHD, and keeping his bedroom clean was very low on his list of interests/cares.

But he lived alone with his father, so he did know how to clean and how to make sure the rest of the house appeared to be in liveable conditions. Between him and his father, they made sure that even though the lack of Claudia Stilinski could not really be masked, people like Melissa McCall wouldn’t come in and feel pity for them based on the state of their house.

Point was, Stiles was used to at least straightening things up and using a bin.

Despite being raised in proper houses – with the exception of Jackson, who wasn’t raised at all, and Isaac, who... well, they all knew Isaac’s situation – the lack of home training displayed by his pack mates would have made a soccer mom cry.

Seriously, even Lydia was too messy for her own good.

He was about to pick up Lydia's discarded soda cup when he heard the front door of the loft closing, and he smiled to himself.

Derek had not been around today - busy running errands, according to Cora - and Stiles would be lying if he said he hadn’t missed having him around. 

At the beginning Derek had mostly avoided the pack’s get-togethers, without giving them reason as to why. But like water with an obstinate rock, Stiles had managed to wear him down.

Derek might be stubborn, but Stiles had yet to meet a person he couldn’t out-stubborn.

So now, more often than not, Derek would join their get togethers and movie nights, mostly staying quiet but also happy to get into meaningless arguments about whatever they were doing or watching with Stiles.

During one particularly iconic event, Derek got so mad about loosing at UNO he threw everyone except Stiles and Boyd out of the pack. It was hilarious.

“Hey, Honeywolf, you're home!” said Stiles, grinning as he heard the man making his way towards the living room. “I want to say, before you even come in, sorry about the mess, and it’s totally not my fault.”

Derek appeared in the doorway, pausing when he spotted Stiles and the trash bag in his hands.

“What are you doing?”

“Fixing up your den, Big Bad,” he said, rolling his eyes. What did he think he was doing?

Derek’s face got that strange expression that Stiles had been noticing more and more often these last few days but that he still could not work out the meaning of.

He wanted to ask, but he knew the man would never tell him. He delighted in Stiles’ ignorance and confusion, the prick.

“Oh, I also bought two succulents, because I can see that you somehow killed the cacti me and Lydia got you as housewarming present,” he said, continuing to pick up the pieces of trash from the floor and cursing the rest of the pack for ditching him while he was in the bathroom so that they wouldn’t have to help him clean.

Even Cora and Isaac had left, and Cora and Isaac lived at the loft.

Bastards.

“Those are basically impossible to kill and no, that isn’t a challenge. They should get here probably Sunday, I do not have prime nor do I intend to pay for shipping. That's thievery, and-”

"Thank you."

Stiles stopped his rant, and looked at the wolf quizzically.

"Mh?"

Derek shrugged, not looking him in the eyes. "For... you know. Cleaning. Thank you."

"Oh," said Stiles, and then beamed. His heart felt soft the way it always did when it came to Derek. "Anything for you, my favourite wolf."

"Your favourite wolf is Erica," said Derek, also grabbing a bag.

Stiles winked at him. "That's just what she wants to believe."

Derek just shook his head.

But he was smiling, and Stiles couldn't help smiling too.

• step five: taking care of the alpha's pack

No matter how many villains, monsters and wannabe bad guys they met, Stiles was of the opinion that nobody was more annoying than hunters.

At the very least villains had their own motives (which depending on the villain were more or less stupid). Monsters ended up attacking them by accident or because someone had been stupid enough to attract them to Beacon Hills. Wannabe bad guys were more annoying than actual threats.

But hunters? 

Stiles could not stand non Chris or Allison Argent hunters.

Because they came into Hale territory with a chip on their shoulder and a holier than thou act, ready to blame everything wrong with the world on werewolves instead of spending five minutes investigating, and always – always – had at least a few among them who saw nothing of attacking humans hanging out with werewolves or a bunch of teenagers.

And they still tried to act like they were usually the good guys.

“Shh,” he said, as Erica made another sound of pain through gritted teeth. “I know, catwoman, just give me a second.”

“Stilinski,” said Boyd, voice tight, clearly struggling to maintain control.

Boyd was usually quite good at it, but Erica happened to be both his main trigger and his anchor. Her in pain was doing a number on him.

Stiles looked around for a second. They had hidden in one of the underground systems he and Lydia had been working on in the Preserve and it was a tight fit. The hunters were not too far, looking for them, and wolfing out now would attract too much attention and risk injuring Erica further.

He turned back to Erica.

“Boyd, put a hand on my shoulder,” he instructed, focusing on her injured leg. “Do not hurt me, because I’ll cry, and nobody wants to see me cry.”

“You’re ... an ugly... crier,” panted Erica, trying to smile and grimacing instead.

“I am hurt,” lied Stiles, glad that she was still joking around, at least. “I will have you know that I’m the prettiest person in this entire pack, Peter said so.”

“You’re going to trust Peter’s judgement?” asked Boyd. His voice was tight, and his hold might end up bruising Stiles a little. But he sounded and felt human, and that was the goal here.

“His taste,” said Stiles, pinchers finding the bullet. “Say whatever you want about the man, but he’s got impeccable taste.”

He needed to take the bullet out, but there was no way he was going to manage that without Erica making a sound of pain. And if she did, hidden or not, mountain ash or not, the hunters would aim more bullets their way.

He had no idea of where exactly the others were right now. He knew that Derek was not too far, but...

Or maybe. 

Uh.

This was a terrible idea. 

“Follow my lead,” said Stiles, glancing at Boyd and Erica both. “And if I die, Erica you will have to continue my hard work of bothering Derek. But don’t fall in love with him, please and thank you, because I will haunt you if you do.”

“Stiles–”

“Call Derek’s phone,” instructed Stiles, turning his head slightly to the side. “Don’t shoot! Please don’t shoot!”

Boyd and Erica were much tenser than before as they heard the hunters whisper to themselves and turn around, but Boyd did not doubt him for a moment, doing as asked.

“Please,” continued Stiles, fingers still around the bullet and other hand on the ground. “I am human! I am the Sheriff’s son, please don’t hurt me.”

“Where are you, boy?” asked the hunters, as if they were not already coming his way. “Didn’t mommy teach you to stay out of the woods?”

“Please,” said Stiles, making his voice weaker than he felt. “Please don’t shoot me. I didn’t know what they were, I didn’t know– Now!”

Stiles and Lydia’s magic, left dormant within the soil of the Preserve, activated at the same time as Derek and Peter howled from behind the hunters. 

The humans turned automatically at the sound of Derek’s roar, but they did not get a chance to shoot. The plants that they had been standing on top of came to life, vines and carefully crafted hexes shooting from the foliage and throwing them to the ground before they could take a single shot at Derek.

Stiles took that moment of confusion to pull the bullet out of Erica, which had her howling in pain and relief both.

“Erica?” asked Boyd, holding him tighter. “Erica-”

“She’s fine,” quickly said Stiles, as the she-wolf sagged back on the ground. He pulled up his bloody hands, revealing the mountain ash bullet. “Got it.”

Boyd looked at him in disbelief. “You’re insane.”

“Was I supposed to not take care of my betas?” mocked Stiles. “Derek is your alpha, and I am your human. We are basically co-parenting- Hey, Sourwolf,” he added, as Derek crossed into the small place they were hiding in. “Don’t worry, they are both fine, and the hunters here should remain taken care of for about 30 minutes.” He pulled a pouch and a lighter from his pocket, holding the lighter between his teeth. “Stunning spell. This is going to hurt, Catwoman. Try not to faint.”

“I won’t faint,” she said, looking still pale as Derek came to stand beside her, a hand on her shoulder to leech the pain.

“I was talking to myself,” said Stiles, flashing her a grin.

“Doc, not going to lie, not the best look,” she joked.

“Is this a bad time to say I don’t have a medical license?” he asked, meeting Derek’s eye and nodding at his eyes on him, trying to emit a ‘relax, dude, I’ve patched wolves so often and well that I might as well list it as a skill on my CV – oh my god, that was a joke , dude’.

Even in his imaginary read of Derek’s thoughts, the man had no sense of humour.

Stiles found the powder he was looking for, and easily poured a little of it in Erica’s wound in a rather unsanitary way.

She flinched slightly, but did not complain, holding on Boyd’s hand instead.

This was the part he hated the most. 

Reaching inside bloody injuries to retrieve bullets? Depending on where it was, it was usually fine. Closing a wound? He might gag through it, but he’d do it. Cleaning alpha claws remains or other bruises? He was there.

But anything involving using knives, fire or other instruments of death on his packmates just made him sick to his stomach.

“Stiles–” started Derek, but Stiles forcefully shook his head.

“I’m the only human,” he said, meeting the Alpha’s eyes with less amusement than before. Instead, there was only grim decision on his face. “This stuff would hurt you. And it doesn’t matter that I hate this, you guys are my pack, and I take care of my pack. Right? Co-parenting rowdy teenage betas, some of whom are older than me.”

Again, that strangely intense look on his face that Stiles was giving up on translating for the time being.

“Well, aren’t you just a perfect treat?” said Peter, a teasing note in his voice. “Don’t you also think so, nephew? He’s doing so well–”

“Peter.”

“What? I am just saying that you’d be a fool not to-”

“Peter,” said Derek again, with a growl, right as Stiles lit the fire.

Erica, who had also been distracted by Peter and Derek, howled in pain, but Boyd had her. Stiles managed to escape a kick in the face from her, and immediately wrapped one of the infused bandages he had made around the scorched wolfsbane injury.

“Done,” he said, immediately running a soothing hand on her side, smiling at her and ignoring the terrible smell. “Done, you’re good.”

“I love you, Stiles, but I hate you so much, right now,” complained the blonde, fully letting go of her weight against Boyd’s side. 

“If you’re hating you’re alive,” said Stiles, winking when he found Derek staring at him.

The wolf looked away and, Peter winked back.

Stiles found this much less appealing.

• step six: taking care of the alpha

Stiles had never been known for his subtlety or for his tact.

His lack of brain to mouth filter had gotten him in trouble more times than he cared to count, and his apparent insensitivity had made sure he always brought a shovel with him, just in case he wanted to dig a bigger hole for himself to fall into.

Which was, of course, why he was standing in Derek’s apartment on the anniversary of the death of the man’s family, having let himself in with the emergency keys Derek had had the terribly idea of giving him.

Though, he supposed, this could count as an emergency.

It could also count as putting his nose where it did not belong, which was why Stiles was standing nervously near the entrance, uncertain on whether he wanted to stay or leave.

Stiles himself did not like hanging out with too many people, on the anniversary of his mother’s death.

He had made himself a tradition of being with Scott, with his father, and then alone at the cemetery long ago.

But part of the reason behind that was that he hadn’t had people to share the pain of his mother’s death with. Scott had been his only friend, and things with his dad were always weird, when it came to his mother.

Derek did, theoretically, have people.

He had his uncle, and his sister.

But it was his unpredictable uncle and his definitely not emotion prone younger sister, who he had also been mourning alongside the rest of his family just last year.

Stiles’ plan had been to leave the man alone if he was with the two of them and not bother them, but the loft was empty.

So maybe they had their own tradition, after all, and had gone together to pass the time? He doubted it but, Derek was clearly not here, so-

Somehow, Stiles did not startle or scream, when he turned around and saw Derek standing near the door, an undecipherable expression on his face.

Of course he was there.

He was Derek.

“I know what today is,” he told him, after a moment of silence from them both. Derek did not tense. “Tell me to leave, and I’m gone.”

+++

Derek did not tell him to leave.

Stiles stayed until the next morning.

• step seven: ???

The fact that Derek had been acting weird since the anniversary of his family’s death was not lost on Stiles (and, if he stopped to think about it, Derek had been acting weird for a while before that too).

Not weird in the way Stiles had expected, however. Stiles had expected him to go in full avoidance mode or pretending that evening had never happened.

Derek did not do that.

If he had done that, then at least Stiles would have known what it was about and known what to do to fix the issue.

No, what Derek started to do was... stare at him.

Watching him.

And look, this was not necessarily out of the order, for Derek Hale.

Stiles had non ironically used the word ‘creeper’ to address him multiple times in the early months of their relationship. Derek seemed to enjoy freaking out everyone by acting as creepy as possible, and that involved sneaking in people’s (Stiles’) bedroom and stand still in the dark until he was noticed, watching the entire time.

So staring should not be confusing, when it came to Derek.

But it was, in this situation.

Because Derek was doing it all the time, no matter where they were or who they were with.

They’d be watching a movie with the pack and Stiles would lift his head to see Derek watching him with the oddest expression on his face (something that he tried to hide by glancing away as soon as he saw Stiles had seen him staring).

Or he’d be in the middle of explaining something to Lydia, and he’d feel the familiar weight of Derek’s eyes on the back of his head, as if he wanted to make him explode with the force of his mind. But when Stiles turned around, he just looked like he did when someone ate his protein bars without asking which was ‘not pouting, Stiles!’.

Or they’d be talking about something to do with the pack, and Derek would stare at him insistently, as if he was waiting for him to say something. But he gave no indication as to what Stiles was supposed to ask, and then just left when the conversation was done, looking all sort of hurt.

Stiles had no idea what the fuck was going on at this point.

“This is just painful,” said Peter, as Derek sent Stiles one last look full of that puppy hurt before driving away with Boyd and Erica in the car.

Stiles turned away from the car to the wolf he had not even seen coming. “Uh?”

Peter shook his head. “I mean, I thought it was obvious you had no idea of what you were doing at the beginning, but even I suspected you might now, after the anniversary. But you have no idea, do you?”

“You are not Deaton,” said Stiles, scowling at him. “And speaking in riddles when you are not him is not cute.”

“Do you think Deaton is cute?”

Stiles did not bat an eye. “He is adorable. So cute that I want to headbut him repeatedly when he answers my questions with another question.”

“Cute aggression, I’m familiar,” said Peter, amused. “Derek is waiting for you to ask him on a date.”

“It’s not cute ag– wait, what?” said Stiles, turning around a little more violently than necessary, if his neck had to say anything about it. “What?”

“There are several steps when it comes to courting a werewolf,” explained Peter, completely calm, as if he was making any sort of sense. “It is, in general: take care of the den, give a token, take care of his pack, take care of the alpha. In the Hale pack, our tradition was put down in clearer steps, steps that Derek learnt by heart when he was just a kid. Said steps are: providing for the alpha in terms of food; giving your intended a token; receiving a token from the intended if they are happy for you to go ahead with the courting; taking care of the alpha’s den; taking care of the alpha’s pack; and taking care of the alpha.

“Then, if the alpha decides to accept your courting, they will give you another token of their appreciation, and then you’d have to ask them out officially.”

Stiles stared at him.

The ‘I did no such thing’ was on the tip of his tongue, but the second he tried to say it out loud, it died.

Because... because he had done things that could misunderstood for that. 

All of his actions for the past few weeks flashed before his eyes, alongside the ‘weird’ reactions Derek had had to each of them.

All the way to a few days ago, when Derek had gotten him a red hoodie and awkwardly handed it to him. A hoodie that he now realised was not just a replacement for the one he had lost fighting the hunters last week.

But-

“I was not doing that,” he found himself saying, looking at Peter. “I was just... I did not plan on... I wasn't... you know.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Peter. “You love my nephew. My nephew accepted your courtship that you hadn’t realised you were doing because he also loves you. What’s there to get?”

Stiles opened his mouth. And then, promptly closed it.

Because him being in love with Derek was old news. Old news that he wouldn’t be surprised to find everyone already knew about.

But Derek, who Stiles had not been certain if he even really liked him had not only misunderstood Stiles’ actions for an attempt at courtship. He had accepted the courtship and then given him a token to show that he was okay with it going forward.

Holy fuck, Derek liked him.

Derek liked him and wanted him and was looking at him like that because he wanted Stiles to hurry up and ask him out.

Holy fucking shit.

“Am I dreaming?” he asked, looking over at an amused Peter. “This has to be a dream. Am I imagining all this? Is this a joke?”

“No,” said Peter. “But it will become a nightmare if you decide to lead my nephew on and never ask him out. And by that I mean I will make your life a living him hell.” He smiled and patted his shoulder. “Good luck.”

Stiles watched him walk away, a little nervous.

Yeah, he would never dream about Peter, and he was nowhere near this scary in his head.

Which meant this was real.

Fuck.

+++

Stiles spent about the next two hours freaking out about what Peter had told him and what this meant with his relationship with Derek in general.

He knew, technically, what it meant.

It meant that Stiles was in love with Derek and, through some luck or fluke, Derek had decided he liked him too. It meant that Derek had seen Stiles, seen what he decided were Stiles’ attempts at courting him and, instead of taking him aside and telling him it was not cool or that he should drop it, he had accepted the courtship and decided he wanted him back.

It meant that Derek liked Stiles back.

And that Derek was now waiting for Stiles to ask him out.

And that was the part Stiles was having trouble with.

Because just... how was he meant to ask Derek out? How was he supposed to approach him and just casually ask him to go out on a date with him?

And what even did a ‘date’ imply, by his wolfy standards? Because in so far his wolfy standards had decided that a wolf keyring was a ‘token’ from Stiles, and him cleaning the living room he had helped trash was somehow a proof of him keeping up with the house care (and at some point Stiles would have to study the species dynamics that were apparently expected in wolf packs).

What if there was something specific Derek was waiting for, expecting? Peter had not been very clear about it, and while it was clear he cared about his nephew, Stiles was pretty sure that had been done on purpose.

Peter was just the type.

He could call Lydia, he supposed.

He could also rip off his dick, which he believed would be just as helpful.

Erica would just give a terrible advice, and Scott would just try to avoid having to speak about it. He did not hate Derek any longer, but he - hypocritally enough – could not stand having to hear about Stiles and his feelings for the werewolf.

He–

“Oh my god,” said Stiles, startling slightly when he turned in his chair and found Derek climbing through the window. “Dude! What the hell?”

Derek gave him a look like Stiles was the one being weird.

“You texted me.”

“No, I did not,” said Stiles, a hand going to his pocket.

He felt nothing, and he frowned going to the other pocket. Then the desk. 

“Where is my phone?” he muttered, standing up and looking around in confusion. He could have sworn-

Peter’s face flashed in his mind, and Stiles groaned.

Of course.

That was what happened when he trusted that weasly little man.

“Stiles?”

“That was Peter,” explained Stiles, turning back towards the werewolf and running a hand through his hair. “He doesn’t understand minding his own business. He...”

How was he even supposed to explain this? If he told Derek he had not meant any of the things before, the man would probably get hurt and run away before Stiles could explain. If he said nothing, then this whole thing was sort of starting on a lie, and eventually Derek would find out. And Stiles refused to start anything with Derek on a lie.

But how was he meant to do this? What was he meant to say?

He glanced up again, trying to find the words, and found Derek staring at him with that same confused expression he had been shooting him for the past few days.

An expression that he could read, now.

He decided he was not strong enough to suffer it.

“You damned werewolves,” he managed, stalking towards him with a slight scowl on his face. He did not give Derek a chance to speak before he cupped his cheeks and pushed him in a kiss.

He had expected Derek to startle or maybe fight a little. Manhandle the kiss back in his control, or something.

But Derek all but melted in the kiss, letting Stiles hold and manoeuvre him in a way that made him feel weak in the knees. He gave Stiles all of the power in the kiss, and he felt high on it, fingers brushing the stubble of his cheek as he kissed him until he could not breathe anymore.

“Go on a date with me,” said Derek, as soon as they separated.

• step eight: ask your werewolf him out on a date

Stiles was having a hard time looking into his eyes or breathing.

“I thought tradition dictated that I ask?”

“Fuck tradition,” said Derek. “You did not even know what you were doing, most of the time.”

Stiles startled at the callout, but Derek rolled his eyes. 

“Peter likes the both of us a little too much, and also hates waiting.”

Stiles did not even know why he was surprised.

He made a note to get Peter something, then he smiled back at Derek.

“Fine. I’ll let you take me on a date,” he said, in a overly tired tone.

Derek’s smile could have powered up the sun.

In response, Stiles kissed him again.