Archive of Our Own

Derek isn't quite sure why or how he ended up at Stiles' window after one of the worst nights of his life. Maybe a silver lining is that Gerard Argent is dead. Maybe. And maybe's don't bode well for Derek. Never have. Maybe she's not as dangerous as she smells. Maybe that skip of heartbeats wasn't a lie and was just her being nervous. Maybe that smell isn't gunpowder.

Long story short: maybe's don't mean shit.

But before he can talk himself out of knocking on the obnoxious high schooler's window, it's opening, and Stiles' beat up face is glaring at him darkly. "What?" he growls out, sounding too much like a boy who runs with wolves.

When Derek doesn't immediately answer because he's asking himself the same thing -- what am I here for, what am I doing -- Stiles takes a step back and waves Derek in. Which is surprising how much it isn't surprising. And even more not surprising is that Derek climbs into the room, shutting the window behind him and leaning against it, folding his arms over his chest protectively. "You okay?" is what Derek wants to ask. What happens is him glaring at the scrapes along Stiles' face and the busted lip. "What happened?"

Stiles frowns and gives him a look like he's crazy. He probably is for being in a sixteen year old's room in the middle of the night, but no one has said Derek was ever sane, especially not said sixteen year old. "What does it smell like? I was held up in a creepy old man's basement, getting the shit beat out of me to give out information on your pack."

Derek freezes, feels every muscle in his body tense. "You were what ?" He knows his eyes are red, can see his vision sharpen and scents are stronger. Stiles' scent is stronger. 

Stiles doesn't step back in fear just sneers at Derek before hissing in pain and touching his lip where the wound reopened. "Whatever, Derek. I'm tired. Tonight was shit. What can I do for you?" He collapses in his desk chair, and usually this is where Stiles would stretch out his ridiculously long legs, but that doesn't happen. He stays alert in his eyes but folds into himself looking more vulnerable than Derek has ever seen him.

"I...," Derek stops and takes a deep breath, focusing on the scents around him to calm down. He doesn't know what to say, never knows what to say around Stiles. "I'm sorry. About everything. Gerard... Lydia and Jackson... all of it." He opens his eyes to show he's serious about his statement.

Stiles is watching Derek with a look like he's dissecting him, and Derek hates it so he turns away, looking out the window instead. His hands ball up by his sides and itch to punch something or tear the window open to escape the look Stiles is giving him.

"Lydia and Jackson have capital 'T', capital 'L' True Love, and good for them... I have... nothing," he says darkly. "It's fine, dude." In Derek's peripheral, he can see Stiles wave his hand as if he's waving everything off.

Derek frowns. "You don't have nothing."

Stiles snorts and then groans in pain. "Whatever. It's okay."

"It's not," Derek quietly says, still looking out the window. "None of it is okay, Stiles."

It's a long silence where Derek wonders what he said wrong and it's long enough that he starts reaching for the window, but Stiles' voice stops him.

"I'm sorry... for what Scott did. I didn't know the plan, but it was really shitty of him to do that to you."

Derek nods in acknowledgment, but he has no idea how to respond to that, doesn't know what it's like for someone to recognize how shitty life has been to him, but then again. It's Derek's fault that Scott is still a werewolf and that he's dating an Argent. Derek knows better than to date an Argent. Derek knows better than to assume they're maybe not as dangerous as you think. 

So instead of responding or verbalizing any of that, Derek opens the window, but he's once again stopped.

"Does it ever stop?" Stiles asks, his voice softer than he's ever heard, breaking slightly and sounding almost wet with unshed tears.

Derek tilts his head to the side to look at Stiles in the corner of his eye. "Does what ever stop?"

"All of this. The big bad alpha, the kanima, and now the pack of evil alphas. Does it ever stop?" And the desperation in his voice must be why Derek says what he does next.

"It wasn't like this when... when I was a kid. It wasn't like this." And before Stiles can say anything else, Derek jumps out the window and off the roof, running to his car that's parked three blocks down. Once he's in the driver's seat, he takes a deep breath and tries focusing on the scents to calm him down, but it takes minutes longer to work this time.

Stiles:

Stiles' mind is reeling as he stares at his open window. It wasn't like this when he was a kid? What changed? Why now? Why is shit hitting the fan now ? Stiles' mind is racing as he tries to find the constant in every situation. He plays everything that has happened throughout the last two months over and over until he realizes two things worth noting:

1. Derek checked in on him, on Stiles.
2. Derek gave a piece of useful, personal information.

Maybe Gerard's blood tainted Derek somehow. Maybe there was a curse in his blood? A poison? Stiles scribbles a note down on a sticky note reminding himself to keep an eye on Derek to make sure nothing else seems iffy about the alpha.

His brain continues to ruminate on the events of the last two months until he sees the sun start to rise and he hasn't moved from his desk since Derek left. Suddenly, he realizes that he's cold as he's been sitting by the open window all night. He shuts it and grabs his red hoodie, bundling up and blowing his warm breath on his freezing hands. With a deep breath, he starts getting ready for school, debating on the amount of Adderall he should take. After a moment, he decides one is good enough because he doesn't want to explain to his doctor how he ran out early.

"Well, the thing is, doc, that werewolves exist how fucking wild, right? And I have to juggle a broody, angsty alpha werewolf and my best friend being a werewolf and school and dude, do you even know what a kanima is?" Yeah, just throw Stiles in the psych ward now.

He wraps a trash bag around his bandaged hand and showers quickly, trying to forget the previous night even though he can still hear Gerard’s sick laughter at tasing Boyd and Erica. He can still remember the smell of burned flesh, and the whimpers from Erica. He feels it break him all over again when he first heard Boyd’s whimpers. He starts to feel sick knowing he just left them there. He was trying to find help. He really was. But then Scott called and everything got fucked and then suddenly he was driving Roscoe through a whole ass wall. 

He knows they’re okay. Erica texted him once she got home. How she knew he was sick with worry, he doesn’t know, but he’s glad they’re okay. The only good thing about last night is knowing they both got home. 

And maybe Derek checking in on him wasn’t so bad either. But that’s neither here nor there. 

The question is why Derek showed up. Why Derek and why not, maybe, just throwing spaghetti at the wall and seeing what will stick, maybe why not Scott, his supposed best friend in the whole wide world. Why didn’t Scott show up? Why didn’t Scott show up after Lydia’s party? Why didn’t Scott show up at the pool? He’s either late or never there. Where is Scott?

When he leaves his room after getting ready, he notices that it’s too quiet in the house. His dad must not be home yet. Another thing worth feeling guilty about. Not only was his dad’s life put in danger but half the sheriff’s department is… gone. And Stiles is in the middle of it all. Re-election is gonna be a bitch. All Stiles’ fault once again. 

He treks downstairs and forgoes breakfast since he’s still feeling sick. The drive to school is blissfully uneventful unless you count Stiles’ endless thoughts of what he could have done better, how he could have helped. He needs to be stronger, cleverer. Something . 

A flash of Peter holding his wrist up to his mouth flies through Stiles’ brain. No, being a werewolf wouldn’t solve anything. With his luck, that’ll make everything worse.

While the parking lot fills with other students, Stiles stays in his car and watches everyone walk by, chatting to their friends normally. He remembers being like that. Now it’s almost the end of his junior year, and he’s probably developing PTSD and has a few broken ribs and a busted lip. He wonders idly if ignorance is really bliss in this situation. He’ll get back to that question later. No use in dwelling now. 

At his locker, Scott finds him with a cheerful, well rested face, and it takes everything in Stiles not to deck him in the face. Mostly just the knowledge that it would do nothing stops him in his tracks. That and it wouldn’t hurt Scott nearly as much as it would Stiles. He glances at his bandaged right hand. Yeah, it’s for the best that he doesn’t punch that smile off Scott’s face. 

“Why the smile, Scotty?”

“You were awesome last night, bro!” Scott playfully punches Stiles’ shoulder which jostles his ribs too much and he inhales quickly. 

“Yeah, so awesome,” Stiles mumbles, a hand on his ribs. “You know what wasn’t? Forcing Derek to bite Gerard, against his will. That was pretty shitty, Scott.”

Hurt covers Scott’s face. “Hey, it worked, okay? Gerard isn’t a problem. He crawled away and he’s gone now. Man, those lacrosse players really did a number on you, didn’t they?” 

And in that second, Stiles realizes that Scott doesn’t even know what happened to him just the previous night. Scott believes the lie he told his dad. He took it at face value and cared about everyone else last night. Except him. Except Derek. Except Derek’s pack. 

Stiles rolls his eyes and slams his locker closed, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. “There had to have been a better way. Next time, leave the plans up to me.” And he shoulders Scott out of his way to walk to his first class. 

He slumps in the desk at the front of the class because if he sits there and pretends to look alert, the teacher won’t call on him. And if he does then Stiles can bullshit with the best of them. It’s gonna be a long, painful day. He can just imagine the monotony driving him crazy when there’s an alpha pack — whatever the hell that is — on their way to Beacon Hills and he could be doing something like researching, maybe, to help prepare everyone. But no, he’s stuck in school, running on zero hours of sleep with only his anger at his best friend keeping him awake. 

Today is going to be just the worst.

Erica slides in on the desk to his right and before he can comment, Boyd is on his left. He looks back and forth between them, absolutely bewildered. There’s something unexplainable about their presence, especially after last night. He doesn’t deserve their attention, or maybe they’re there to harass him, but he doesn’t find the words before the bell rings. 

Oddly enough, though, they both give him smiles, and he feels less alone. Maybe today won’t be the worst after all. 

Derek:

Derek is sorting through the flooring he dug up from his house to find any reusable boards. It’s monotonous, but it’s active, and he’s allowed to be alone. There’s no pressure to talk to anyone or be talked to. He’s simply methodically pulling up floorboards and then checking the remains. He also made sure every window and door in the house was open to air out the smells because there was no way he was doing this with the scent of his family lingering. 

But then, of course, he hears the familiar clanking of a car driving closer and closer. He sighs, not quite prepared to see Stiles, but then again, when is he ever? As the Jeep pulls closer, Derek can hear three heartbeats in it. It's a moment of panic figuring out who the third could possibly be after Scott, but once the Jeep is in view, he can see two of his betas in the passenger and back seats of the car. Great. Stiles comes with another puzzle, again.

Erica hops out the passenger seat barely after the Jeep is in park, and Stiles makes a worried squeak after her that Derek can't help but let his mouth twitch in amusement. Once the car is turned off, Boyd climbs out, and Stiles more or less falls out of the driver's seat and huffs in amusement when Boyd gently shoves his shoulder. They look like friends, and Derek is wondering what the hell he missed at school today. He knows these two betas have been smelling more like Stiles for the last week or so, but he hasn't gotten an answer as to why, and there are more questions now.

"Alpha," Erica greets with her signature, red-lipped smirk.

Derek nods back and watches her beckon Stiles to the pile of floorboards. Stiles rolls his eyes in response and looks at Derek in camaraderie like they're silently joking about her antics. Together. 

"Alpha," Boyd greets in his low, quiet voice with a gentle smile, and Derek bows his head minutely in response.

Stiles pauses and watches Erica climb up the porch steps, sitting on the railing, and Boyd trailing after her. "Am I supposed to call you alpha or does Derek suffice for you?"

Derek watches him carefully, trying to figure him out for the millionth time. "Why are you here?" is what ends up coming out of his mouth, and the second Stiles' face falls, he knows he said the wrong thing. Derek sighs loudly. "Not like that. I mean -- "

Stiles waves him off, but he still smells sad. "It's fine. I get it. The puppies needed a ride home."

"Hey!" Erica laughs, trying to sound offended. "We're the same age, asshat!"

"No, we're not!" Stiles mumbles as he scratches the back of his neck, and there's no change in his heartbeat. Then louder, he says, "I can go if you want. Like just because I'm friends with your betas doesn't mean I have to be your friend, and I get it. You probably don't have friends, and if you did, why would one of them be me?"

"Stiles," Derek says sharply, making the kid stop rambling. "You can stay."

And the smile he gets back does not make his heart speed up, and Erica's near-silent gasp means nothing. "Cool, what are you doing here?"

It takes a moment for Derek to register that Stiles isn't gearing up to make a joke at him, so he answers, "Salvaging what I can before I have construction workers come by tomorrow to give me an estimate."

Stiles whips his head around from where he was staring at the burnt up house. "You're restoring it?" And why does his voice sound like he's proud of Derek?

Derek shrugs and looks at it because for some fucking reason, the shell of his childhood home is easier to stare at than Stiles. "Yeah, it seems like it's time."

Stiles is bobbing his head in agreement and runs up the porch steps, settling down on the second from top step and pulling his backpack in front of him. "Hey, growly dude. Did you have Mr. Harris in high school?"

Erica and Boyd watch Derek carefully as he makes his way back to the pile of floorboards and sits on the ground, sifting through them. "Yeah, I did. He still an absolute dick?"

Stiles snorts. "That's putting it mildly. Dude seems to have a vendetta against me. Worst teacher ever."

Derek wants to agree, but it wouldn't be truthful, so he just doesn't answer. Luckily, Stiles isn't one to sit in silence for long, and he picks up a conversation with Boyd on his opinion of the winter olympics that just aired last year. Erica is filing her nails, but Derek can feel her keeping a keen eye on both him and Stiles like she's figuring something out. There's a reason that Derek picked her to bite aside from hoping it would help her seizures. She has that quiet observation that Derek has always had, but she also has Laura's wit, and it made her seem like a viable and strong candidate. Which he was right. She's definitely in line to be his right hand. If he can figure out how to be an actual alpha, that is.

Boyd is also quietly observant, but he also has an old soul that reminds Derek of his father in the best ways. Whenever Boyd makes a joke, it's always dry, and his smile while rare is always genuine. Then Isaac just needed a way out of his house as well as being the younger brother Derek always wanted. He had hoped they could come together easily, but he's finding out the hard way that the whole alpha thing is a lot more difficult than his mom made it look.

And Stiles... is Stiles. He's witty and observant and has a wicked sense of humor that is able to suss out the truth in everything. Then to top it all off, he's clever, the most clever person he has ever met. In fact, he's the only one who can go toe to toe with Peter, and Derek has met a lot of people in his life that know and talk to Peter, and none of them have ever been able to do that. It's impressive. Plus, the amount of shit Stiles knows is scary, but what might be scarier is how Stiles obtains his information. None of that even touches on Stiles' eyes. Their color of amber and how they light up when he figures something out. They almost glow like a beta's yellow, but he's full human. Then there's his smell. Cinnamon and petrichor, a mixture of sweet and something powerful. It's part of why Derek is always drawn to him, and Stiles himself is why Derek keeps coming back.

It's not like Derek has a crush. That would be inappropriate. Plus, Stiles hates his guts or merely tolerates them at this point. Either way, Derek keeps his distance. There's something dangerous about Stiles, and he doesn't know what it is yet.

Stiles:

"You smell like Derek," Scott announces as Stiles loads his backpack at the end of the day.

He can't help but roll his eyes. These scent descriptions leave a lot to the imagination. "I'm still not talking to you."

"You just did," Scott points out, following Stiles out the doors like a lost puppy.

Stiles sighs and keeps walking to his Jeep, trying to ignore Scott the best he can. They haven't talked in a month since the whole Gerard incident. Stiles is keeping it that way. He's not really sure he can look at Scott without feeling betrayed and alone yet. Things with Erica and Boyd have been good. He has other friends, and Derek at least tolerates him hanging around. On the other hand, Scott has been hanging out with Jackson of all people, which is just another hit in the heart with another arrow of betrayal. 

Sadly, Scott keeps pace with Stiles easily now that asthma isn't a problem anymore. "Come on, Stiles. You're going to have to talk to me eventually. We're best friends."

Stiles' jaw tightens to keep his response of a past tense or something like that. If he thinks about it too much, it'll come out, and he's not really ready for that yet. In more ways than one.

"Stiles," Scott pleads, and he knows if he turns his head, he'll see Scott's puppy eyes that he can never say no to.

So he doesn't look. He fishes his keys out of his pocket and unlocks Roscoe. Leaning against the door, he looks at the cloudy sky as he waits for Erica. Boyd said he had a study group after school and that he would get to the preserve another way, but Erica is still on her way. Stiles just has to ignore Scott until she gets here.

Scott stops and looks up at the sky with a frown. "What? Is there something up there?"

Yeah , Stiles thinks, the word gullible . But he still says nothing aloud.

"Someone bothering you, Batman?" Erica's voice rings out from behind his Jeep.

He swings his head to her and grins. "Catwoman! Good to see you. Hop on in."

She throws her backpack in the back with his and does as he says. As soon as she's sat, she ties her hair up in a loose bun since they usually have the windows down on the way to the preserve, and he was lectured about how shitty it is to get red lipstick in light blonde hair last week, so he doesn't give her shit about it.

"You're talking to Erica but not me. And Derek. You hate Derek." Scott pesters Stiles as he climbs in. "What the fuck happened that you're now friends with them, but you hate me?"

Stiles slams his door shut and leans his head back against the seat. "That's just it, Scott. You don't know what happened. That's why." And he presses the clutch down and turns the key in the ignition. "Now move before I roll over your toes. I'm sure they'll heal before tomorrow, but they'd probably still hurt, wouldn't they?"

Scott's look of betrayal and hurt gives Stiles a twisted sense of accomplishment. How did they go from inseparable to this distant in just three months? Well, Stiles knows, and Scott doesn't, and as pointed out earlier, that's why they're so distant. Scott hasn't apologized and even if he had, he doesn't know what to apologize for.

Either way, Stiles drives away because he's done spelling things out for Scott. It's not his fault the dude doesn't get it. Time to take responsibility for your dumb mistakes, Scotty boy. With a deep breath, Stiles turns out of the school parking lot, but Erica still doesn't speak. She's probably waiting to get out of earshot of Scott before she starts prying, but surprisingly, even when they're pulling into the preserve, she still hasn't spoken. Stiles spares a moment to think about what he must be emanating for her to not say anything, and maybe she's more observant than Stiles originally thought.

Once they're in front of the Hale house, it starts to sprinkle. Stiles puts the car in park and switches off the ignition before jumping out of the Jeep. He watches the sky with a blank face as Erica excuses herself to go for a run, saying she feels a little jittery. Oddly enough, Stiles doesn't feel jittery. He feels still for once.

"Stiles?" Derek calls, so he looks over at the alpha. "You want to help swatch paint?"

Stiles nods and follows him into the house that now has repaired walls and floors, but that's it. There are a couple camping chairs so they can sit inside, though. Stiles wonders idly if they're going to add more furniture. A month after spending almost every day after school here, he still doesn't know what Derek's plan is. Is he selling the mansion or moving in by himself or are there other options?

Silently, Stiles picks up a paint roller, dipping it into a tray and rolling it onto the wall next to two other swatches. The two of them work wordlessly until there are a total of six swatches on the wall in the giant living room or foyer, Stiles doesn't know what it technically is. 

"They all look the same," Derek sighs dejectedly, setting the last roller down on a tray. He wipes at his forehead and glares at the wall.

Stiles looks back at it considering. "Maybe it's the lighting."

Derek hums then pulls out a cell phone, turning the flash on and looking at the different swatches. He's taking it way more seriously than Stiles assumed he ever would, but this is his family home, the one he blames himself for the destruction of, so maybe it isn't all that surprising after all.

"What aesthetic are we going for?" Stiles asks, sitting on the floor with his back up against an untouched wall.

Derek pockets his phone again and slides down the same wall Stiles is against until he's on the floor next to Stiles. "I'm trying to get it to look like it did four years ago."

"Wait, it's only been four years?" Stiles asks, confused. "How old are you?"

Derek huffs, sounding almost like a laugh. "I just turned twenty over the holidays before... everything."

Stiles spends longer than he wants to admit staring at Derek's side profile. In his defense, it's a beautiful side profile. Everything isn't as sharp in the shadows. But it still makes him jump when Derek turns to him to eye him curiously, his eyes running over Stiles' face. Then Derek reaches a hand out and his thumb slides over Stiles' chin, making the boy's heart race. 

Derek seems to realize what he's doing then and takes his hand away like it's been burned, looking down at his lap. "You had some paint," he mumbles before jumping up and rushing out of the house. 

The spot on his face that Derek touched is still warm and tingling when Stiles gets up five minutes later. 

Derek:

He really doesn't understand why he's bothering honestly. It's not like Stiles asked him to do this, but here Derek is, carrying up five pizza boxes up into his loft for Stiles' birthday party. That's in his loft. With his pack, but he can't say he minds. Really, he's not sure how much longer he can pretend Stiles isn't in his pack.

The party isn't much. It's just Derek's three betas and Stiles eating pizza and watching Stiles gush at Erica over the comics she bought for him (with Derek's money). Derek stays in the corner, watching silently because he's not sure how to insert himself into everything. He feels the distance between him and Erica and Boyd expanding, but he doesn't know how to fix it. They smell less and less like him, more like each other than anything else. 

Eventually, the party starts winding down with Erica and Boyd excusing themselves to go to their homes. Isaac retreats upstairs to his bedroom, and Derek knows that his headphones are on so he can't hear anymore because that's what Isaac does. He tunes out the world when he doesn't need to be part of it anymore, and Derek wishes he could do the same, that he could drop his responsibilities for just a few minutes.

"What are you brooding about?" Stiles asks from the couch, leaning his head over the back of it, and Derek has to look away from the long, pale expanse of his neck.

"Nothing," Derek automatically answers. "It's your birthday. Don't you have somewhere to be?"

Stiles' face drops as he sits back up, and once again, Derek has said the wrong thing. "Nope. Dad's working tonight, and Scott..."

"What happened with you and Scott?" Derek asks, and has been wanting to ask since the scent of the other 'wolf has started fading even though he really thought for a bit there that they just shared a combined scent like family.

Stiles shakes his head and stands up. "Doesn't matter. Since it seems you're kicking me out, guess I'll go home."

"You don't have to," Derek blurts out. Stiles spins to stare at him in shock. Derek ducks his head. "I just meant... you don't have to."

"Cool," Stiles says and collapses on the couch again, patting the cushion next to him in invitation.

Slowly, Derek pushes himself off the wall and sits on the other side of the couch from Stiles, raising an eyebrow at him in question.

"What are you brooding about? It's my party and I'm the one who's allowed to cry if I want to."

He doesn't know why he does it, but Derek tells him about the distance growing between him and the betas, how their scents don't mingle anymore, and how he's scared they're going to leave him. 

"Weren't they just an army anyway?" Stiles asks. "Is it that bad if they do leave the pack?" His voice is guarded like he's trying to snuff out information and like he's trying to hide his emotions. It works too well for Derek's comfort.

He shrugs. "They were never just an army," Derek admits softly, staring at the floor in front of him. "Pack is... it's like a family. But more. And without a pack, an alpha is nothing. I'm nothing."

Stiles nods and then stands up, going over to the wall holding what's left of the Hale library. He runs his fingers over the spines unthinkingly, but all Derek can think about is how his scent is going to linger on the last of his family's possessions, and he can't find himself to be mad about it. He's almost hypnotized by the motion or maybe simply the long fingers that are always tapping or moving rapidly around. Seeing them slowly trail over something is a rare sight. It's been a few days of Stiles being more subdued and less energetic, and Derek wishes he knew how to fix it. He wishes he knew how to fix the whole pack, even Scott.

Stiles makes a triumphant noise and pulls a book out, hurrying back to the couch and showing it to Derek. "Can I borrow this? I have an idea."

What's supposed to come out of Derek's mouth are questions like What is your idea? and Why do you think you can borrow any of those? and Why do you think I think I trust you? or a resounding No , but instead what comes out is a soft, "Yes."

Stiles:

The weekend flies by faster than it has any right to. Some of it is spent sleeping, another part doing homework, another part making sure he and his dad have food for the next week, and the biggest part… studying the book on pack dynamics he borrowed from Derek. After seeing that moment of vulnerability from Derek looking afraid and alone and afraid to be alone again, Stiles couldn’t just do nothing. He had to do anything he could to keep that look off of Derek’s face for as long as Stiles could. 

So he makes a list of what he thinks Derek needs to do to keep Erica and Boyd. Stiles really does believe that, with some more effort, Derek could be an amazing alpha. He wasn’t prepared to come into the power and for the responsibilities that came with it. So here comes Stiles, barging in trying to fix something like he always does. With his ongoing Scott project on hold, he suddenly has a ton of free time and thought to go into this. 

The list includes things like scent marking and pack bonding time, but those are vague, umbrella ideas, so Stiles is working on narrowing it down, getting a solid plan for Derek in place. It’s the least he can do. The man has saved his ass a few times now and has been putting up with him for the last month and a half while he avoids Scott. He even threw him a birthday hangout. Stiles rounded on Isaac to figure out whose idea it was, and he admitted it was all Derek's idea. Stiles hasn't figured out how to process that information yet, so he just hasn't. Avoidance really does solve everything.

Once at school, Stiles decides to test one of his theories of what Derek should do. He's already a tactile dude, so he just changes the placement of his hand on Erica's shoulder a little closer to her neck to scent mark her. Thankfully, he does it while she's facing his locker because her eyes flash gold at the touch, so he yanks his hand away with a screech of, "I'm so sorry!"

She takes a deep breath through her nose and lets it out through her mouth to calm herself down. "No," she says softly, her voice sounding full. "It was good. It was... necessarily comforting."

Stiles files that away for later and nods. "So doing it again?"

She nods, so he does, and she leans against his hand like a cat demanding more pets, and even more cat-like she starts almost purring. Assumedly, it's a soft growl, but the rumble sounds happy. Stiles brushes her hair from her forehead with his other hand and cups her face. 

"You going to kiss me, Batman?" she asks with a soft smirk.

He leans in closely, and she tenses, but he kisses her forehead. "Pretty sure Boyd could kill me if he so wanted."

She snorts and takes a step back, brushing her hair over the side of her neck that Stiles was touching. "I think this weird foreplay is done now."

"Foreplay?" Stiles repeats, following her down the hall. "Did I make you horny?" he half-yells as she walks faster away from him even though she could have heard him speaking normally.

Isaac squeaks next to him, shrugging his shoulders up to his ears. "I'm gonna need us all to stop now."

And they do, but Stiles now knows something Derek needs to do, something to add to the list.

Maybe he should take a second and think about if Derek actually wants this advice or help, but he knows Stiles is working on it. It's not like he's keeping the fact that he's doing it a secret, and really, Derek could stop him pretty easily. The whole rip Stiles' throat out with his teeth thing still lingers in his brain often. Maybe not for reasons it should anymore, but that is not the point here. Heh, point. Like fangs. Anyway .

After school, Boyd drives Erica home, and Stiles drives Isaac back home to the loft, mostly because he wants to talk to Derek to tell him of his discoveries, but when they get there, they're greeted by zombiewolf. He's leaning against the random brick wall that separates Derek's bed from the rest of the loft, and his arms are crossed over his chest. For some reason, he looks absolutely delighted to see Stiles. Yuck.

"Stiles," Peter half-purrs with a smirk like he knows something Stiles doesn't, and honestly, Stiles isn't sure he wants to know what it is.

"Peter. Never a pleasure to see you." Stiles nods in greeting as Isaac excuses himself to go do homework. "Where is your dearest, grumpiest nephew?"

The sigh from the bed behind the wall is so loud that even Stiles can hear it. Immediately, he smiles, but it drops the second Peter's look turns more calculating than all-knowing. Deciding to ignore that, Stiles rounds the wall, making sure there's plenty of space between him and Peter. Derek is glaring at the wall as he's pulling his shirt down. 

"Privacy," Derek mumbles mostly to himself. "Miss those days."

Peter snorts. "As if there was ever any privacy during your childhood."

"Hi," Stiles says with a wave as if he needed to announce his presence. With a startling realization, Stiles sees that he's in Derek's bedroom-like area, a place he's never been nor snooped around. He starts wandering, taking in the large bed made up with a black comforter and dark gray sheets because of course it is. But the bed looks enticingly comfortable, and Stiles wouldn't mind sharing it with his owner, and he's gonna go ahead and shut that thought down right there. There's a clothes rack off to the side, showing Derek's limited wardrobe of henleys and white tank tops and sinfully skin-tight jeans. "Where are the rest of your clothes?"

Derek gives Stiles a confused look. "What clothes?"

"We're not telling Lydia about this," Stiles decides for them. "Anyway, important research news to give you."

"Oh?" Peter asks, his curiosity obviously piqued.

"Not for you," Stiles quickly tells him.

"Stiles," Peter chides playfully with a predatory smile, "that only makes me want to know more."

"Ew," is all Stiles says.

Derek rolls his eyes and shoves Stiles out of his room towards the kitchen. "Why are you here, Stiles?"

Stiles clutches his chest as he leans against the counter. "My poor heart, Derek. You're gonna make me think you don't want me around."

"Hm," Derek says, "if you haven't picked that up yet, I doubt you ever will."

"There is a lot to pick up here, dear nephew, but that is not one of them," Peter says, a hand on Derek's shoulder. "And with that, I shall go."

Stiles waits until he's gone to tilt his head at Derek. "Let me know when he's out of earshot."

"He never will be now that you said that," Derek points out, opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle of water. 

Stiles rolls his eyes at Derek's dramatics. Never would believe him if he pointed out that Derek is a total drama queen, but it's definitely true, and Stiles loves that it's kind of a secret that only he knows.

Derek:

Derek blinks at the double sided paper Stiles gives him that has a whole list on it on how Derek can be a better alpha. He almost wants to feel offended, but it's not like Stiles got this idea from nothing. Plus, it's obvious a lot of work went into this. So he reads through it, frowning because they're all really good points.

"You're saying Erica liked it?" he asks skeptically.

Stiles nods enthusiastically, popsicle sticking out of his mouth, and when did he even get that? Where did he get it? Why does he have it? It's so distracting. His lips are stained red and slightly swollen, and Derek is definitely going to hell, so he quickly looks back down. 

"Like she purred, dude."

Derek hums in response, reading through the document and then looking at the book Stiles got the information from. He even listed page numbers where he found it. He should really be doing this research himself. He should be the one trying to better his pack, not his pack trying to teach him how to better themselves.

He freezes. When did Derek start thinking of Stiles as pack?

He's so lost in that train of thought that he's definitely missing the details of Stiles excitedly talking about how Derek needs to scent mark them more and spend more time with them as he paces and waves the popsicle around as he uses his arms to talk. This scrawny, nerdy kid is in his pack and has proven himself to be a valuable member of said pack. Derek may need to reevaluate his life choices, but he can't seem to bring himself to. Stiles may be a pain in his ass, but he's not so bad actually.

That weekend, Derek invites everyone over in their new group chat that Stiles, of course, started. He and Erica have been messing around all week renaming it. Erica is apparently set on "The Babes" while Stiles is set on "Hale's Hounds". Both are horrible in Derek's opinion. He finally changes it to "Pack" and no one fights him on it. They decide to all crash at Derek's that night for pack bonding. He makes sure that he has plenty of food and everyone's favorite drinks stocked. He tells himself he does it only because he doesn’t want to hear everyone fighting over food or drinks, but it falls short to even himself. 

There’s a knock on the door before Stiles slides it open with a backpack slung over his shoulders and a pillow hanging limply in his arms. He’s wearing gray sweatpants and a soft looking red shirt. His smile is wide when he sees Derek. “Am I the first one to arrive? Ugh," he groans dramatically, "this happens every time.”

Derek quietly greets him as he folds blankets over the couch, making sure there are plenty for everyone. It takes a few moments before he realizes Stiles is staring at him calculatingly, but it's different than what he's used to. It's not so much as Stiles wants to figure out Derek but more so that he wants to understand Derek better. And it doesn't feel malicious. When Derek last opened up to Stiles, he took it and ran with it to help better the pack, not for personal gain. It's confusing to say the least.

"What?" Derek finally asks.

"You have more blankets than you do shirts," Stiles comments. "Comfort seems to be a running theme here..." and he trails off as he gets deeper into thought. He shakes himself out of it and then unceremoniously drops his backpack on the floor near the bookshelf and tosses his pillow on the couch. "Need any help setting up? The couch looks cozy. Maybe we should bring a mattress down here. Yours?" And Derek must involuntarily make a face because Stiles laughs and says, "Isaac's then. If that's the case, I'll let the big, strong werewolves take care of the heavy lifting."

A mattress isn't a bad idea, but the thought of having so many different scents on his mattress makes Derek squirm for some reason. He goes upstairs to knock on Isaac's door, and the younger boy quickly agrees to help bring his queen size mattress down the stairs with Derek. As the two of them struggle with getting it into the freight elevator that connects the top floor to the rest of the building, Derek can hear Erica and Boyd arrive. Within minutes, Stiles and Erica are raiding the kitchen, and once Derek and Isaac make it out of the elevator, there's an entire spread of snacks over the coffee table.

"You got crunchy cheetos!" Stiles cheers when he sees Derek. "Those are my favorite!"

"Even though the puffs are far superior," Isaac argues, and Erica and Boyd are quick to agree.

"Good thing I bought plenty of those too," Derek mumbles, tossing a bag at Erica.

She catches it easily, laughing as she opens the bag and shoves a few in her mouth. "Best alpha ever," she says around her mouthful.

He ducks his head and rushes into the kitchen so no one can see the way he must be reddening because he can feel heat all over his face. It's not like Erica has ever called him a bad alpha, but hearing her praise him makes him feel like maybe he's not doing everything wrong. Maybe he isn't totally fucking up the alpha-thing.

Stiles pokes his head into the kitchen with a sheepish smile. "You, uh, happen to have any water I can steal?"

"Cold or room temperature?" Derek reflexively asks, opening the fridge to grab a cold one and toss it at Stiles who, unlike Erica, fumbles to catch it.

"Why did you ask if you knew the answer?" Stiles doesn't sound accusatory or freaked out, but he does sound fully amused. That seems to be the tone Derek receives most from him lately.

All Derek can do is shrug. "I also got cherry Coke."

"You totally didn't have to, dude."

"Don't call me dude," Derek mumbles, feeling awkward under Stiles' appreciative look.

"Well, thanks. Let me know how much I owe you for everything. I'll venmo you or something."

Derek shakes his head. "Don't worry about it."

Stiles snorts and then coughs like maybe he choked on some water. "Have you met me? I'll worry about it. Just give me an amount. I should help contribute. It's not your job to take care of me."

And for a second, Derek is overwhelmed by the desire to do exactly that. He has consistently felt that responsibility for his betas, but for Stiles? Sure, he's saved his life a few times and made sure he was safe. But to take care of him? That's new. Definitely new.

"Seriously, Stiles."

Stiles squints his eyes at Derek suspiciously as he takes another drink of his water. Derek's eyes get distracted trailing down his long throat, watching his Adam's apple bob as he chugs the water. Then they're pulled in by the way Stiles screws the lid back on, and Derek is definitely, definitely screwed.

Stiles:

After marathoning the first three Bring it On! movies, including the cringey, well kept secret second one, Stiles decides it's time for talking instead of mindless TV. 

"You just can't sit still any longer," Isaac accuses.

"You're not wrong," Stiles agrees, pointing at him, mimicking the meme. "But we've all had more sugar than is good for us, so I can't be the only one, can I?"

Derek shrugs. "It's after midnight."

"It's a sleepover!" Stiles defends. "No one sleeps at sleepovers."

"Then why did we bring down my bed?" Isaac whines.

Stiles pouts at him, crossing his arms over his chest dramatically even. "You guys are no fun."

They all start taking turns getting ready for bed in the bathroom. Unlike Erica who looks like a literal goddess always in her jeans she probably stole from Derek because they're so tight, a fitted black crop top, and a full face of makeup, Stiles came prepared in his pajamas, so he goes first since all he has to do is brush his teeth. Erica decides to go last because she wants to shower off her makeup and wash her hair. She also claims she forgot to bring a shirt for bed and asks Derek to borrow one of his t-shirts. Everyone knows it's a lie, but everyone ignores it to see what Derek does, and as a surprise to everyone but Stiles, he gives Erica a shirt before she shuffles off to the bathroom.

Stiles starts picking up the trash and empty glasses, taking everything to the kitchen. After recycling all the cans and throwing everything away, he starts washing the cups.

"Stiles," Derek says, voice hard. "You are not cleaning."

"I am too!" Stiles fights. "You can't do everything yourself, Derek."

Because Stiles is sure he doesn't have a valid response, Derek doesn't say anything. He simply grabs the cleaned glasses, dries them, and puts them away. They work in silence until the bowls are cleaned too, then Stiles scoots behind Derek, placing a hand on his shoulder for balance, to grab another water from the fridge. When Derek tenses under his hand, Stiles yanks it back like it burned him and begins to profusely apologize.

Derek just shakes his head. "It's fine, Stiles. Really, it's fine."

And well, Stiles has to take him at his word because if Derek didn't want him to touch him, Stiles wouldn't have a hand anymore. So instead of pestering him about it, Stiles goes back out to the living room and sits on the couch with his pillow while Boyd and Isaac set up the blankets on the bed. They're both more meticulous on blanket and pillow arrangements than Stiles would have ever guessed. Obviously (Stiles guesses, but it wasn't obvious to him), the biggest comforter goes on the bottom. Then they layer blankets, leaving the most on the side where they designated Stiles' spot since he's the poor human who gets cold easily. Or at least, that's what Isaac tells him.

Erica eventually makes it out of the bathroom and sits on the mattress in front of Stiles. "Braid my hair," she demands.

Stiles lifts her damp hair up and flops it over her face. "Why do you think I know how to braid?"

She rolls her eyes and hands him a brush and a hair tie. "I'll teach you, but I can't do it myself. My eyes are too tired to stay open."

Stiles agrees and starts brushing her hair, listening to her softly explain how to take the strands and cross them over each other. In the background, he knows Boyd is explaining how he's usually up later because of the ice rink and that he used to braid his little sister's hair all the time. Isaac decides he wants to learn next time on Erica, and she agrees as long as he's as gentle as Stiles is being.

Around when Stiles is halfway through with Erica's French braid, he looks up to see Derek staring at Erica's hair. "What?" Stiles asks. "Is there something wrong with it?" He kicks Derek in the knee where he's sitting on the other side of the couch.

Derek blinks a few times and looks up at Stiles' face, shaking his head minutely, the tips of his ears turning pink. He clears his throat then says, "Laura used to make me braid her hair all the time. Fishtails are the worst by far."

Erica moves to look at him, but Stiles holds her in place. "I'm working here," Stiles chastises her.

She huffs a laugh and leans back into his hands. "I'm just loving the image of Derek braiding hair."

"I bet he was great at it," Boyd says encouragingly.

"Better than me, I'm sure," Stiles snorts.

"No," Derek disagrees. "You're a natural, Stiles."

And it sounds like a genuine compliment, which makes Stiles' face heat up. He's not quite so used to compliments, but he's not going to argue. Finally, he's finishing up Erica's hair in a regular braid, tying the hair band around and everything. He leans down and presses a kiss to the top of her head, squeezing the side of her neck softly.

She sighs and leans back into him even more, looking up at him. "Thanks," she says softly.

"Anytime," Stiles says, and surprisingly, he means it.

That's when they all decide to snuggle up in the bed. Derek on the far left, Isaac next to him, then Boyd, Erica, and Stiles on the edge of the right side. It's a tight fit, but they scoot close to each other and there's a lot of spooning happening. It's perfectly warm, even under all of Stiles' blankets, and it's way more comfortable than Stiles thought it would be. It's comforting having everyone near him. He feels protected with all the strong werewolves around him, ones he knows would fight for him if it came down to it. Not that he would let them do all of the fighting. Not again.

But tonight is like every other night, a night where Stiles is staring at nothing, remembering Gerard's fists and Erica's whimpers and Boyd's screams. He's awake, staring at nothing and remembering the fear in Derek's voice in the pool, covered by the accusations that Stiles won't drop him because he needs him. Luckily, Stiles can keep his heart rate down, and has been working on it since he taught Scott how to, but he still can't make himself sleep.

Eventually, he feels the bed and blankets move slightly and then hears footsteps along the hardwood floors. He slowly raises his head and sees the line of werewolves intact except one alpha missing. Derek is probably just grabbing water or going to the bathroom or something. Stiles waits for a few minutes, keeping an ear out for anything that may have concerned Derek, but he doesn't hear anything, and Derek doesn't come back to bed.

As slowly and as gracefully as he can, Stiles stands up and walks behind the couch, seeing a peak of a human shaped shadow on Derek's bed. Derek is already watching him approach, so he keeps going since there's no use in pretending he wasn't snooping in on Derek.

"Can't sleep?" Stiles whispers, barely audible to his ears.

Derek shakes his head and tilts his head questioningly at Stiles, who gives an answering shake of his own head.

"I haven't really been sleeping since..." He waves his hands to try and encompass everything that's happened.

Derek nods in understanding and maybe a little bit of, "me too," is in there. He lies back on his pillows, staring at the ceiling. "Gerard?" Derek guesses quietly.

"Yeah. Laura?" Stiles guesses.

Derek huffs. "Among other things."

Stiles nods. "A lot to ruminate on that's for sure." He shuffles in place, staring out the giant wall of windows by Derek's bed. "I'm sorry by the way."

Derek looks at him, frown lines obvious in the moonlight.

"For Laura. For digging her up. That was... not cool, and I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Derek says, voice soft.

"No, it wasn't," Stiles argues.

Derek shakes his head. "No, it wasn't, but..." He seems to be at a loss for words and just sighs instead. He pats the side of his bed he isn't on. "You're freezing. Come on."

Stiles hesitates, but it's another instance of if Derek didn't want it, he wouldn't accept or even invite Stiles in, so he slides under the covers into the softest sheets he has ever had the pleasure of lying on. And the comforter is down and feels almost like a weighted blanket with how heavy it is, and Derek's mattress is perfectly soft while not being too soft.

"What the fuck," Stiles breathes. "How is your bed perfect?"

"One of life's few pleasures," Derek tells him.

"You need to treat yourself more, Hale," Stiles mumbles sleepily because Derek's bed is so beyond comfortable that his consciousness is already slipping away. He tries to fight it since he doesn't mean to invade Derek's privacy. Based off Derek's look at Stiles' suggestion earlier, he doesn't want anyone in his bed, but Stiles' thoughts taper off into a mindless and meaningless monologue of "Holy fuck this bed is an actual cloud if I knew what clouds actually felt like."

Derek:

Waking up next to Stiles isn't... Well, it isn't the worst place Derek has woken up that's for sure. However, he probably shouldn't enjoy waking up next to a seventeen year old. He has a second to have a moral crisis before Stiles is stirring next to him. It's hard to look away when Stiles stretches, his shirt riding up a little, showing his protruding hip bone, and Derek wants to bite it. Good lord he's going to hell. 

"Oh fuck," Stiles groans and then sits up, wiping at his eyes. "I so didn't mean to fall asleep here. I'm so sorry."

Derek shushes him since the rest of the pack is still sleeping. "It's fine. I would've kicked you out if it bothered me that much."

Stiles hums in response and gets out of the bed anyway. Derek watches him as he runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it as if it wasn't messy already, and Derek has decided this is probably his karma. He deserves this, doesn't he? After Kate, he deserves to be taunted by his first crush since her being a fucking seventeen year old. Whose father is the sheriff... Fuck .

But he still can't take his eyes off of a sleep rumpled Stiles who stumbles to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He can't take his eyes off of him as he scrubs at his hair again like he's trying to tame the grown out messy bedhead, and it's adorable. It's endearing, and Derek is definitely screwed.

The rest of the morning, he spends keeping to himself and decidedly ignoring Stiles, who tries to joke with him and make him laugh. It works once, but Derek shuts himself off the rest of the time to make his feelings just stop. They're overwhelming now that he's admitted them to himself, and they really shouldn't exist. For more reasons than just Stiles' age. Maybe he should take a page out of the younger man's book and make a list of the reasons he shouldn't date Stiles. That almost makes him laugh because he can perfectly imagine Stiles doing the same thing, but it's not like Stiles is even into him. That's another reason these feelings are ridiculous and useless to him.

Once everyone is gone, Derek sighs, settling into his couch as Isaac works on the dishes with his headphones on. Before closing his eyes, Derek notices an old book on the table with a sticky note on top of it. He picks it up to inspect it. The note reads:

I left notes (on sticky notes, I would never write in your family's old books, I'm not a monster) and thoughts on some pages that you might find interesting .

Stiles

So Derek walks over to his desk, placing the book carefully on top before he sits and opens the book with the intention of finding the sticky notes, but what does find him is worse. One of the first sections he finds in the book is about Alpha Mates, and Derek knew mates existed, but Alpha Mates? That doesn't sound real. The section is half a page long with very limited information that is not helpful except in making Derek want to know more. It feels important and relevant, and he doesn't understand why.

What he gathers from the half page of scribbles is that Alpha Mates are mates but for alphas, which yeah that would make sense, but these mates are essentially Co-Alphas of a pack. They serve as a second person in command, but they're not second in command. They're on the same level as the alpha. Derek needs to know more. There are no notes from Stiles on this page, but it doesn't matter. This isn't about Stiles. So Derek stands up and goes through the books on his shelf, finding a really old and used journal about mates. It's handwritten like the pack dynamics book, but it's weathered and feels more important. It doesn't take long for Derek to figure out why it's important.

This book was kept secret. This book has so many weaknesses of werewolves that no one would want it found by hunters. Derek isn't even sure how it survived the fire, but Peter says he rescued a lot of these books himself, knowing it was important to preserve their history and knowledge. When Derek finds the section on Alpha Mates, he settles back into his chair, reading the messy handwriting carefully. There is definitely more detail in this journal than there was in the last book.

Alpha Mates are rare, rarer than even true mates are, which are mates that are similar to soul mates. It's as if finding one's literal other half. Derek thinks even his parents weren't true mates, and they were obsessed with each other. He's not even sure how someone would recognize their true mate. Maybe it's a scent thing. It has to be instantaneous he's sure. Either way, he continues reading and finds that if something happens to an alpha when they're mated, the Alpha Mate gains the power of the alpha, even if they're human. But more than that, betas in a pack listen to an Alpha Mate the same way they do the alpha. The purpose of them is mostly to bring the pack together, to keep them together like glue.

Then Derek finds something that makes him freeze.

Alpha Mates need to scent mark the pack the same way alphas do, the same way Stiles has been doing. 

Yeah, Derek is definitely fucked.

Stiles:

It's a giant weight off of his chest when Stiles finishes junior year. Honestly, he wasn't sure he was even going to make it out alive, but here he is, heading into summer. There's only one thing missing, but he isn't going to think about it. Thinking about it makes him upset, and he doesn't need to be upset. It's officially summer vacation. He can sleep until noon and rarely puts on real person pants like jeans. He can get a summer job and save up for repairs on Roscoe and college application fees.

So that's what Stiles is focusing on until he gets to his Jeep and sees the thing he doesn't want to think about.

"Scott," Stiles says, voice hard.

"Stiles," Scott says, his voice and eyes already pleading. "This needs to stop. It's been months. What is going on? What did I do wrong?"

Stiles sighs, rubbing at his forehead. "Scott, it's a little too late."

"You wouldn't talk to me or let me speak to you without your hounds around," Scott points out, and it's actually a fair point.

"Just give it a rest, okay?" Stiles says, throwing his hand down and trying not to let the anger overwhelm him. "It's not worth it anymore. Just give up."

"We're brothers," Scott tells him, his voice going hard now. "I'm never going to give up on us. You're it, Stiles. You're my best friend. You're my family."

He tries so hard to keep it together, he really does, but that melts Stiles so much when he didn't even know how icy he was. Within a second, he's clutching at Scott like he's his lifeline and Stiles is a drowning man. His hands are gripping the back of Scott's shirt, and he shoves his face on Scott's shoulder. 

Scott takes it easily and grips back just as hard. There might be tears on either side of the hug, but they don't mention it. They just stand there, in the school parking lot, holding onto each other like one of them might disappear if they let the other go. And maybe they would. In all fairness, Stiles did completely disappear on Scott. It was hard, but Stiles needed the space from him. That space isn't necessary anymore, and Stiles clings harder at the thought of letting Scott go.

Finally, they slowly let each other go, wiping at their eyes when they separate. They laugh at themselves and each other.

"That was quite romantic, Scotty," Stiles jokes. "You sure you don't wanna try making out just to see if it would work?"

Scott laughs, rolling his eyes. "I'm good, Stiles. Thanks." It's quiet for a long moment before Scott asks, "What did I do? I need to know. I need to know how to be better for you."

"Hop in," Stiles says instead of an explanation, gesturing at Roscoe. "Let's go for a ride, yeah?"

Without hesitation and like he's done it a million times, Scott throws his backpack in the back of the Jeep and jumps in the passenger seat, and to be fair, he probably has done this a million times since Stiles got his license. "Where are we going?" Scott asks.

Stiles shrugs. "Nowhere, everywhere. Just figured this was a good way to talk without any nosey wolfy ears."

Scott shakes his head but has a fond smile on his face because he is fond of Stiles, isn't he?

Once they're a few miles from the school, Stiles starts talking, instructing Scott to remain silent until he's finished. He starts with what happened with Gerard and ends with why what he did to Derek wasn't okay, how he used Derek without his consent. If Derek had been part of the plan, it would have been different, but he tells Scott how he needs to take into consideration the people around him, not just himself or Allison. And if Scott notices that Stiles is more upset by what he did to Derek than he is what happened to himself, then at least Scott doesn't comment on it.

He apologizes a ton, and he even recognizes his mistakes, apologizing for them specifically. He also promises he'll talk to Derek soon and apologize to him in person. It's only easy to forgive Scott because Stiles has been holding onto this for so long that releasing it is easier than letting it fester more. They debate on going back to one of their houses for video games, but Stiles admits that he's mentally drained and needs to be alone.

"I get it," Scott says as Stiles is dropping him off. "But if you need me, my phone is on loud, and I'll be there. I promise. I'll do my best to always be there for you, Stiles."

And that's the moment Stiles decides that he needs to tell Scott soon. He needs to come out to someone, and Scott was always his first choice, but it's been hard without him the last few months. Soon, though. Soon Stiles will finally tell someone.

Once Scott is inside his house, Stiles puts Roscoe in drive and heads to his house, but it turns out he doesn't exactly want to be alone, so when he's home, he drops off his stuff and texts Derek to see where he is. The answer is what it is most often that Stiles could've guessed it himself: the Hale house.

With every school related thing put away, Stiles changes his shirt and drives out to the preserve. He should probably tell Scott this too, but Stiles isn't sure he's ready to even tell himself.

At the Hale house, Derek is standing outside in the yard, hands on hips and a scowl on his face as he talks to a man in front of him, who surprisingly isn't flinching away. The construction worker, probably the boss, most likely doesn't know Derek could easily rip his throat out, but that's not who Derek is, so Stiles finds no use in meddling except for his burning curiosity. However, this is not Stiles' battle, so he stays in his car until the worker walks away to his own truck.

He knows vaguely that something is wrong because everything keeps going wrong with the construction as if Derek Hale hasn't had enough hardships with that house itself. Stiles claps his shoulder, taking a moment to be surprised that Derek relaxes under his touch. "Hey, big guy," Stiles greets. "What can I do for you?"

Derek looks up, surprised. "What?"

"Do you need a distraction or do you wanna talk about why you're angry?"

Derek rolls his shoulders, which makes Stiles' hand fall. "I don't know. Distraction. Today was the last day of the year, right?"

And that's how Stiles excitedly tells Derek about the end of the year and how he plans to spend his summer being lazy. "Unless you need me for manual labor."

"I might," Derek grumbles as they sit on the floor, facing each other. "But why do you smell like Scott?"

Stiles flinches out of shock. "Why do you hate segues?" And at Derek's frustrated face, Stiles just launches into what happened with Scott this afternoon.

"I'm glad you two made up," Derek said. "You don't smell sad anymore."

"One of these days, you're going to have to explain scents to me because I don't get it."

Derek thinks about it for a moment. "It's more about feeling, intuition than anything else. Some things I can put a name to, but other things, like emotions, are harder to name unless you know the person."

"What do I smell like?" Stiles asks curiously.

Derek shrugs looking off to the side. "You smell like Stiles. No one smells the exact same."

"But you can smell different people on me, yeah? So like each person leaves a trace of themselves?"

Derek nods. "Like I can smell whatever obnoxious kid hugged you today at school."

Stiles laughs loudly. "Greenberg is convinced he and I are meant to be. Dude has been making moves on me all year."

If Stiles isn't mistaken, Derek lowly growls at that. Stiles narrows his eyes at him. Interesting . He doesn't know what it means, but for some reason that got a rise out of Derek. It can't be because he's homophobic because that doesn't sound like Derek, but it is something. Maybe he doesn't like other people's scents on his pack either. That's probably it actually. Stiles decides it's not worth worrying about.

Derek:

Everything is going wrong with the house. Derek doesn't even know where to begin. It's all plumbing issues that should have been solved the first time around with the first plumber and inspector, but it wasn't. It wasn't fixed and he has spent all summer fighting with them. Well, it's better fighting them than thinking about what he's read in books all summer trying to better himself as an alpha. He thinks it's going okay. Erica, Boyd, and Isaac are starting to smell more like him, and there is the beginning of a defined pack smell. Stiles is... more difficult to scent mark because Derek is ignoring the Stiles problem. 

But pack nights are every Friday night starting in the afternoon going into late morning. And every time, Derek and Stiles end up in his bed because they can't sleep with the pack. Derek is ignoring that too, and he also ignores that he enjoys that his bed is starting to take on a permanent scent of Stiles. Maybe Derek needs a distraction, someone else to focus on. Even if it's just a casual situation. He needs to get Stiles out of his head, at least for now. But he can't even hope for a future because he knows he doesn't deserve Stiles even a little. 

And that's what he's thinking about as he's running through the forest. It was supposed to help clear his head, but it didn't. Instead he's thinking of the exact thing he's metaphorically and maybe also literally running from. And of course, because life hates him, he runs into the problem.

"Stiles?" Derek is surprised to see the boy running through the forest with headphones over his head.

His answering smile is, as it always is, blinding, and Derek suppresses a groan because Stiles is beautiful and he can't stand it. "Hey, Der!" he greets enthusiastically, wiping at his forehead and pulling his headphones down so they're hanging around his neck. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Fancy seeing you here," Derek retorts. "I thought this summer was about being lazy?"

Stiles shrugs and scratches the side of his nose. "I heard running might help with the excess energy I have and anxiety, and it might help clear my head."

Derek hums. "I've heard very similar things." He pauses and looks to the side. "Has it helped?"

"I guess. Definitely with the excess energy. I feel like I at least sleep a little better." Stiles' heartbeat is faster than usual, and Derek guesses it's from the physical exertion, but he also smells a little nervous, like anxiety. It makes Derek's nose scrunch because it's not a pleasant smell, and he hates the idea of Stiles being anxious around him.

"Hey," Stiles says. "Don't make faces at my smell. I'm running, dude. Of course I'm not going to smell like sunshine and roses."

Derek rolls his eyes. "Alright. I gotta head back to the house. A plumber is coming by."

"Another one?" Stiles whines. "I'm sorry, big guy."

Derek nods in response, turning around as Stiles puts his headphones back over his ears. And now he's literally running from his problem.

It solidifies the idea of finding a casual relationship to at least get the excess energy out as Stiles put it. Hopefully it helps.

After the plumber leaves - with shitty news as always - Derek goes back to the loft to take a shower and get ready. He doesn't feel like he dresses up at all, but when Isaac sees him before Derek leaves, he asks, "Oh, hot date?"

Derek shakes his head. "Just going out."

Isaac frowns, looking confused. "Weird. Well, tell Stiles I said hi."

"I'm not going out with Stiles," Derek practically growls.

Isaac puts his hands up in surrender. "Alright. Have fun."

Derek storms out after that, feeling his anger build up, but he stops a few floors down in the staircase and takes a deep breath. In for three counts, and out for six. It calms him down enough that he can trek down the rest of the stairs to his Camaro. Driving with the windows down also helps keep him calm, the warm breeze blowing through his hair somehow has the effect of what he imagines meditating is like.

At the club, the bouncer checks his ID and stamps his hand since he's still under twenty-one, but it doesn't matter. Derek isn't there to drink. It does nothing for him, so what's the point? He still leans against the bar, looking around the space for anyone really. Many people approach him, girls smelling of lust and looking at him like a piece of meat, which twists his stomach. It doesn't take much for him to make his disinterest obvious as he sips on a ginger ale. Apparently it's obvious enough for another woman down the bar to approach him.

"You're not dancing, and you're turning down every offer of a one night stand," the woman says, smirking at Derek, her honey brown eyes sparkling. "What's the point of even being here?"

Derek shrugs. "No one has caught my eye yet. What's your point of being here?"

The woman shrugs too, looking out to the dancing crowd. "I like people watching." Her long brown hair is artificially wavy, but it looks shiny and soft. Her skin is pale with few blemishes aside from all the beauty marks and freckles decorating her face. She's pretty, Derek guesses. Maybe he could turn his charm on for her. She's not treating him like an object.

So he steps closer and reaches out a hand. "Derek."

She eyes his hand before taking it, her smirk deepening. "Jennifer," she answers. "You're turning the charm on now?"

He laughs, even if it's fake sounding to his own ears, he hopes it's not obvious. "You don't feel predatory," he says honestly, taking a sip of his drink. "Maybe you wouldn't use only my body."

Her eyes darken slightly as she eyes his body, and it feels predatory in a compelling, challenging way. Her scent turns sweeter with lust. "You'd let me use your body?"

He smirks. "Maybe."

She nods, finishing off her drink. "Yours or mine?"

"Yours," Derek answers quickly. "Little brother at mine." Which is the best way to describe Isaac's presence.

She pays off her tab and then leads the way to her apartment where he turns off his mind and lets Jennifer take what she wants. He enjoys it. It's not horrible. It's not like Kate, but it's fine. Fine enough that he gets her number before leaving even though he probably won't use it. It's good to have the option open, though.

For a whole two hours, he didn't think about Stiles, so it wasn't a complete waste. It doesn't stop him from feeling like he betrayed him.

Stiles:

Staring at the ceiling blankly, Stiles thinks and thinks and thinks because he can't shut his brain the fuck off. He knows something, something he doesn't and didn't ask to know because it sucks knowing, and he vaguely had the idea that if something like this happened, he wouldn't want to be privy to it. For one, it's not his business really, and secondly, he knew, he fucking knew it would hurt to know this thing. Which is ridiculous because Stiles understands that Derek owes him nothing. They're not in a relationship, and Derek isn't even remotely interested in him, but knowing he's dating someone else just sucks .

All he can picture is a beautiful, blonde woman all over Derek, and he doesn't want to see it. He doesn't want these images in his head, and he hates that Isaac even told him that Derek is dating someone, smells like someone else. It makes him shudder thinking about it and his stomach curls into itself, and honestly... It hurts. It shouldn't hurt him. Derek is a grown, single man - or was single - who has bodily autonomy and a life outside of the pack. Stiles shouldn't linger on this, he really shouldn't, shouldn't let his brain dwell on the fact that he never had a chance with Derek before, but he has less of one now.

He groans and rolls onto his stomach, burying his face in his pillow. His first day of senior year is in a few hours. Stiles should be sleeping. Isaac has the worst timing, worse than Scott's even because he literally told Stiles about Derek's relationship last night when the pack was having their last hurrah and Derek was missing. With a heavy sigh, Stiles decides to just get ready for school. He makes notes on the summer reading he did just so he has his own Cliff notes version ready. Maybe this year, he'll focus more on his GPA. If he has time. They're all still waiting around for the alpha pack to show up. Derek has been training the 'wolves more, and he won't let Stiles be around for it because he's a weak human and could get hurt. Not that Derek said as much, but the message was received. That's why he started running really. He doesn't want to be the weakest link of the pack.

At school, Scott is beaming at him from the front steps. Once Stiles is close enough, he slings an arm around his shoulders. "Senior year, baby!" he yells in Stiles' ear.

"Woo," Stiles cheers half-heartedly. Or quarter-heartedly. Maybe none-heartedly. There's not much pep in his step.

"What's wrong?" Scott asks, immediately sensing Stiles' distress.

Stiles waves it off. "Just some shitty mental stuff. Didn't sleep either, which, you know, doesn't really help."

Scott nods and apparently decides not to push Stiles at the moment, but he probably will in the near future. He still doesn't know about Stiles' huge crush on Derek, nor does he know about Stiles even being into guys. He should probably tell Scott soon. 

"Distraction?" Scott offers.

"Distraction," Stiles agrees. "Whatcha got for me, Scotty?"

He smirks and nods to something in front of them. Stiles tries to follow the chin's line of sight until he sees Lydia dressed to impress as she always is. Her skirt is ruffled and her heels show off her legs beautifully. Her low cut blouse also accentuates another body part that Stiles doesn't even bother checking out. It doesn't matter. Jackson's arm is around her waist, and they're probably happy even, and Stiles won't mess with that. It's almost shocking that he doesn't even want to mess with it.

Stiles simply shrugs. "Cute outfit," he comments, and Jackson whips his head to Stiles with a confused frown, mirroring Scott's face. "What? I'm not going to bother with it when it's True Love, Scott. If they're happy, good for them. Doesn't affect me."

Scott narrows his eyes, looking suspicious. "Okay," he draws out the word. "Let's get to our lockers and compare schedules."

The day passes as it always does on the first day. They're reminded of all the rules that haven't changed in decades, so why do they need reminding? Plagiarism is wrong, attendance is important, and late work is unacceptable. Blah, blah, blah.

But when Stiles sits down at his last class of the day, there's a new teacher. Ms. Blake. She claims to just be filling in for their regular English teacher, but Stiles doesn't trust her. Her smile looks patronizingly fake and almost sneeringly. It doesn't help that her eyes constantly fall back onto Stiles like she's sizing him up. Maybe she heard rumors from other teachers that may or may not be true. Either way, it's making him suspicious of her.

Either way, when she calls his name as he's leaving the classroom at the end of the day, every survival instinct raises a red flag. "Ms. Blake?" he asks, turning around with a fake, saccharine smile, mirroring hers. "How can I help you?" And for a second, his tone reminds him of Peter, which is a little frightening.

"I've heard a lot about you," she tells him.

"I plead the fifth," he says, holding his hands up defensively.

She laughs and shakes her head, her wavy brown hair swishing with the motion. "You're the one to look out for, you know? The one to beat."

He frowns for a moment before laughing it off. One to beat ? Beat at what? Are she and him in competition? "Yeah, Lydia probably has me beat honestly."

"I doubt that." And her tone makes it sound like she is talking about something else entirely. "Anyway, I'm looking forward to seeing what you can do."

He nods. "Thanks," he says even though it doesn't feel like something he should be thanking her for. "See you tomorrow, I guess."

She waves goodbye at him before turning around to sort through papers on her desk, and he books it out of there as fast as he can. He mets Scott by his Jeep where his best friend is staring at him, confused.

"Dude, she kind of smells like Derek," Scott says with a grossed out face. "And also like se-"

Stiles covers his mouth quickly with his hand and shakes his head. "I don't wanna talk about it." Because that first sentence gave it away. That's Derek's new girlfriend. Great, now he can't be suspicious of her without looking like a jealous kid. Which he kind of is. He's eighteen though, so not technically. Beside that, though, at least she isn't blonde.

Scott frowns deeper at Stiles until he pulls his hand away. "Get in the Jeep. We gotta talk."

Yikes . The words no one wants to hear, but like a good best friend, Stiles hops in his car and strats it up, driving for a few minutes before Scott talks.

"You have a crush on Derek, don't you?"

Stiles squeaks out a denial, but no actual words come out. It's really just a squawk of indignation. And the longer Scott stares at him with a no bullshit allowed look, the quicker Stiles deflates with a, "Yeah, I do. Also, surprise! I'm bi."

Scott snorts unbecomingly frankly and also rudely if Stiles is going to be fully honest. "Yeah, that's not a surprise, bud."

And well, he's not wrong. There's plenty of times Stiles kind of maybe obviously let his freak flag fly. Or well, bi flag since being bi isn't freaky, but Stiles himself is pretty freaky. Theoretically. In his mind. In practice? Hasn't had a chance really. Maybe one day, when he gets over this habit of crushing hard on people way out of his league. Hopefully that day is soon. The day that he gets over the habit not the sex thing, but also that would be nice. Anyway, off track here.

"How long have you known I'm bi?" Stiles asks.

"Since I was, like, twelve, dude."

"And you didn't think this was pertinent information to tell me?" Stiles demands since he only figured it out almost a year ago now, and it has absolutely nothing with seeing Derek Hale in a forest trying to intimidate him because that would mean that Stiles should really seek therapy, but there are plenty of other reasons Stiles needs therapy. His bi awakening being Derek doesn't even make the top ten reasons.

Scott's only answer is shrug and to change the topic. "Why didn't you tell me about Derek? I thought we hated him? When did we stop hating him?"

Stiles shrugs, turning onto his street, not even bothering to ask if Scott wants to come over. "Uh, between hiding him in my house after we accused him of murdering his sister and the time he pushed me out of the way of Peter in a hospital."

"Wait," Scott says, digesting the information as Stiles parks in his driveway. He turns off the car and waits out his best friend. "That was... Stiles, that was over six months ago."

"I know," Stiles answers. "About eight months, but who's counting?"

Scott shakes his head as he gets out of the car and goes straight through his front door, which should be locked, and to the kitchen. "You didn't think this was important information to share?" Scott yells as Stiles walks in the door.

"Dad," Stiles greets the man sitting on the couch now understanding why the front door was locked. His dad is dressed in his uniform, and it doesn't look rumpled, so he is probably about to go to work. "How was your day?"

"Peaceful, got to sleep for once since you were at school," his dad says with a wry smile. "How was the first day of school? Make any good impressions?"

Stiles snorts, dropping his backpack by the stairs and kicking off his shoes. "You know me." Which isn't quite an answer, but he's for sure not telling his dad that he thinks his new teacher might be some kind of evil witch.

"I do," his dad says, looking at Stiles shrewdly. "What's important information?"

"Stiles doesn't have a crush on Lydia anymore," Scott answers around a mouthful of chips.

Stiles glares at him. "Not that we were going to tell my dad this thank you."

All Scott does is shrug and shove another handful of chips into his mouth. Chips that aren't even supposed to be in this house, and before Stiles can glare accusingly at his dad, the man is standing up and walking towards Stiles with a hand reached out.

"What?" Stiles asks, and there was more to the question, but he's interrupted by his dad putting the back of his hand to his forehead.

"You feeling okay?" the sheriff asks.

"I feel fine ," Stiles whines, stepping away from his dad. "She's happy with Jackson, and it was time I moved on."

His dad's eyes narrow. "And who's the new girl?"

"No new girl," Stiles says with perfect honesty because Derek isn't a girl, and he is also not someone he should be telling his dad about.

Before his dad can answer, his radio clipped to his belt goes off about a 10-54 in the preserve. "I'll be right there," the sheriff answers before hooking the radio back on his belt. He points at Stiles. "Be good. I'll see you in the morning."

"Aye aye, captain!" Stiles calls out as his father walks out of the door before rounding on Scott with wide eyes. "Possible dead body in the woods. We have to tell Derek."

"So you can see him and pine?" Scott asks with the prideful smirk he gets when he thinks he successfully bested Stiles.

Stiles groans and grabs his keys and shoes. "No, asshole. There's a body in his territory. He'll want to know about it." 

Derek:

It's hard to find a way to examine a dead body in his forest when said dead body is surrounded by cops. Derek sighs exaggeratedly, glaring at Stiles because it's apparently his fault. "How are we going to even get to look?" he demands at the teenager.

Stiles rolls his eyes. "We'll break into the morgue, duh. But we should probably examine the scene first, right?"

Derek nods, hating when he has to admit Stiles is right, but he shushes Stiles' next retort so he can listen to the police surrounding the body. The person wasn't killed here, her body was moved. Her hands were bound behind her back, and the only sign of injury is the cut on her neck. He relays the information to Stiles and Scott, who are once again joined at the hip.

While they wait, Derek leans against a tree, staring at the sky, but he looks down when he feels eyes on him. He raises an eyebrow at Stiles' glare, anger radiating off of him. "What, do you think I did this?" After all we've been through , he wants to ask, but he keeps it in.

"Don't be ridiculous," Stiles tells him. "No, but I think you know the person who did."

"What does that even mean?" Derek asks.

"Nothing," Scott hisses, glaring at Stiles meaningfully. "He means nothing."

Stiles huffs and crosses his arm, clearly annoyed as he bites the inside of cheek. He smells angry and anxious, and it feels directed at Derek. He doesn't get why, though. He tries to figure out what he possibly could have done to piss off Stiles, and Derek comes up blank.

Once the body is loaded into the coroner's van and the police have taken their fill of pictures, Derek rushes to the scene. Once there, he immediately frowns. "There's no scent."

"What?" Scott asks.

Derek looks at him because he's kind of a useless werewolf, but maybe that's partially Derek's fault. "What do you smell, Scott?"

Scott inhales deeply, nostrils flaring. "It smells like trees and plants and stuff."

"Exactly," Derek pointedly says and then sighs when Scott stares at him confused still. "Stiles." He motions the boy closer then shoves him at Scott, the former flailing into Scott's arms. "What do you smell on Stiles?"

"I feel like I should have a say in the sniffing thing," Stiles mumbles as Scott obviously sniffs his best friend's neck, and Derek has a second of jealousy wishing he were the one scenting Stiles.

"What does he smell like, Scott?"

Scott frowns. "Like deodorant and cheap cologne."

" Hey !" Stiles yells out, offended. "I'm a teenager it's not like I can afford much."

Derek rolls his eyes. "Deeper than that, Scott."

"Um, like fireworks."

And it's weird that Derek got a similar scent, especially because Derek thinks he smells comfortingly like a campfire. It's not something he's smelled on someone before.

"Also, something else... He smells like toothpaste, but not toothpaste? Minty. Sharply minty. Does that make sense?"

Derek nods, but he's partially distracted by how Stiles' base scent is entirely different to Derek. "Makes sense. Now that's Stiles' scent." He lets one claw out and slices the palm of his hand, holding it up to Scott. "Now, do you smell that?"

Scott's nose scrunches up in disgust. "Dude, that's rank."

Stiles is staring at Derek like he's insane, but he ignores it, nodding at Scott. "What is this scene missing?"

"The scent of blood," Stiles whispers, surprised. "Even though there's obviously blood on the ground."

Scott looks between the two of them like he's trying to figure something out. "Okay, so that's bad... right? There should be the smell of blood."

"And the body itself," Stiles continues. "But someone is blocking the scents."

All Derek can do is nod and try not to be surprised that Stiles is always the first one to fit the puzzle pieces together. "We have to go check the body."

"To the morgue!" Stiles yells, throwing his arm up like they're going on an adventure, and Derek doesn't even try to hide his annoyed look.

It takes a lot of charming on Derek's end while Scott and Stiles sneak behind him for him to gain access. He claims he was called here to identify one, but he's not a good actor or liar. Never has been, so he widens his eyes and pouts his lips a little more than usual, and that does it for the woman at the desk who waves Derek in. He asks for a moment while Stiles and Scott are crouched behind a filing cabinet.

Once he confirms the cause of death on the poor girl and that there are no scents, not even a base one, Derek ushers the boys out.

"What can hide scents like that?" Stiles asks when they're in the parking lot. 

Derek shrugs. "Not sure. I'll have to check the bestiary."

Stiles nods. "I'll be right behind you." Because of course Derek doesn't even have to ask Stiles to help him research. Stiles is just always there. He's pack. "I'll have Scott text the others while I drive." And with that, he gets into the Jeep with Scott who is staring at Stiles with a calculating look that Derek doesn't want to bother questioning.

At the loft, Stiles is already settled on the floor in front of the coffee table with books and his laptop spread out. Derek has no idea how he moved that quickly considering they left at the same time, but it's not worth thinking about. He just settles in on the floor across from Stiles and pulls a book towards him. Stiles glances up at him, and his scent turns sour again like he's upset with Derek. Also not something worth thinking about at the moment. They have a magical killer on the loose now.

People are at the edge of Derek's vision, talking to each other and bringing Stiles so many coffees that he loses track of how many the kid has had. He assumes that the whole pack is present, and he even registers the presence of his uncle far off in the background, but Derek is focused on the books in front of him. The sour scent on Stiles has faded off and is replaced by the strong smell of coffee that masks almost his entire scent, and Derek tries not to be upset by it. However, when he does finally count the empty mugs in front of Stiles, Derek growls at the next person to bring him coffee. 

Isaac's eyes widen and he steps back slowly, bringing a glass of water back. Stiles doesn't notice the difference and chugs that down. Derek goes back to the book in front of him about emissaries because he knows their powers are kept secret, so maybe they have something in their repertoire that will help. It's hours until Stiles' scent turns to stressed and anxious.

Derek's head snaps up at him. The others are spread across the couches and floor, each of them sleeping. "What is it?" Derek asks quietly.

Stiles looks up at him with raised eyebrows. "Oh," he says, registering his surroundings again. "There are very few creatures that can mask scents. I have a list of them, and it really could be any of them based only on that. We don't have a ton of other information to go on, but the cause of death isn't a lot of these creatures' styles." Stiles looks back at his laptop with a frown. "There are only two left, and from what I've been reading, one of them doesn't even exist, but how much do we really know?"

"Stiles," Derek says, refocusing the boy. "What are the two?"

"Druids," Stiles lists the first one. "Which are really, really rare. There's also something about a spark in here, but it means nothing to me. I gathered that they're not magical creatures, but they're not not magical creatures? All I have is that it can't be a spark because those are extinct now." As he talks, he's typing on his laptop like he's gathering his thoughts altogether. Derek knows that the Hale bestiary is on Stiles' laptop, or at least a different version of it. He's been editing it as long as they've known each other to add more detail that he found it's lacking.

"Okay," Derek drags out when Stiles doesn't continue. "What's the other one?"

Stiles makes a face. "It's not even worth discussing. These are mentioned, but they've never even existed like sparks. But I'm keeping it on the list even though the only thing it can be is a druid or a spark that no one knows came out of hiding or something. Whatever. The last one is a Darach. They're really, really dark druids."

Derek frowns at that, staring at Stiles confused. "I don't even know what that means."

Stiles' face tells Derek he doesn't think highly of his intelligence right now, but it's not Derek's fault he wasn't listening when his parents went on lectures of the different creatures out there. "Druids are earthy, okay. They derive their power from the earth, the connections in the air, which I guess are eerily similar to sparks, and I can't quite tell what the difference is, but anyway." Stiles takes a breath, refocusing himself without Derek's help this time. "Druids practice magic that is ingrained, they believe, like matter, magic isn't conjured out of nowhere. All magic that can be used already exists in the world. There is no creating more, only channeling it in different ways. Druids used to do a ton of animal sacrifices use their own blood in spells."

Stiles takes a second to stretch his back out and take a sip of water. "Darachs are druids, or start out as druids, but they think magic can be conjured, and I'm not sure that's even it. Hypothetically, if they ever existed and aren't just a cautionary tale of what you can turn into, they tap into Dark Magic like virgin sacrifices or, even worse, unwilling sacrifices."

They take a moment of silence to let the information process. Stiles stands up, shaking out his limbs before walking to the bathroom. Derek also stands up, cleaning off the cups on the coffee table and the scraps of paper Stiles wrote on and crumbled up because apparently he needs to type and write and read all at the same time. It's annoying, but what's more annoying is that Derek didn't even notice.

When Stiles comes out of the bathroom, he notices everyone sleeping and rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath, "Weaklings." Once he's closer to Derek, though, he can tell that Stiles' dark circles are awful, his eyes slightly sunken in, and his skin is pale. 

"You need to sleep," Derek tells him.

Stiles rolls his eyes. "You need to sleep."

Derek doesn't disagree. "But I'm already home. You can't drive right now."

"What time is it anyway?" Stiles asks, pulling out his phone and checking the time, which Derek knows is well after three in the morning. Stiles groans at the answer. "My dad said he's pulling a double, so no worries about him missing me. Except that Scott can't drive stick. Fuck ."

"Just spend the night here, Stiles," Derek tells him. "It's not like you've never slept here."

At the mention, Stiles glances at Derek's bed behind the wall and frowns, his scent sour again. "Don't think I can sleep where you've fucked someone."

Derek shouldn't be surprised Stiles knows about his one night stand, but he is. He's also not sure why Stiles would even care, or why Derek should even defend himself, but he is quick to say, "She's never been here."

For some reason, that does placate Stiles slightly, but he's still frowning at the bed. "The pack has the couches taken."

"Like you even sleep on them anyway." Derek walks towards his makeshift room, herding Stiles into the same direction.

"Stop treating me like cattle," Stiles hisses, shoving at Derek softly. "I'm going, I'm going, sheesh ."

Derek quickly changes out of his jeans into sweats, ignoring the spike in Stiles' heartbeat. None of his business, Derek decides. He falls into his bed where Stiles is already curled under the covers, as far on the side as he can be like they've never done this before. He even smells anxious. "Calm down, Stiles," Derek mumbles. "Nothing has changed."

"There's a fucking darach out there, Derek," Stiles argues. "It can't be a druid, they don't do human sacrifices, and just because a darach has never been recorded in written history, doesn't mean they can't happen. It has to be a darach."

"We still need more information," Derek points out. "There's no way to track it without a scent."

Stiles grumbles into the pillow he's on and rolls over, facing Derek. "Whatever," he mumbles, finally closing his eyes even though his eyebrows are still scrunched down.

As it always is with Stiles in his bed, Derek is quick to fall asleep, dreaming of pale skin with freckles and honey brown eyes.

Stiles:

Not like he marks it on his calendar, but it's exactly a month when the next body is found. Thankfully, it's not found by the cops this time. Unfortunately, it is found by none other than the Lydia Martin.

"How?" Stiles asks, stumbling through the dark forest and staring at Lydia's dark figure in front of him.

"I don't know!" she hisses at him. "I had a feeling, started walking, and then there was a dead body, Stiles. Why, do you think I did it?"

And well, he hasn't discounted it yet. She's been a big question mark since Peter bit her and she didn't turn into anything. Like, that's kind of a big mystery that was put on the backburner since she hasn't been part of anything this whole time. 

She spins around, and Stiles can barely see her face, but he knows without a doubt that she's glaring at him. "I didn't do this, Stiles. You'd never find out if I did."

He raises his hands to placate her, and she has an excellent point. If anyone else beside him knew how to hide a body, it would be Lydia. "Okay, so you just had a feeling?"

"I woke up screaming," she admits softly, looking to the side and then shakes her head, pointing in front of her. "It's up there a few dozen yards. I'm not going near it again."

Fair , Stiles can't help but think. "Why did you call me?"

"You think I trust any of the others?" she asked. "You're the only one smart enough to know what's going on anyway."

Her tone didn't make it sound like a compliment, but he definitely takes it as one before wondering why he isn't a puddle of liquid at the fact that Lydia is acknowledging and complimenting him. Whatever, which is his new motto, but he needs to move on from a lot of things.

"I'll call Derek," he sighs, pulling his phone out.

"What," the growly voice answers.

"Hi," Stiles says pointedly. "Which is how one usually answers the phone, you socially inept fuckhead. Anyway, there's another body. I'll send you my location."

"I'll find you," Derek grumbles before hanging up, and Stiles decides against calling back to demand how Derek can just find him that easily. It can't be that easy, can it?

But ten minutes later while Stiles is shivering in the cool of a fall night, Derek is there, slinging his patent leather jacket over Stiles' shoulders. "Thanks," he mumbles, pushing his arms through.

Lydia is watching them, and Derek frowns at her presence. "What is she doing here?"

"She found the body," Lydia seethes. "Can I go home now?"

Stiles nods and offers to walk her back to her car, which she doesn't even deign with an answer before she disappears into the woods. "Where's the rest of your merry men?"

"Not far behind," is the vague answer Derek gives as he walks closer to the body. Deciding that Stiles has had enough trauma, he stands back, not wanting to see another one. Five minutes later, he's explaining all that Lydia told him to the whole pack and Scott, which is practically nothing. 

"She screamed?" Peter asks from the shadows, making Stiles jump.

"Oh my god," Stiles groans. "I'm going to put a fucking bell on you. Yes, she said she woke up screaming."

"When did she wake up?" Peter asks, his voice harder than the usual casual curiosity it carries.

"How the fuck would I know?" Stiles demands.

"Ask her," Peter instructs. "It'll help us narrow down time of death."

Stiles frowns at him, and as much as he hates listening to Peter, he does it. "Why does her scream mean anything?"

"She's a banshee," is all Peter gives before disappearing into the shadows again.

"I hate that guy," Stiles whispers harshly right before Derek knocks the back of his head. "I know he's your uncle, but we're sure we can't kill him again?"

"We're not killing Peter," Derek sighs and herds everyone back to their cars. "I'll put in the call to the station. Everyone else go home and sleep. We'll check back in with each other in the morning."

"Aye aye, captain," Stiles mumbles, getting into his car without looking behind. He's the first out of there, blasting his heat on. It gets so cold in the fall, winter just around the corner. It feels more haunted than winter, though. Maybe that's just because Halloween is coming up. Spooky season, which has never been Stiles' favorite, even less now that he knows about the creepy crawlies that go bump in the night. But he's not as cold as he thought he would be, and that's when he notices that he's still wearing Derek's leather jacket. The one that Derek always wears where the sleeves are just a little too long on him, which makes Stiles think that it was not originally Derek's. The one that Stiles doesn't believe for a second Derek forgot about.

Does that mean that Derek is intentionally letting Stiles borrow something that is potentially really important to him? What does this mean? The fact that Stiles is allowed in his bed, but Ms. Blake isn't says something. Derek also doesn't like any of his betas in his bed, which says another something. Maybe it means a lot of somethings that Stiles can't hear or read. It's not like Derek thinks more highly of Stiles than he does the woman he's dating, right? Like he tentatively trusts Stiles, but that's kind of it, right? He tolerates Stiles' presence, but it's not like that means a lot. He lets Isaac stick around, and in Stiles' correct opinion, Isaac is annoying.

Stiles can't get his hopes up, though. A guy like Derek would never be into Stiles. They just have a mutual trust going on, and it's fine. They're probably just friends now. It's not like Stiles has seen Derek with friends, so maybe this is just how he is. The betas can't be his friends because they're more like Derek's children than anything, and since Stiles isn't part of the pack, he can be on equal-ish footing with Derek as friends. Friends. And as honored as Stiles is that Derek might have picked him as a friend, it still leaves his stomach heavy and his heart sad.

It's not like Stiles ever entertained the thought he would have a chance with Derek, but it's somehow disappointing knowing he doesn't. With a sigh, Stiles pulls into his driveway and parks the Jeep. He sits for a moment, letting himself be sad for a minute before going inside. As he's walking towards the door, he has the uncanny feeling that he's being watched. Looking around, he sees no one, but it's definitely a predatory gaze, a malicious one. Stiles doesn't know how he knows it is, but it's bad news bears.

Continuing up the steps to the front door, he double checks his surroundings. Or triple checks. Or quadruple checks. Point is, there's a lot of checking to see if there's something out of the ordinary. Nothing looks off, but Stiles doesn't trust that. His gut is telling him differently, and he's more likely to trust that, especially knowing the darach can mask scents. Who's to say they can't mask their presence? 

Once in his house, Stiles locks the door and calls the one person who will take him seriously: Derek.

"Your gut tells you something is watching you?" Derek asks, trying to piece together Stiles' panicked rant.

"Yes!" Stiles yells. "Derek, I swear I'm not being paranoid. The darach is here. Or was here."

"Okay, I'll be on my way in five minutes," Derek sighs, sounding tired.

"No," Stiles waves him off even though he can't see it. "I'm okay. Mountain ash surrounding the house and shit. Actually, I don't know if that does anything against darachs now that I think about it. Anyway, I don't think anything is going to happen tonight. The next sacrifice isn't for another month."

Derek hums as he thinks about it. "I don't feel comfortable leaving you alone. I'm going to check it out first. Maybe there's a scent this time we can track."

Stiles snorts. "Doubt it," he mumbles, knowing full well Derek can hear him perfectly.

Derek hangs up with a grunt of acknowledgment and one of these days, they should really work on his phone etiquette. But that's not the top priority, Stiles realizes, though it probably should be. The darach would be so shocked by his impeccable manners and be properly intimated to leaving their territory to terrorize another town, and maybe this isn't quite a good idea, and maybe Stiles is spiraling a little as he paces the small strip of floor of his room that isn't covered in dirty laundry. It doesn't matter that his heart is racing. It's not like he can do anything about it being this close to a panic attack. In the back of his head he knows that breathing exercises would theoretically work, but he's too far in to consciously make that decision.

He's being targeted, and he doesn't know why. It's not like he's found any link between the victims yet aside from them being between the ages of eighteen and twenty. But there's only two so how is he supposed to find anymore similarities? Belatedly, he realizes that he's eighteen. He is the prime age for the sacrifice, but what are the other criteria? 

Focusing on that question gets him out of the panic as he throws open his laptop, sliding into his desk chair. He quickly reads through his notes on darachs and finds exactly what he's looking for even though there's no way to check this information on the victims without prying into their personal lives, which would be next to impossible. Who wants to discuss their deceased loved one's sex life with a stranger? No one . Even Stiles' tactless ass knows that.

But the darach is most likely targeting young adult virgins. Something about the purity and innocence of it is appealing Stiles guesses. But why the specific age? What is the importance of the last two years of being a teenager but yet an adult? Are they harshly bullying people for not having sex before eighteen? Either way, virginity is a social construct. How does the darach determine their criteria on that? Should Stiles consider sleeping with someone to get out of the darach's gaze?

" Stiles! " someone yells in the background, refocusing Stiles in reality. "Are you okay?"

Stiles blinks up at Derek whose hands are gripping his shoulders. "Peachy, why?"

Derek's eyes flash red in anger. "I called your name five times. You smell like panic."

Stiles rubs his nose with the back of his hand and shrugs as best he can with the weight of Derek's hands still on his shoulders. "I think I'm the next sacrifice."

Derek frowns, stepping away from Stiles even though the younger man does not want that. It's like being close to Derek makes him feel safe. It's why he sleeps better in Derek's bed than anywhere else, but they don't talk about it. "No, you're not."

Stiles spins around in his chair, staring out the window. "I'm not sure we have the man power to stop them, Der."

"Nothing is going to happen to you," Derek growls. "I promise."

Stiles looks back at him with a frown. "I don't think that's a promise you can keep, big guy."

"I'm going to." His eyes flash again, and he's shaking, his claws slowly growing out of his fingers.

Stiles stands up and places a hand on Derek's shoulder. "Hey, calm down. It's going to be okay, dude. We'll figure it out. We always do."

Derek shakes his head, closing his eyes and trying to calm himself down, but Stiles can tell it's not working. He's not sure what to do, but he puts his hand on Derek's cheek.

"Der," Stiles whispers, getting closer to his face, and maybe getting in the face of an angry alpha werewolf isn't his best idea, but Derek would never hurt him. "Der, come back to me."

With a few deep breaths, the claws start receding, but his eyes are still closed. Stiles waits a few moments before grabbing one of Derek's hands and putting it on his neck.

"I'm right here. It's okay," Stiles tells him softly. "We're gonna be okay. All of us. Feel my heartbeat. It's okay. I'm right here."

Derek's fingers tighten and loosen, twitching almost against Stiles' neck before he lets out another breath. His thumb slides against the skin there, and Stiles has to fight everything to not shudder at the touch. Maybe this wasn't his best idea, but Derek's breathing is settling down, so it worked at least. The thumb keeps moving, and Stiles can't resist leaning into it. There's a soft growl coming from Derek, his hand tightening around Stiles' neck.

" Mine ," is what the growl sounds like. 

Stiles doesn't say that he is Derek's, and he probably always will be.

Derek:

It's his turn on the Stiles watch rotation schedule, so Derek is sitting in his car a few houses down, laying low hopefully. The last thing he needs is Stiles' dad being called to their neighborhood due to a mysterious man lurking in the neighborhood.

Stiles: Just come inside, dork

And being in the warmth of Stiles' house and surrounded by his scent is really enticing even though he's been avoiding Stiles as much as he possibly can the last two weeks. That night where Derek lost control even though it wasn't a full moon in front of Stiles was... it affected Derek a lot. In ways it should not have. He might have become more attached to the boy, which is definitely not good. But he's only so strong so he heads towards Stiles' window and jumps in.

"Ugh thank you," Stiles groaned. "I needed a distraction from this physics homework. It makes no sense."

Derek rolls his eyes and sits on the bed since it's the only available spot to sit. “That’s a reason I should’ve stayed in the car.”

“Take your shoes off, you neanderthal,” is Stiles’ retort, rolling his eyes dramatically, but there's still a small smile on his face.

Because he's not a neanderthal like Stiles believes him to be, Derek unlaces his boots, pulling his feet under him to sit cross legged. He takes a minute to look around the room, allowing himself to take in the comforting scent of Stiles while checking out the posters on the walls. There are a few Star Wars ones that aren't Princess Leia in the slave bikini costume, so he gains a little more of Derek's respect. It's mostly the film posters, and then there are a few pictures on Stiles' nightstand of a woman who looks really similar to him. 

When he finally looks back at Stiles, the boy is staring at Derek with a weirded out face. "What the fuck is wrong with your face?" Derek asks.

Stiles' eyes snap up to his, and he glares. "Don't be rude. This is my house, buddy."

"Yeah, yeah, your rules or you'll tell your dad on me?" Derek raises an eyebrow, leaning back on his hands.

Another eye roll. "Fuck off."

"Nope," Derek tells him sincerely. "Not until this darach makes themself known."

Stiles frowns. "Of course because why else would you be here," he mumbles to himself, turning back towards his desk and looking at the textbook on it. 

He smells sour and sad again like he's both mad at Derek and sad about something. Derek tries racking his brain to know how to fix Stiles' mood, but he can't think of anything aside from knowing that Stiles would rather face his daunting physics homework than look at Derek anymore. So maybe he kind of fucked up somewhere along the way to this moment. A few times because the sour smell keeps coming back. In the other cases that Derek has smelled this scent, he's chalked it up to jealousy, but he doesn't know what Stiles has to be jealous about, especially when it comes to Derek. He's also not sure why Stiles has seemed mad at him lately.

Nothing comes to mind as he watches Stiles' back closely until the young man snaps at him, "I can feel you staring, asshole. Look at something else." Then he quickly grabs something on his desk, spins around in his chair, and throws something at Derek that bounces off his chest into his lap. A remote. "Or watch some Netflix. Just leave me alone."

"I can go back to my car," Derek offers.

"Don't be ridiculous," Stiles huffs. "Just because you're stupid doesn't mean you have to sit creepily in your car in the cold."

"I don't get cold as easily as you do, and my car has heat."

"Your car running would be even more suspicious, asshat."

Derek rolls his eyes and turns on the TV, pulling up Netflix and trying to find something to watch. Ten minutes in, he still hasn't found something.

"Oh my god," Stiles whines, slamming his textbook shut and getting up from his desk. "Just pick something. Anything ... that won't ruin my recommendations at least. If you start pulling up shit like One Tree Hill , which is objectively not bad, and my recommendations are all teen dramas, I will fight you."

"You'd lose," Derek says half-heartedly as he looks through all the shows and movies.

"That literally isn't the point," Stiles tells him, sitting next to him on the bed and snatching the remote from his hand. He scoots back until his back is resting on the headboard. It's his turn to scroll through the options, and Derek mirrors Stiles' position, relaxing against the headboard. He rolls his head around, popping his neck a few times, which makes Stiles flinch.

"That's disgusting," Stiles mumbles as he searches for something specific. Derek doesn't really pay attention until there is a cartoon on the TV. He opens his mouth to argue but decides to give it a chance. Besides, saying something would only make Stiles more adamant that they need to keep watching it, and Derek would have to listen to a long winded explanation of why he's wrong and Stiles is right. That sounds exhausting, so Derek doesn't argue.

However, he does get distracted at one point watching Stiles flip the remote around in his hand, twirling it with his fingers, and god it's too much. Derek should look away. He really should, but he can't help but think those hands look so capable. It really isn't something he should think about a seventeen year old, but fuck . Why does Derek want them in his mouth?

"God, Shiro is so hot ," Stiles groans, slamming his head back. "Don't you think so?"

Derek has to figure out which one is which before answering Stiles and then hums. "Not really no. But Lance is kinda cute. In an annoying kind of way."

"What does that even mean?" Stiles asks, staring at the side of Derek's face because he refuses to turn and look at him.

Derek shrugs. "He's annoying and mouthy, but still kind of endearing. At least, so far."

Stiles hums. "I've been compared to Lance before."

Derek chokes on nothing and starts pounding on his chest to get himself to breathe correctly again. Stiles' hand is on his back, patting it soothingly.

"You okay, big guy?"

"Fine," Derek croaks out. He may or may not have inadvertently call Stiles endearingly cute, and he's not sure how he should proceed from here. The best course of action, he decides, is to simply ignore it and keep watching the show until about one in the morning. Then he says as Stiles' head is starting to droop, "Go to sleep, Stiles."

" You go to sleep," he mumbles, voice heavy and slightly slurred.

Derek gets off the bed to jostle Stiles back awake, and the boy looks betrayed up at him. "Get ready for bed. I'll sit in the chair."

Stiles sighs. "We've been over this, I think. We can share a bed." He gets up and shuffles to the bathroom, and Derek contemplates taking off his jacket when he spots his leather one hanging off a hook in the wall. He goes over to it, and it smells like Stiles and him mixed together, similar to his bed now. But the scent is stronger like Stiles has been wearing it often. 

He barely notices when Stiles comes back in the room. "Oh, sorry. I meant to give that back, but it's really warm."

Derek waves his hand. "Return it to me in the spring."

"I - wh - okay," Stiles stutters as he walks to his bed and falls face first into it. "Take off your pants." The words are muffled but still understandable.

"I'm sorry what ," Derek asks, trying to find a reason to say no when all he wants to say is yes.

"Your jeans are skin tight and it's a sin to wear jeans in bed. The bible told me so."

It's really hard to believe Stiles ever went to Sunday school, but he does actually listen because Stiles isn't wrong persay. Once pantsless, Derek climbs under the covers as Stiles turns off his lamp. It's quiet for a few minutes, long enough that Derek thinks the other fell asleep until there's a hand on his arm.

"Thanks for being here for me," Stiles says, his voice barely a whisper.

"You're pack, Stiles. Of course I'm here for you." What Derek doesn't say is that he thinks of Stiles not just as pack but as his closest friend.

Stiles:

It's annoying, really, that Derek decides to start driving everyone to school in his ridiculous mom car. Sure, it's better than them all squeezing into the Camaro, but Stiles likes driving. Derek has this ridiculous notion that Stiles is never allowed to be alone now, which really sucks because Stiles Time has been severely reduced into nothing. Which sucks even more because most nights than not, there's a sexy ass werewolf who may or may not have been Stiles' bi awakening in his bed. Next to him. Being a great space heater. And Stiles wants to be all over him, and not even only sexually. He wants to know if Derek is as good of a cuddler as he looks. He wants to know if Derek prefers being little or big spoon and how angry Derek would be if Stiles put his cold toes on his calf.

It's really annoying because Stiles also wants Derek's face on his. But no private time. Ever. Even in the shower because he knows whatever werewolf is with him can hear. It tends to be one of the betas after school as they do homework together and then it's Derek at night into the morning now. Ugh .

Derek parks in front of the school, and Stiles has been quiet this morning, letting Erica and Isaac's bickering wash over him. As they're getting ready to exit, there's a knock on the driver's side window. Ms. Blake because of course it is. And because it's Ms. Blake, Derek rolls down the window to give her a charming smile that Stiles will never know what it feels like to be directed at him.

"Jennifer," Derek greets smoothly.

"Derek," she says with a small smirk then sees Stiles in the front seat and raises her eyebrows. "Oh, hello Stiles. How do you two know each other?"

And of all the lies they two of them have come up together, figuring out how they know each other and why they hangout a lot has never been one of them.

"Uh," is Derek's intelligent response.

Stiles wants to roll his eyes, but he's quick to answer the question. "Isaac's a buddy of mine, so by proxy Derek also has to hangout with me."

"Isaac?" she asks, looking in the backseat and seeing more of her students. "Oh, you're all friends then?"

"Isaac is my brother," Derek answers, smile still plastered, but his body is tense.

She smiles sweetly. "Cute. Well, Derek, nice to see you. Call me soon?"

Derek nods and waves goodbye at her as she walks away, the waves in her bouncing. 

"Why does she care about us so much?" Stiles asks. "That's weird, right? I think we should start watching her. She might be something."

Derek rolls his eyes. "She's a human, Stiles. Stop being so suspicious of everyone."

And Stiles is absolutely not sulking in the passenger seat, arms crossed over his shoulders. 

"Okay, since mom and dad are fighting, I'm going to get to class," Erica announces lightly, opening the backseat door and jumping out. Isaac, who was in the middle, and Boyd are quick to follow her.

"Mom and dad?" Stiles asks no one. "Wait, who is the mom?"

"Of course that's what you're concerned about," Derek mutters. "Get out of my car and go to class, Stiles."

" Fine ." He grabs his backpack and leaves the car without a second glance. It's ridiculous, really. Annoying even that Derek is just there all the time and he's not even single. Now that he thinks about it, Derek probably hasn't seen his girlfriend in weeks. Surely she feels left out and abandoned, no? Derek should be a better boyfriend honestly.

It's whatever, though. It's not his relationship. Derek isn't his boyfriend even if Stiles wishes he was. It doesn't matter, so he gets to his locker where Scott is waiting who smiles wide and then the smile drops.

"Dude," Scott says instead of a greeting. "Are you sure you don't want to tell me anything about you and Derek?"

Stiles rolls his eyes, shoving his backpack in his locker. "No, Scott. We've just been watching Voltron together. I have to educate him on good TV." He decided Scott doesn't need the worry of thinking Stiles might be the next sacrifice. No need to worry until absolutely necessary.

Scott rolls his own eyes before knocking their shoulders together. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

"I know, Scott," Stiles answers with a sigh. "Just nothing to tell. He has a girlfriend, and he would never be interested in me anyway."

"His loss," Scott decides because he's a good best friend like that. They pass by Allison, Scott stopping to give her a kiss on the cheek as she talks with Lydia, who very pointedly does not acknowledge either of them. She hasn't really been on talking terms with Stiles since the night she found the last body. Not that they were besties before then, but Stiles had kind of hoped that she would start being his research buddy. Alas, he was wrong. His hopes did not come to fruition as they seem to always do.

During his last class of the day, Ms. Blake doesn't stop staring at Stiles with a small, secretive smile like she knows something he doesn't. It really bothers him, and he doesn't think it's only his jealousy. He hates being out of the loop. He's a nosy son of a bitch and needs to know everything, and the fact that she acts like she knows something he doesn't is taunting him. At the end of class, she smirks at him as she waves goodbye like she knows she got to him. It's weird.

After school, Erica is hanging out at his place when Stiles starts wondering when the last time he saw his dad was. It's been at least two days. Vividly, Stiles remembers a hand on his head one morning as his dad passed the kitchen to grab water before going to bed as he worked the night shift. There's a nagging feeling that Stiles needs to be worried.

"Can we go to the station?" Stiles asks Erica when she's in the middle of telling Stiles what his colors are, and he most definitely wasn't listening. Red may have been one of them, which she said with a smirk that he didn't understand.

"Why?" she asks, drawing out the word in confusion.

"I'm worried about my dad. He's not home, right? You don't hear him sleeping?"

She shakes her head, her curls swishing with the motion. She's wearing minimal makeup today, and she has been more days lately as if she no longer has something to prove, her power speaking for itself. At another time, Stiles would be gushing over how amazing that is, but there's that feeling his dad is in danger. Panic is slowly rising in him, but he tries to tamper it down because he doesn't have any proof. He's probably just overworking himself as he does.

"Let's go," Erica decides, sliding off the bed and slipping on her heels. She grabs Stiles' wrist once his shoes are back on and practically drags him down the stairs, her grip almost too hard, but it's grounding at the same time. She's right there. He has part of his pack with him. He's okay. His dad is okay.

The drive is silent as Stiles focuses on driving and not melting into a panic attack. He notices in the back of his mind Erica texting beside him. It doesn't matter. Stiles gets to the station and goes straight to his dad's office, half-heartedly waving at Tanya where she's at the front desk.

"He's not here, bud," Tanya calls out before Stiles opens the door. "He took the last couple days off. You haven't seen him at home?"

Stiles turns to her, trying to hide his loud panic now. His dad is missing. His dad is missing. His dad is missing . "He's probably being a hermit then," Stiles says, his laugh hollow. "I'll go bug him there then. Thanks."

She waves at him, and he hurries to the parking lot where someone grabs his shoulders, the grip harder than Erica's. He flinches until he sees technicolor eyes. Then he slumps, gripping at Derek's shirt until his knuckles turn white. He can only stare at his hands, knowing they're shaking. "Please get me out of here," he mumbles.

Derek is quick to take action and follow Stiles' directions. He's shuffled into the Camaro where Derek has to buckle his seatbelt for him because after five tries, Stiles couldn't still his hands enough to latch it himself. Usually, he'd probably be worried about it being embarrassing, but he doesn't have the brain power to worry about it.

His dad is missing. His dad is in danger .

It's a chant over and over in his head. He can't lose his dad too. Not yet. This isn't okay.

"We'll track him," Derek tries to soothe him, his voice sounding weird because of it.

Stiles nods, going into a numb state, which is slightly better than panic he thinks. He's not ready to lose his dad. He just isn't.

For hours, Stiles sits on Derek's couch, staring at the coffee table. Or it feels like hours. Maybe. He's really not sure. There's a flurry of activity around him, but he doesn't pay attention. At one point, Scott is there trying to get him to drink water. He doesn't. There's nothing to do. He's useless. He can't even save his dad. Stiles is useless .

Derek:

Derek feels useless. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Stiles carefully as he sends Isaac out to track the sheriff. Stiles hasn't moved in over an hour. He's barely even blinking. He watched Scott fret over him, but Stiles won't respond to anyone or anything. Derek needs to be focusing on finding the sheriff, but he all he wants to do is to push Scott out of the way and be the one to fret over his mate.

Fuck .

That's the first time he let himself even admit it in his thoughts. This really isn't the time too.

"There's no trace," Isaac says over the phone. "Derek, there's no trace."

Derek sighs. Like the darach. "Meet us at Deaton's." Because the veterinarian might have more information than they do. They're running out of options, and who know how long the sheriff has been missing or what is being done to him. They have to go now.

He ushers everyone into his car, Stiles barely reacting to the flurry of action around him. At the vet office, Derek leads everyone into the back, and as per usual, Deaton doesn't even seem surprised to see them.

"The new Hale pack," Deaton greets with a gentle smile. It falls slightly when he sees the state of Stiles. "What is going on?"

"The sheriff is missing," Derek takes over, pushing Stiles gently to sit in a chair in the exam room they're in. "He hasn't been to work in two days, which is the last time Stiles saw him."

"You think it has to do with the recent murders?" Deaton guesses.

"I think it has to do with Stiles. I think whatever is killing people is lurring Stiles out."

"It's my fault?" Stiles asks, his voice high and cracking. "God, I should have never gotten involved in this. I thought keeping him in the dark would keep him out of it, but oh my god. It didn't work. It didn't work. It's my fault."

Derek gets in his face, holding his shoulders tightly. "Stiles, look at me. Look at me ." He uses his alpha voice, which he doesn't use often and never on humans because it doesn't really work, but Stiles' watery, wild eyes snap to his. "It's not your fault. We're going to find him, Stiles. I promise."

Stiles nods then his eyes glaze over again as he retreats into himself. 

Derek sighs and stands up straight again, walking to Deaton. "How can we find him? There's no trace of him. No scent, nothing left behind."

Deaton nods and pulls out a book. "I have an idea," he says quietly as he flips through the pages. "I, personally, haven't done it before, so I need to refresh myself to make sure it's completed correctly."

It feels like forever for Deaton to find whatever he's looking for then he turns to Derek with a grimace. "You're not going to like it."

Erica is standing near Stiles, protectively with Boyd behind Derek and Isaac guarding the door. They instinctively placed themselves there, and it's exactly where Derek wants them. He's glad his pack is here with him. Scott is out trying to track himself, and Derek told him it was useless, but as always, Scott refused to listen to him. Either way, at the moment, his pack is safe. They're not okay, but they're safe.

He takes a deep breath, smelling the antiseptic and cleaning supplies of the office. "Hit me," he finally says.

Deaton explains the procedure to him, and he was right. Derek doesn't like it. In fact, he hates, makes that hatred known, and argues that there has to be a different way. 

At the moment, the door to the exam room slams open, and Derek chides himself for not noticing earlier that someone was coming. It's only Lydia and Jackson, the former looking livid.

"I'm helping," she announces, glancing at Stiles and concern flashes over her face. "Stiles would do the same for me."

They fill her in on the plan, and she grimaces, asking if there is any other option. When Deaton says no like he told Derek, she sighs and nods like it's her decision.

"No," Derek says, putting an air of finality in his voice. "We are not doing this."

"We are," Stiles croaks, standing up. " I am. And it's my decision. You are not leaving me out of this, Derek."

Derek growls unhappily. Stiles isn't wrong, and Derek hates it. He wishes for anything else. "You could die , Stiles."

"I will die," he mutters. "That's part of the whole thing. Or at least, I'll be close to it. I don't know. Deaton kept that part vague as he always does. I think it's because he doesn't actually know. Either way, I'm doing this, and you can't stop me."

Derek growls again, trying to take a deep breath, but he can feels his claws sharpening and growing. "Fine. You need an anchor."

"Someone you have a deep, emotional bond with," Deaton adds. "The person you trust the most. You think on that while I set up the ice bath."

Scott comes back while Deaton is filling the tin tub, and he looks between all of them, demanding to know what's going on. Like Lydia and Derek, Scott yells and argues that there has to be another way. Derek is too exhausted emotionally from keeping himself in check that he doesn't have the energy to tell Scott it's not up to them. Thankfully, Lydia jumps in and chastises Scott for not thinking about Stiles' decisions and maybe Stiles knows what's best for himself.

Once Isaac and Boyd pour the ice into the water, Stiles starts stripping into his underwear, already shivering, Deaton explaining to him what he needs to do.

"Your anchor as Derek called it will be the one to bring you back. You can't do it yourself. Do you know who it is?" Deaton asks.

Stiles nods, stepping into the bath, hissing as he lowers himself. Scott stands behind him, putting his hands on his shoulders.

"I got you, buddy," Scott says, squeezing Stiles.

Stiles shakes his head, shivering harder now, teeth chattering. "D-d-derek. Derek's my anchor."

The room is the quietest it's been since they've arrived. Everyone is staring either at Stiles or at Derek, eyes flittering back and forth. Derek is stuck in place, staring at Stiles. "You're sure?" he double checks.

Stiles nods, taking a deep breath. "Now hurry because I can literally feel my balls receding into my body."

Scott glares at Derek, threatening great violence with his eyes if something happens to Stiles. Derek has to silently agree that if something happens, he'll let Scott do whatever he needs to do to him. 

Putting his hands on Stiles' shoulders, Derek can't help but squeeze, trying to be reassuring. "I'm right here," he whispers.

Deaton gives the go ahead, so with his own deep breath, Derek shoves Stiles into the water and holds him down until he's no longer fighting it.

Stiles:

He's compared a lot of things to drowning despite never have drowned himself. He's been close but no cigar. Stiles thought he would have so many thoughts as he went, but there were none aside from the panic of getting out of the water. Even though, he knows it's what he wanted, it's what will save his dad, his body fought back instinctively. That's how it works. Animals are programmed with a survival instinct, and apparently, despite many people not believing it, Stiles has that instinct. Apparently, he wants to live.

There's a bright light against his eyes, so he opens them. He's in a stark white room, nothing in it. No doors, no hallways, nothing . The absence of anything. Nothing. The only option is to walk around, though. So he walks and walks and walks, his wet feet slapping against the hard floor.

There's a low buzzing in his ears, which is the first of anything in this room. He keeps walking, and the buzzing gets louder and louder until it's almost unbearable. Clapping his hands over his ears does nothing, but he does it anyway because it feels comforting for whatever reason, thinking that he can protect himself some way. The buzzing gets even louder, and Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, trying to make it go away. His ears hurt , and it just won't go away. He collapses to his knees then to his side on the floor, hugging his legs to his chest.

It feels like hours until the buzzing recedes enough for Stiles to open his eyes and sit upright. When he looks around, there's a giant, old tree trunk in front of him, just sitting there. It looks so out of place in the all white room. There's not even dirt around it, only the absence of anything. 

Stiles , it hisses at him.

He scrambles back away from it in fear.

Dearest spark, don't fear. I'm not here to hurt you. Only help you find what you want most.

Stiles frowns. "You're going to help me find my dad?"

He's here. With me. He's safe.

The frown on his face deepens. "Who are you?"

I am the nemeton, a once sacred and powerful tree. Dear spark, come find me and you will find your father .

The buzzing gets loud again, and Stiles screams in pain. There's a harsh pressure on his shoulders, multiple sharp objects digging into his skin. His chest constricts like he's trying to breathe, but there's only water. Ice cold water. Only water in his mouth, in his nose, in his lungs. There's so, so much water. He tries to scream for help, but it only lets in more water. His brain won't let him close his mouth, though, despite it being the logical solution. There is no logic here. Logic left the second Stiles found out his dad was gone.

With a gasp, Stiles feels actual air in his mouth, not water. Then he's choking, coughing up the water as he's wrapped in something warm. He huddles in closer to the warmth, still coughing. He can feel himself shaking violently because of how cold he is. He wants to become one with whatever is keeping him warm. This warmth feels familiar, comforting, like home and safety all in one feeling. He clings onto it like it's his life line, and it actually might be.

"Stiles," someone yells out, but he keeps his eyes closed, hands balled up in the soft fabric of something. "Someone get a blanket!" 

"Shhh," Stiles whispers. "Too loud." He hears a hiss as he nuzzles his face into the warmth, and it takes way too long to realize finally that he is in someone's lap, his face in someone's neck, but he's way too cold to pull back. 

"Fuck," his personal space heater sighs. Derek , his mind whispers. "Stiles, are you okay?"

"Cold," he mumbles, curling in on himself. Arms wrap around him, and Derek's hands are everywhere trying to warm Stiles up.

"His clothes," a feminine voice says. "Get him dressed."

Stiles clings harder. "Don't move."

"Stiles, you need more than me," Derek says, and it almost sounds like his voice is pained.

He finally opens his eyes, seeing the stress and worry on Derek's face. Stiles nods, and Scott and Derek help him slip into his clothes and a sweater that was procured from somewhere. Derek drapes his leather jacket over his shoulders, and Stiles doesn't bother asking when he grabbed it from his room. He huddles into it, pulling the sides in tight.

"Did it work?" Scott asks, eager to know.

Stiles nods. "The darach has him, they have to." Stiles' brain is speeding back up, and shit . He knows who the darach is. It has to be her. It has to be. He whirls around on Derek, getting into his face. "Your fucking girlfriend took him." He shoves Derek's chest, and the alpha stumbles back in surprise.

"What girlfriend?" he asks, confused. "Took who?"

" Jennifer ," Stiles spits out. "She took my dad. She's the darach.

"You can't know for sure," Derek argues.

Stiles shoves at him again, Derek catching his wrists and holding him there. "She took him, Derek. Why don't you believe me? She's evil just like every other girlfriend you've ever had."

A pained look crosses Derek's face, and Stiles almost feels bad, but this is his dad . "She has a scent, she's human." And his voice sounds almost like a child's, pleading and begging to be right, to not be in trouble.

Stiles clenches Derek's shirt. "We have to go to the nemeton."

"The nemeton?" Deaton chimes in, his interest obviously piqued. "No one knows where that is."

In flashes, Stiles realizes. "I know where it is. I know."

"You're not going," Derek argues.

Stiles' head snaps back to him, and he shoves him as hard as he can. "Fuck you, Derek!" he practically screams. "I'm going. You can't stop me just because you're the big, bad alpha and get off on telling me what to do. I'm not useless, and you can't keep me on the sidelines all the time!"

Derek:

With strength a human shouldn’t possess, Stiles pushes Derek up against the wall, getting an inch from his face. 

“This isn’t lacrosse. I won’t be warming the bench, you absolute asshole fucking piece of shit. You can’t tell me what to do anymore. I’m done taking orders from you. You may be my alpha, but you are not my superior.” His voice is half a growl like he spends too much time around wolves, but that’s not the most jarring thing and neither are the words. His eyes are glowing an eerie white. Pupils and irises gone. They’re just a milky, glowing white. For once, Derek is afraid of Stiles' physical strength as he grabs Derek's shirt, shaking him once just to shove back against the wall again.

"Stiles?" Scott asks from behind like he doesn't believe this is his best friend.

Derek grips Stiles' wrists tightly. "Stiles," he whispers. "We'll go, okay? Calm down. Breathe. We will get him back. I promise I will do anything to get him back to you."

Stiles' hold on Derek's shirt lessens slightly as he takes a deep breath. "You promise?" he asks. "I'm going."

"You're going," Derek agrees quickly, his thumbs moving back and forth over Stles' skin softly, trying to be reassuring. "But you need to keep your cool."

Stiles nods, his eyes fading back to normal, the white shrinking into itself. "Thank you," Stiles says under his breath, not meeting Derek's eyes anymore.

"What the fuck was that?" Jackson asks. "Stilinski is weak. How the hell would he ever be able to throw anyone up against a wall?"

"I don't recommend fucking with me right now, Jackson," Stiles says darkly. He's still pressed up against Derek, leaning on him for strength it feels like. Derek wants to wrap his arms around him and hold him close, protect him at all cost.

Scott shuffles slightly. "It's actually a good question."

"It seems that something has awoken in our dear spark," Deaton says cryptically. Derek wants to glare at him, but he refrains. They have bigger things to worry about than Stiles not being human anymore.

"Would love to get more vague answers, Doc, but I'm going to go get my dad." Stiles steps back from Derek, and he tries so hard to not whine at the loss of contact from the teenager. He does get a calculating look from Lydia and a look of shock from Scott. Maybe the latter is finally picking up on his werewolf senses. At the most inopportune time. Seems enough like Scott.

Stiles marches out of the clinic, and Derek unquestioningly follows him, asking after a plan, which is met with a shrug. "We go to the nemeton, and fuck your girlfriend's shit up."

Derek doesn't know why it's important at the moment as they climb into Stiles' Jeep to clarify, "She's not my girlfriend."

"Well," Stiles says with a grimace. "Isaac said she smelled like you, and you smelled like a woman. So. Two and two makes four, buddy."

"It was one time," Derek continues even though he has nothing to defend himself against. He never betrayed Stiles, but it really feels like he did. "Met at a club, you know the rest. She shouldn't have smelled like me days after."

Stiles frowns deeply at that. "So scent manipulation. Seems like another point against her here."

Derek sighs, leaning against the seat. "I should have known. There should have been signs."

"The fact that you were attracted to her wasn't a big enough sign?" Stiles snarks with a scowl, smelling bitter again.

Then what are you , Derek wants to ask. If Derek is attracted to Stiles, then he must be something scary, something that's going to threaten people he cares about, isn't he? By Stiles' logic that is. And maybe he's not wrong. How Stiles threw him against that wall earlier -- while wildly attractive -- is something inhuman on top of his eyes that only Derek saw. Stiles isn't human. Not anymore at least, and that is horrifyingly low on the priority list for tonight. But instead of voicing any of this to Stiles and frightening him before they go to rescue his father, Derek glares because that's better than spilling out words that may affect Stiles in ways he doesn't know, and Stiles being an unknown variant at the moment is too frightening, especially with him at the wheel of the car.

Wordlessly, Stiles pulls into the preserve and jumps out, beckoning Derek to follow. He knows his pack is close behind, so Derek follows, and the teenager is competently and confidently trekking through the forest. At night. There are no stuck feet or flailing trips that Derek has to catch him before he hits the floor. There's a grace on Stiles that is the scariest thing yet this night. Watching him know exactly where he's going and swiftly moving out of the way of fallen branches is foreign. It's not Stiles, but it's not not Stiles. He doesn't feel any different. His smell is slightly stormy like feeling the smallest hint of electricity in the air before a thunderstorm. But he's still Stiles at the core of his scent. A different version maybe.

Derek gets so lost in his thoughts that the trip to the nemeton blurs until he can smell fire and grabs the back of Stiles' hoodie, pulling him into his chest.

"Wha-" and before he can finish that, Derek slaps a hand over his mouth.

"Fire, two different heartbeats," Derek whispers in Stiles' ear. "Wait for the rest of the pack then we'll go in."

Stiles nods, Derek's hand moving with his head. Slowly when Derek believes Stiles will listen, he slides his hand away, but he keeps his grip in the back of Stiles' hoodie in case the younger man gets any ideas of running foolheartedly into a trap, which it has to be. It has to be a trap if Stiles is the target. Nothing else would make Stiles risk everything without a second thought. It's one of the easiest things to pick up about Stiles. She wouldn't have had to do a lot in that regard. If it is Jennifer that is.

The forest is strangely quiet, Derek suddenly notices. No tittering of birds settling down for the night or the cries of crickets trying to find their mates or even prey animals walking around. There is nothing in this part of the forest, and Derek can't tell if it's the darach hiding the sounds of the forest or if there's nothing alive around here. Either option is equally frightening.

Once there's a hand on his back alerting him to the presence of Boyd, Derek feels comfortable whispering in Stiles' ear, "Go."

There is no hesitation as Stiles runs as fast as he can into a clearing, Derek very close behind. When they get through the thick of the trees and grass circling the clearing, they can see a giant tree stump with a recognizable brunette in front of a giant fire with a man in a beige uniform crumpled on the ground, and the sob that Stiles lets out will haunt Derek's nightmares for years to come.

Stiles:

"Dad!" Stiles shouts, decidedly not caring to surprise Ms. Blake aka the Darach aka I fucking told you so, Derek . Seriously, why does no one trust his gut? After the whole Matt thing, he's pretty sure they should all trust him implicitly. 

His legs burn as he keeps running to the fire that his dad is lying beside, unconscious. Fleetingly, he thinks he might need to start running more now that he runs (literally) with wolves. But that doesn't currently matter. What matters is getting to his dad and checking to see if he's injured. 

However, as soon as he gets within twenty feet of the fire, he bounces back off an invisible force field. Of fucking course. Nothing is ever easy. "You fucking fuck face!" Stiles yells out at the darach who isn't even facing him. When she does turn, her face is disfigured like it was burned. Badly . It makes him step back in shock. It has to be Ms. Blake. Her hair is exactly the same, but that is not the faux nice seeming face he's been seeing in school for months.

"Derek?" she says, looking behind Stiles, who is apparently not even a threat. "You never called me back."

The man in question snorts, rolling his eyes. "You found a way to entertain yourself it seems."

She laughs, tossing her hair back over her shoulder as her face morphs back into what Stiles is used to. "You were still a fun time."

"Okay, first of all, ew. Second of all," Stiles says, holding up one finger then two, "give me back my dad."

She smirks at him, eyes lit with the reflection of the fire, which makes her a bit scarier looking than during school. "Oh, of course. He is unharmed."

Stiles bangs on the force field again with both fists, growling. "I'm not playing your stupid game."

"I like to think of it more as a trade," she says contemplatively.

"You want me," Stiles guesses, and he can hear Derek's loud growl of protest behind him. "Fine."

" No ," Derek roars. "You are not dying tonight."

Stiles shrugs. "My dad sure as hell isn't. Drop the force field, dearest Ms. Blake. You can have me."

Suddenly there's an arm around Stiles' waist and a hard chest against his back as he's pulled away. "I refuse to let you do this," Derek says quietly but harshly in his ear.

Stiles sighs boredly. "Der, you don't get to make this decision for me. This is obviously between me and Jennifer."

"Jennifer and me," Ms. Blake corrects with a smile. "But he's not wrong, Derek. I'd hate for your pretty face to be collateral damage."

Stiles sneers at her, gripping Derek's arm and leaning back against the man, tilting his head to get to his ear. "Trust me."

Derek's arm tightens in response, and his constant growling gets louder, but then, he let's go of Stiles. "Gotta protect my pretty face ," he snarls, shoving Stiles at Jennifer, but the force field is gone, and Stiles falls, catching himself on his knees and hands, the force of it tingling unpleasantly in his wrists and knees. He quickly stands up and stomps over to the darach, shoving her against the wide tree stump. 

There's a loud noise behind them, causing Stiles' head to turn as Derek punches the force field angrily.

"So that's why he never called me back," Jennifer says, amused.

Stiles swings is head back to hear and glares. "Why me?"

She shrugs. "Easy target. You're a virgin, Stiles. I need that pure, innocence."

"Why?" he asks. "What's the point of these sacrifices?"

Her grin widens like the fucking Grinch, the corners of her lips curling up. "Oh I'm so happy you asked. See, this nemeton once was a huge, glorious tree that gave every supernatural creature here even more power. Druids from around the world would flock here and complete animal sacrifices to feel even an ounce of its power."

"And what does a darach do with it?" Stiles asks, fisting her shirt and pulling her close to him.

"Someone did their homework," she says delightedly, laughing. "What does a darach do, Mr. Stilinski?"

His eyes narrow at her. "I'm not going to play pop quiz for you. If you're gonna sacrifice me, fucking do it already, coward."

She frowns. "I am a lot of things, Stiles, but a coward is not one of them. Someone had to restore power to this great tree, and the only thing to do was sacrifice. It's for the greater good. Don't you want your death to mean something, Stiles?"

"It will mean saving my dad. That's good enough."

She shakes her head, disappointed. Her eyes flit over to where Derek and the rest of the pack are shoving at the force field. "It's a shame they're going to lose such an important pack member before they even know the incredible gift you are."

"Are you going to keep going on your villain monologue or release my dad already?" Stiles asks, feigning boredom again. "Release him, and you can slit whatever part of me you need to. Neck? Wrists? Doesn't matter."

There's another loud roar behind him, and Jennifer outright laughs. "The big, bad wolf doesn't like that. Are you sure? It's much more fun if you're unwilling."

He wants to gag at the implications of that, but he holds steady. "Let them in long enough to get my dad."

She hums, tilting her head as she thinks about. Jennifer looks at the pack scrutinizingly. "The curly haired boy can come collect your father. He seems rather tame compared to the others."

"Isaac," Stiles calls out. "Come get my dad, and I swear if you pull anything, I'll have Scott avenge me."

Jennifer laughs again and flicks her hand. Stiles watches as Isaac walks closer, looking anxiously at everything around him. Derek tries to follow, but the bubble stops him. Once Isaac picks up his dad, he looks at Stiles, worried.

"Stiles, we can't lose you," he begs.

"Get my dad out of here," Stiles tells him. " Please ."

Isaac nods and walks out of the bubble and gently places Stiles' dad yards away from the bubble. 

"Is he okay?" Stiles calls out.

Isaac raises a thumb since he's too far for Stiles' ears to reach. 

"Let me go, Spark," Jennifer says calmly. "It's your turn for a sacrifice."

Stiles nods and steps back, following her gesture to climb on the tree stump. He lies down on his back on the nemeton, staring up at the night sky where the only light is the stars. It's not late enough for the moon to be out, but it's not like this will be Stiles' last chance. As always, he has something up his sleeve. 

"Which artery?" he asks casually.

"Wrists," she tells him, unsheathing a dagger when he looks back at her.

He eyes it carefully. "Silver?"

"You really did do your research."

"It's all I've got, Jenny. My wits and my smarts," he jokes.

She leans down into his face, her hair brushing against his cheeks. "Don't underestimate yourself, Stiles. You could have done incredible things."

"Eh," he says. "C'est la vie." 

"And it's the end of yours," she says with a dramatic sigh and then quickly slices is right wrist. He cries out in pain even though he really didn't want to. But fuck, that hurt like a bitch. He closes his eyes, focusing on the bubble around them as she moves to his other side. Stiles bets she pays close attention to him to make sure he doesn't try to escape, but he doesn't make a move. He just squints his eyes and focuses as hard as he can on making the bubble disappear.

In his mind, he can see these strands of light. One is a dark, crimson red like blood, so Stiles follows that before taking a deep breath. There's a heartbroken howl in the distance as his other wrist is slit, and he can feel himself getting more and more tired as the blood flows out of him. What he doesn't expect is his brain going completely white.

Dearest Spark, this is not the way you're supposed to go.

It sure as hell isn't the way I'm going , he thinks back to the nemeton before he feels a surge of power inside of him. It's similar to the feel of the force from falling on his joints, but more powerful. He starts shaking and hears a confused, "What the fuck," from a feminine voice, but it doesn't matter because as he feels the power, he reaches out to the red light in his brain as the white light dissipates slightly and rips it in half.

Jennifer cries out like she's in pain, and suddenly there's a lot of noise, but Stiles can't open his eyes. He can only listen to the noises of snarling and skin ripping and Jennifer's pleas for mercy that isn't granted to her. He definitely fades in and out. It feels like hours before someone is yelling his name, dragging him off the nemeton, and hearing Derek's panicked yell for Boyd to help is the last thing Stiles hears before he blanks out completely.

Derek:

"So werewolves?" the sheriff asks in a hushed tone over Stiles' body in the hospital bed.

Now that the worry of Stiles dying is gone, Derek had to fill the sheriff in on what's going on, why his son was so badly injured, and why Derek refuses to leave his side. Well, maybe not the full truth was given on the last one, but the rest were.

Derek takes a deep breath. "Werewolves," he agrees.

John sits back in his chair and sighs loudly. "Wow. I don't really believe you, you know?"

"Didn't think you would," Derek says, he looks around quickly before shifting his face.

There's no note of fear in the sheriff, but his hand does twitch towards his gun for a brief moment as he stares at Derek openly. When he shifts back, the sheriff settles back. "Werewolves," he whispers to himself. "And darachs and sacrifices."

"Oh, my," Stiles croaks out.

John jumps up to help Stiles take a sip of water, brushing his hair back. "You okay, son?"

Stiles nods, taking greedy sips of water. "What happened?" His eyes flick to Derek, looking surprised. "Uh, why is Derek Hale here?"

John snorts, sounding as sassy and ridiculous as his son. "I hear you're in his wolf pack or something."

"I - " Stiles stops and glares at Derek. "I don't remember giving you permission to tell him."

"I don't remember giving you permission to almost die. Actually, I think I explicitly said not." Derek bares his teeth at him, flashing his eyes.

"Okay, settle down there, Derek," the sheriff says.

Stiles waves him off. "He's all bark and no bite."

The sheriff hums as he sits down. "I'm not sure about that."

All Stiles does is shrug, but Derek has to admit he's right. When it comes to Stiles, he's a bit of a pushover. There's a lot unsaid between them as Stiles watches Derek carefully. It takes a while for the sheriff to leave the room to grab coffee for himself and Derek. Then, of course, Stiles pounces.

"Why would you tell him?" Stiles hisses.

"Because he saw most of it, Stiles. There was no explaining that away. Plus, it wasn't exactly my number one concern at the time when you were dying ."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Whatever. I said to trust me."

"What you did was great and all," Derek says quietly. "But you almost died, Stiles. You had a transfusion and there are stitches in your wrists, and you smell like pain, so don't even deny you're in any." With a huff, Derek reaches over and puts a hand on Stiles' arm.

"Don't touch - " Stiles begins until he sees the black veins crawling up Derek's arm. "Okay, yeah, you can do that." He sighs, relaxing against the bed, closing his eyes tiredly.

"Get some sleep," Derek demands. "They're letting you out in the morning."

Stiles nods. "We're not done talking about this."

"We never are," Derek grumbles.

Stiles huffs a laugh as he falls asleep, and Derek listens gratefully to his heart rate, steady and strong. He wonders how long it will take to get the panic from hearing Stiles' heart slow worryingly out of his head. He's not sure he'll ever admit to anyone how scared he was tonight, how it put things a little in perspective. Not that Derek will admit this aloud either, but he's pretty sure he can't live without Stiles because he might actually be his mate.

Fuck .

The next two days, Derek may or may not hover, but he is not a mother hen, Erica. He's constantly checking on the pack, though. He'll admit that. He needs the reassurance everyone is fine, and if he pays closest attention to the actually injured pack member then that makes total sense for his duty as an alpha. Peter's looks mean nothing. They really don't. 

Even with the admission (in his head only) of Stiles being his mate, Derek can't do anything about it. Stiles is underage and the kid of the sheriff. He doesn't need Derek's baggage either way. It's not reciprocated, and it doesn't benefit Stiles whatsoever. It would be a one-sided relationship, and Derek can't force Stiles into that. He won't force Stiles into that because that doesn't end well for anyone, especially not Stiles.

So Derek spends his time checking on Stiles to the point that the human asks, "Dude, don't you have anything else better to do?"

"No," Derek answers maybe a little too quickly. "Stiles, you were hurt . You almost died . I don't trust leaving you out of my sight."

Stiles waves him off then winces at the wrist movement. "I can handle myself."

The scent of pain speaks for itself, making Derek sigh. The contradictions are too much, and honestly, he's done fighting. He shrugs out of his jacket, hangs it on the coat rack by the front door and sits next to Stiles on the couch, putting his feet up on the coffee table. "What movie do you want to watch?"

"Uh," Stiles grunts. "What?"

Derek rolls his shoulders, trying to relax them. "You love movies, right? Show me your favorite."

Stiles squints at him dissectively like he's trying to tell if Derek is serious. "No judgments?"

Derek shakes his head. "No judgments."

The TV remote hits against Derek's chest and bounces off onto his lap, making Stiles cackle maniacally. Derek rolls his eyes and picks up the remote, scrolling through Netflix and waiting for Stiles to tell him what to search for. Once he's calmed down, Stiles mumbles his answer, a movie Derek has never heard of, but he looks it up anyway and then presses play.

"Is this..." Derek pauses, side eyeing Stiles.

"A stupid high school rom-com?" Stiles fills in and shrugs. "Yeah, but it's like a comfort movie. It's simultaneously mind numbing and entertaining. I never have to fully watch it anymore to know what's going on. It's good background noise most of the time, but I like it. A lot. Is it my favorite? Probably not. But it is in this moment."

Derek nods and turns the volume up, settling into the couch, his shoulder pressing against Stiles'. It's warm on that side, and Derek so desperately wants to pull Stiles into him, scent him and make sure he's safe. Logically, he knows that Stiles is safe at the moment and okay, but his instincts say he needs to cover Stiles in his scent. He has never felt like this. It's different with his betas. Sure, he wants them to smell like him and each other, but it's not the same. Derek needs every 'wolf around to know that Stiles is his and that he is Stiles'. But that's not true. It might not ever be.

About halfway through the movie, Derek is actually invested in the main characters, but the scent of pain in Stiles' smell spikes. Without looking, Derek puts his arm on Stiles' forearm, taking the pain. It does hurt, and he winces slightly, but he still holds on tighter when Stiles tries to take his arm back.

"You don't have to," Stiles mumbles. "It's not that bad."

"Your scent says otherwise," Derek says without looking away from the movie. "It's fine, Stiles. Let me do this."

In his peripheral, he sees Stiles looking at him with a shocked expression as he looks down at his arm and back up at Derek. He doesn't know what Stiles is figuring out about him, what realization the teenager is getting to. He's not sure he really cares what Stiles learns about him anymore. Maybe it's for the better for someone to know something about him. Maybe it's better for someone to know him that he trusts rather than letting some random person in his life. He obviously can't be trusted with who he lets in his life at this point when it comes to sex or even romance.

So maybe he softens around Stiles just slightly, maybe he lets Stiles see a little more than usual. Maybe he lets Stiles see him.

Stiles:

Something is different about Derek since the whole Jennifer debacle. Erica keeps cooing that he's a mother hen, which gets her shoved into a wall or a pillow thrown in her face, but Stiles doesn't disagree with her. The something different is only when it's just him and Derek. He tries bringing up with Isaac if Derek seems okay.

"Stiles," Isaac says blandly, giving him a heavy, loaded look. "You seriously don't get it, do you?"

"Uh, probably not, no," Stiles guesses because he doesn't even know what "it" is in this situation.

Isaac sighs. "This so isn't my department," he mumbles and then turns on the couch to fully face Stiles. "Derek has lost a lot of people, right? A lot of people he's cared about."

"Yes," Stiles nods in understanding.

"He almost lost you," Isaac continues, staring at Stiles meaningfully like he's begging for Stiles to get it.

"Okay," Stiles draws out the word. "So Derek cares about me?"

Isaac nods encouragingly, like he's trying to get Stiles farther.

"I'm pack," Stiles shrugs. "Of course he cares."

Isaac rubs his face with both hands, groaning. "You're an idiot."

"Yeah, probably," Stiles agrees, sighing, leaning back into the couch as he waits for Derek to get home with dinner. He brought Erica along with him to help carry everything, and Boyd has been in the arm chair, reading an assigned book for class like a nerd . Isaac's mattress has already been brought down and blankets have been sorted and spread across said mattress. Everyone has already acknowledged that Stiles isn't sleeping in the bed. He's too fragile apparently even though his stitches are mostly healed, and they're no longer scabby, just red. But it's not like he sleeps there during pack nights anyway. It's still a Thing when everyone falls asleep that he sneaks out of the bed and into Derek's with the man himself. It's comfier and feels better, safer.

Either way, he can't deny that he's fine with not having to sneak out of the bed tonight or climb onto the floor and off. Putting weight on his wrists still stings, so being in Derek's bed sounds so much better. They probably wouldn't be surprised if Derek followed actually because of his recent behavior. He seems a little attached to Stiles at the moment. Stiles is sure it will fade soon, probably once the stitches are out. There's no other reason Derek would be around him so much.

Isaac full on cheers when Erica walks in with two overly filled grocery bags full of Chinese takeout. Boyd finally closes his book and smiles at her when she leans down and kisses his cheek. After placing the bags on the coffee table, she ruffles Isaac's hair, but it turns more into petting when he leans into it. No one really notices when Derek walks in, except Stiles. Stiles definitely notices when Derek walks in, closing and locking the door behind him as he balance drinks on a tray in his other hand. 

Stiles stands and reaches for the drinks, but Derek growls at him. "Dude," Stiles hisses, glaring at him. "Use your fucking words. Bunch of mannerless werewolves."

Isaac snorts behind him, and Erica laughs, ruffling Stiles' hair now before slinging an arm around his waist, leaning her head on his shoulder. "You can't carry shit, Stiles."

"Yes I can!" he argues, flailing his arms around before wrapping an arm around Erica's shoulders, guiding her over to the couch. They fall onto the cushions together and she leans forward, grabbing both her food and his before curling up under his arm with her box of sweet and sour chicken. Eating with one hand is difficult, but the cuddles are definitely worth it.

Derek sits next to him and holds Stiles' drink while he eats, handing it to him when Stiles looks at him. Stiles raises a questioning eyebrow at him. Derek shrugs in response while he chews his teriyaki chicken before taking it back when Stiles finishes drinking it. This means something. Between what Isaac said and this and so many other things, Stiles is beginning to think. This shit means something. He just doesn't know what.

After watching two episodes of the Star Wars prequel because they are, objectively, the best trilogy, everyone starts to get ready for bed. Stiles takes his pillow to Derek's bed after brushing his teeth and sits down on the edge, watching the chaos of everyone being in each others' spaces because the loft is tiny compared to the pack now. Speaking of, Stiles should really ask Derek how the house is coming along and what the plans for it are. All Stiles knows is that it's being rebuilt, but to sell? To move into? Add it to the ever growing list of shit Stiles doesn't know.

The three betas curl up on the bed as Derek turns the lights off and settles on his side of the bed. Well, it's technically all his side since it's his bed particularly. But he and Stiles have a Thing, a pattern. It's fine. It doesn't mean anything. Anyway, he lies down on his side, looking at Stiles closely.

"How are your wrists?" he asks.

"They're fine," Stiles hisses at him. "Stop worrying. I'm fine."

Derek glares at him, and Stiles can hear the same argument in his head so loud he doesn't bother rehashing it. It's not like Derek is wrong anyway. Which makes it worse . Stiles isn't wrong either, but with them both being right, they don't get anywhere. The same words in the same inflections with the same barbs come out every time, and that gets boring. 

"I'm okay," Stiles admits softly, keeping his eyes on the comforter. "They're a little sore, but not that bad. Promise."

Derek nods before lying down, turning the lamp by his bed off. Stiles follows suit, hugging his pillow to his chest while burying his face in one of Derek's. It's not on the same level Stiles is sure, but the scent of Derek's bed is very comforting. Slightly earthy, slightly musky, and it just feels safe. He always feels safer with Derek around.

The next time Stiles wakes up, he's warm but so, so pleasantly warm. As his brain slowly registers what's around him, he notices a weight against his back and another around him. He thinks he should be panicked, but it's not until he realizes the weight is Derek that he understands why he's not. Derek is wrapped around him, his face tucked between Stiles' shoulder blades. He's even snoring softly. They've shared the bed a few times before this and never had Derek cuddled Stiles. It's so... peaceful. He finally might grasp the hype around a weighted blanket because if Stiles could have this every night? He can't think of why he would ever be anxious again.

He wants to sink into the touch, melt into Derek even, all that romance bullshit. But that's not fair to Derek, who probably doesn't even know it's Stiles. It doesn't take long for the alpha to come to and realize what he's doing. He jerks away like Stiles burned him.

"Sorry," they whisper at the same time.

"Sorry?" Stiles asks, rolling over to look at Derek. "It's fine, Derek. If anyone is touch starved around here, it's you. I get it."

Derek shakes his head, reshaping the pillow under him. "That doesn't make touching you without your consent okay. Ever."

Stiles nods. "I appreciate that, but all is forgiven, dude. We're pack. Cuddles happen a lot. I'm okay with it. For future reference."

There's a grunt of acknowledgment from the other side of the bed before Derek rolls over, his back facing Stiles, and as Stiles stares at his back, he starts to feel a little less comfortable, a little less warm, a little less grounded, and a little more sad, but it doesn't matter. Derek made it clear. They don't cuddle. One time thing. Mistakes happen. Derek will do better.

But Stiles really , really wants Derek to maybe not do better this time.

Derek:

After the pack leaves Saturday afternoon, Derek finds Stiles' forgotten shirt in his bathroom. It's only the shirt he slept in, so it's not dirty, but it smells so strongly of Stiles that Derek takes a moment to breathe it in. No one is here. Isaac went out to lunch with Scott and Stiles. Peter is fuck who knows where. It's just Derek, and when he's alone, he can admit that Stiles is kind of it for him. So he's allowing himself a moment to absorb Stiles' scent, something that is more anchoring than any method his mom taught him as a kid.

If it takes him a few days to return it then that's only his business, and it's because he's busy. The house's plumbing issues are finally seeing an end and the rest of the construction can continue now. After school, Isaac and Stiles join him at the house more days than not. Boyd and Erica join sometimes, but mostly when Derek demands they be there so they can train.

Now that Stiles is healing, Derek is becoming a little less guarded about him. He allows Stiles to paint again, to flip through pages on his computer and take Derek's credit card to order furniture and decorations. 

One afternoon, when they're alone because Isaac and Scott are playing a new video game that Stiles doesn't like, Stiles asks Derek, "What are you doing with the house?"

Derek stops sanding the floor boards to look up at Stiles who is sitting on a camping chair, legs somehow folded underneath himself to support his laptop. "Uh? Restoring it?"

Stiles rolls his eyes, but his lips twitch up almost fondly. "I mean, are you selling it or are you going to actually let yourself have something nice?"

"What?" He feels a little lost like he usually does in conversations with Stiles.

"Are you keeping the house?" Stiles asks, tapping the credit card against his laptop rhythmically.

Derek nods. "Yeah, it's the pack's house."

"You're going to live here, right?" Stiles asks.

Derek nods again.

"Good," Stiles says, eyes focusing back onto the screen in front of him. "We should have a game room."

Derek drops the sandpaper and takes a moment to get ahold of it again. If Stiles notices, he doesn't say anything, and if Derek lets himself secretly enjoy that 'We' coming out of Stiles' mouth, well, then it's no one else's business.

An hour or two later, Stiles makes Derek stop. "You need to eat. And probably shower. I can't say you smell, but you're covered in dust."

Derek agrees so he puts down his materials and stands up, stretching out his back by leaning back with his arms stretched over his head. Stiles makes a squeaky noise, and when Derek looks at him sharply trying to figure out what it was for, he gets waved off and dragged into a conversation about food. As always, Stiles argues for a place with curly fries for them to hit on the way back to the loft.

While Derek is trying to convince Stiles that eating something naturally green once in a while won't actually hrut him, he smells something off. He stops mid sentence when he can smell another alpha near him. "Get in the car," he tells Stiles, voice low and harsh. 

Stiles looks around and doesn't immediately follow Derek's instructions because it's fucking Stiles. "What's going on?" he asks, his voice barely audible even to Derek's ears.

"Alpha," Derek says back, voice still low, but he knows the other alpha will hear him if he wants Stiles to hear him. "Get. In. The. Car."

"No," Stiles argues. "I can help."

Derek flashes his eyes at Stiles for a brief second before a man appears in front of the Jeep a few yards away, leaning casually against a tree. His hair is primly swept away from his face, a small smile on his lips as it feels like he's sizing the two of them up. 

"A human who thinks he can take on an alpha," the other man says loudly enough for Stiles to hear in an English accent, sounding amused. "That's cute."

"Yeah, your mom agrees," Stiles calls out, puffing up his chest.

The man scoffs, tilting his head towards Derek. It's hard to tell exactly where he's looking with the big sunglasses covering his eyes. "You've chosen well, Alpha Hale."

Stiles looks at Derek with a raised eyebrow. "What does that even mean?"

A smirk settles in on the man's face like it belongs there naturally. "So many thing the human knows, but not this, hm?"

"Would be nice to know your name," Stiles tells him with a shrug.

Derek can't take his eyes off the other alpha, who seems vaguely familiar, but Derek can't immediately place him. "He's right," Derek finally says. "It's nice to meet you, Alpha..."

"Deucalion," he answers. "But you can call me Duke. Derek, is it? Following the comings and goings of this territory have been, albeit confusing, a treat. Care to show me a decent place for dinner and to explain what a Miss Julia Baccari was doing here."

"Who?" Stiles mouths at Derek.

"It would be an honor," Derek answers Duke instead of Stiles. "Are you alone?"

"Silly question," Duke says as another alpha inches closer. "Kali, my dear, would you like to join us for dinner?" The woman must whisper her reply because Derek doesn't hear it. "Kali isn't hungry, but she is a bit of my eyes, so I'll have her follow you?" Deucalion gestures to the Jeep.

Stiles looks to Derek and then nods. "Yeah, hope you like curly fries, Duke."

Derek inwardly sighs because he was possibly make headway on getting them something healthier for dinner. Duke disappears into the forest with the other alpha while Stiles and Derek climb into the Jeep.

"The alpha pack," Derek whispers softly as he buckles his seat belt.

"Is it safe to talk?" Stiles asks, waiting for Derek's nod to continue. "I didn't feel as threatened as I thought they would make me feel if that makes sense."

Derek nods as the car starts. "There's an underlying threat looming with him, but I think that's him as a person. I don't think he's threatening us."

"What did the good choice comment mean?" Stiles asks, apparently stuck on the one thing Derek really wishes he wasn't.

Derek just shrugs instead of full on lying about Duke complimenting his choice in mate. He's having a hard time deciding if he's scared of the vulnerability surrounding people knowing who his mate is or proud that even outsiders see his mate as a good choice. As though Stiles being his mate was more of a choice rather than the inevitability it actually was. 

The drive is quiet and tense. Derek can practically hear the gears in Stiles’ head turning. Meanwhile, Derek is wondering how he can possibly keep his mate safe long enough against at least two alphas for him to get away. 

The three of them sit at a booth in a diner together where Duke starts the conversation with, “I’m not here to cause harm. In fact, I’m here to thank you.”

“For?” Stiles asks around the straw in his mouth. 

Duke removes his sunglasses, revealing his blindness and Derek wonders for a moment if he’s giving them a small white flag by showing vulnerability. “I understand she went by the name Jennifer Blake here.”

Stiles’ scent still turns sour at the mention of her, but it doesn’t feel connected to what she did to him. There’s the bitterness that Derek assumes is from her posing a threat to his dad, but there’s another layer to it that Derek can’t decipher. “What about her?” Stiles asks, guard immediately back up. 

“She grew up in my territory, a very gifted young woman. Seemed she turned those gifts into problems, and when I confronted her, she wasn’t pleased by my proposal for her to continue to live and go back to her nature loving ways or continue to kill and be killed herself.”

Derek hums. “Sounds like her.”

“Her original name was Julia Baccari,” Duke continues after a sip of water. “I do apologize that she made her way here, but I sincerely thank you for taking care of her, Alpha Hale.”

“Derek,” he corrects. “And it was all Stiles.”

Duke’s face contorts in confusion. “What the hell is a Stiles?”

“It’s a me! Mario!” Stiles cheers in the worst impression of the video game character Derek has ever heard. 

Duke actually looks amused, and it reminds Derek too much of his uncle to be anything but wary of it. "Well, thank you, Stiles."

Stiles shrugs. "No problem, dude."

Derek violently disagrees but doesn't say anything. That doesn't stop Duke's head from turning in his direction contemplatively, though. Like he knows something. Great.

"I've heard about your pack, Derek. You're making a name for yourselves."

"How would you hear about our pack?" Stiles asks, eyes narrowing in suspicion. 

Duke smirks. "We have our ways, young one."

Stiles hums, and it feels like he wants to ask for more information, so Derek puts his hand on Stiles' arm, holding him back mentally hopefully. The young man looks down at the hand on his arm and then back up at Derek, relaxing a little and nodding minutely as though he understands what Derek is saying. Derek rubs his thumb across the back of Stiles' wrist in gratitude, and Stiles' scent turns achingly sweet, which is probably not good considering their present company, and Derek can't ask him why he smells aroused in front of another 'wolf. That would be embarrassing for both of them probably.

But it's not like Duke doesn't pick up on it, but he stays quiet, making Derek think he's a born 'wolf who was properly taught about being respectful in regards to sensitive scents. It's harder to teach that to bitten 'wolves, and Derek himself is too awkward to bring it up to any of them. He really should try to train his pack better than what he has been doing.

That's on the back of his mind, though, considering how affected Stiles is by just Derek's touch. He wants to know why, wants to explore that more before reminding himself. Stiles is seventeen. Derek has no business questioning Stiles on this when the kid is just that. A kid. The sheriff's kid at that. So with that thought, Derek takes his hand away, putting it back safely in his lap.

"I heard you had a run in with Gerard Argent," Duke brings up, changing the subject completely. "Is he... dead?" The last word is uttered quietly.

"No," Stiles answers, voice hard. "But he dares show his face around here again, he will be."

Duke nods approvingly. "Then I think we have a deal. You see him, you can handle him how you see fit as long as it ends for him, and if he dares makes his presence known in my territory then I'll do the same and let you know he's been taken care of."

Stiles raises an eyebrow, glancing at Derek like he wants to press for more information, but he doesn't. "Deal."

"I see your alpha doesn't do much of the decision making..." Duke is hinting at something, and Derek knows exactly what he's hinting at, and he really isn't ready for Stiles to know his place in the pack. Logically, he knows it'll happen eventually with Stiles' intelligence and knack for solving puzzles, but he doesn't need it happening in a diner with a random alpha that they don't even know.

Stiles frowns at that and looks at Derek like he wants to say something, but he refrains. The rest of the meal is slightly awkward but not threatening in any way, so Derek takes it as a win. Once they're done, Duke excuses himself and they all say goodbye in the parking lot with Derek climbing back into the Jeep. Once Duke is far enough away, Derek waves his hand at Stiles to get out all of his questions.

"So that's it?" Stiles asks, looking out the windshield at nothing. "We were so scared of the alpha pack, and that's it? You really don't think they're gonna be a problem."

Derek shakes his head. "It sounds like Duke wants to be more allies rather than enemies."

"Wow, we never get this lucky."

Derek shakes his head again in agreement.

"Why do you let me make decisions?" Stiles asks without looking at him. His fingers are drumming the steering wheel, and he's bobbing his head to a beat in his brain, trying to seem casual, but it's not really working.

Sighing, Derek wonders how much to tell Stiles and how much to admit to. "You're second in command."

"Like you're right hand?" Stiles asks. "Why?"

"Not my right hand," Derek admits because that's Erica. "But you have a lot of say within the pack. Because I... trust you."

Stiles whips his head over to gawk at Derek. "You trust me?"

Derek nods, and Stiles frowns like he's piecing something together, so he looks away. There's a lot he isn't ready for, and Stiles realizing he has feelings for him is near the top of the list. Stiles finding out how far gone Derek is... well, that's something that needs to not happen. Ever ideally.

Stiles:

It's going to take proof, Stiles decides. This hypothesis that Derek may like him a little - however ill-conceived it is - needs proof before Stiles can even hint at agreeing with it. It starts with scents. Stiles starts leaving a shirt behind at the loft more often and tracks how long it takes Derek to give it back in a spreadsheet. After three weeks of pack nights and spending the night at the loft, Stiles can safely say, the return rate is getting more spaced out. It takes Derek almost two weeks to return his shirt that says "stud muffin" probably because it's one of Stiles' oldest, most worn shirts, so it's really saturated in his scent.

But that's not the only thing Stiles starts doing. He's trying to subtly touch Derek. Stiles is a tactile guy, always has been, but he's kept it low key around Derek because well, Derek has enough trauma with the whole touching thing that Stiles isn't about to add to it. But after dinner with Duke the other week and Derek putting his hand on his wrist, Stiles figures that a few light touches here and there won't traumatize the werewolf. 

When Stiles first grabs Derek hand in the grocery store to show him a new flavor of cereal, the man completely shut down and just stared at their hands. Stiles didn't let go, though. He wanted Derek to be the first to let go, to set his boundary, but he never did. So that's how they spent the rest of the shopping trip, holding hands and Stiles tugging the alpha where he wanted him to go. I trust you just whispers in the back of his mind, and knowing that about Derek could easily give Stiles a power trip. He has the trust of an alpha werewolf who has boundary and trust issues galore. Apparently, he's doing something right when it comes to Derek.

Honestly, though, Stiles hasn't considered that Derek might actually return his feelings. That's not something he's ready to get his hopes up for. So he pushes those back, far back. This little experiment of his is just that, an experiment. It's not quite personal. Not until Stiles can definitively say the results.

"What are you doing?" a feminine voice demands of Stiles as he slurps soup into his mouth during lunch.

He looks up at the beautiful strawberry blonde girl of his past dreams who has one perfectly shaped eyebrow arched at him while looking down so perfectly at him that shows her power in the conversation and in, well, life. "Uh, soup?" Stiles eloquently explains.

She sighs like he's giving her a headache as she sits down across from him. Scott is eating in their history classroom getting tutoring from the teacher, Isaac with him. Erica and Boyd snuck off to do something Stiles doesn't want to guess, so he's alone today. Or was. Now Lydia Martin is sitting with him, setting her tray down gently before smoothing out her skirt. "What are you doing with Derek?"

Stiles frowns, confused. "You're going to have to be specific. What am I doing to him?"

Her eye rolls rival Derek's that's for sure. "I saw you two at the store the other night. Are you finally dating?"

"Finally?" Stiles asks. "Uh... no?"

"You don't sound so sure."

"I'm sure we're not dating," Stiles explains, putting his spoon down. "I'm not sure what the finally meant."

"You're an idiot."

"Yes," Stiles agrees.

"And apparently oblivious," she sighs, settling on a conclusion apparently. "You do realize he's into you, right?"

"He's not but I'm trying to prove it," Stiles tells her.

Her eyes flash with curiosity as she leans in ever so slightly. "How are you doing that?"

And because no one would else would understand the way Lydia does science, he explains his experiment to her. Her frown of concentration and thought deepens the more he talks and by the end, her brows are very close together.

"There's too many variables," she tells him.

"Agreed, but I'm impatient, Lydia."

"I know," she says lightly, stabbing at the salad on her tray. "But so am I, so I'm going to help you. Take pity on you, really."

"Thanks?" He isn't super sure he wants her help if she's putting it like that, but at the same time. Who is he to snuff at her genius? "What are your thoughts?"

"Invite us to a pack night," Lydia demands.

"Uh, I'll have to ask Derek. I'm not sure he'd love that."

She shrugs. "Jackson needs a pack, Derek knows that. I know that. You should know that. Derek will be okay with it. Just invite us, and I'll take care of it from there."

Stiles squints at her with distrust. "I'm not sure I trust you."

She flicks her hair over her shoulder and takes a bite of her soup flawlessly, not spilling a single drop. When she leans back, she says, "We're friends, Stiles. Now that you're not chasing after me like a little lost duck who imprinted on the very, very wrong person, you're not too bad. Here's my olive branch."

"Oh," is all he says, blinking owlishly at her. "Okay. Cool."

"Also, we're going shopping after school today. Lacrosse practice is set to go long."

"I'm on the team."

She grimaces. "You'd be so much better at track, though."

And she's not wrong he realizes. He's good at running. The throwing shit around, not so much, and that's how he quits lacrosse, gains a friend, and obtains an entirely new wardrobe all within one day.

Friday night comes, and to Stiles' surprise, Derek does agree that Jackson should come by. So he does. They're at the Hale house in a clearing with a bonfire since it's cooling down outside, especially at night. Lydia sits next to Stiles, so Jackson sits on the other side of her and watches everyone quietly as they all interact. Isaac and Erica are play fighting near the fire, Derek yells at them to take it elsewhere, so they do. Boyd is stretched out on his back near Stiles' feet staring up at the sky. Scott is curled up with Allison away from the others and whispering stuff in her ear that she blushes and giggles at.

Stiles and Lydia discuss their physics homework as Derek sits on the other side of Stiles on the log he took residence on. Lydia eyes the space between them closely as if it means something more than it does, and she smirks. Derek is tense next to Stiles, so he tries to make him relax a little by putting his hand on top of Derek's. All Derek does is slide out from under Stiles' to take it back, so Stiles stuffs both of his in the pockets of his hoodie. 

"You know, Stiles," Lydia says when they finish discussing their homework. "Red really is a good color on you."

Stiles looks at her, confused. "Uh, thanks?"

"Those pants," she gestures at his dark red pants that she picked out, "fit you really well. You're really filling out lately."

Derek seems to tense even more next to Stiles, and that's when he sees what Lydia is trying to do. He shakes his head at her, but mumbles a "Thanks."

"No, really. If it weren't for this whole true love thing with Jackson... you and I could've had a good chance if this is the direction adulthood is taking you."

"Adulthood?" Derek snorts.

Stiles frowns at him. "Yeah, that's what happens when you turn eighteen, right? Magically an adult."

"You're seventeen," Derek points out.

Stiles blinks at him, confused. "I'm eighteen. You were the one who threw me my eighteenth party."

Derek frowns as he thinks, shaking his head slowly. "No, that was your seventeenth."

"Oh my god," Jackson groans. "The two of you circling each other makes me want to stab a fork in my eye."

"Jackson," Lydia hisses, slapping his shoulder lightly with a small smile. "Let the idiots fall in love."

"Shut up!" Stiles and Derek snap at the same time, which just makes her smirk harder.

"I'm taking a walk," Stiles announces and stands up, and because fate hates him so very much, he trips over Boyd just to fall right into Derek's lap, who catches him easily. Stiles groans loudly, hating how nice it feels to be in Derek's arms and stands up, storming off from the group. He should never have invited Lydia. Sure they had a good time the other day, but she is too pushy. Whatever is going on with him and Derek, it's none of her business, and she should just stay out of it.

He knows, just knows that Derek is following him. He lets him for a bit until they're farther from the bonfire then turns and looks at Derek. "I'm sorry," he says.

Derek shakes his head, catching up all the way and leaning against a tree near Stiles. "You really don't have anything to apologize for."

"I just... she this thing in her head that she is trying to prove, and I got caught up with her hoping it was true."

"What is it?" Derek asks curiously, watching Stiles closely.

"That you have a crush on me," Stiles snorts and waves it off. "I know it's not true, don't worry about like saving me the heartache. It's cool, I promise. I love that we're friends, I really do, and I promise I won't ever make things weird. It was just nice for a second to believe that maybe I did have a chan-" Stiles' words are cut off because there are suddenly lips on his. He freezes completely because the only logical explanation is that Derek's lips are on his, and that really can't be logical, can it?

"Oh, sorry," Derek says, pulling away. "I thought... Sorry."

Before he can get too far, though, Stiles brain finally catches up and he grabs Derek's shirt, yanking him closer. "No apologies. None. More kissing, please. Then talking."

Derek nods eagerly and presses Stiles back up against a tree and kisses him. It's slow and gentle and not at all how Stiles would have imagined it if he let himself get that far. Derek holds his face between his hands like it's something worth being gentle with, and his lips are so, so soft. And he smells amazing . Stiles can't breathe, doesn't want to if it means he keeps getting to do this. He releases his death grip on Derek's shirt and slides his hands up his chest, desperately wanting to map out every inch of Derek's body with his hands and his tongue and maybe his teeth too. Who knows. It's so slow and sensual, and Stiles can feel his toes curling in his shoes as he wraps his arms around Derek's middle. 

After what seems like too long and not long enough, Derek pulls back slowly, resting his forehead against Stiles'. His eyes are still closed as he sighs happily, and Stiles can't help but lean forward and kiss the corner of his mouth. 

"You're so beautiful," Stiles whispers, taking in his fill of seeing Derek this close. 

Derek's lips twitch up. "Says you ."

Stiles rolls his eyes even though Derek can't see him. "Can we maybe wrap pack night up early and head back to your loft?"

Derek hums and nods against Stiles' forehead. "We can definitely do that."

"Can we also maybe not tell anyone we kissed yet?" Stiles asks. "Can we even hide that?"

Derek pulls back further with a frown, and Stiles can't have that, so he pulls him back in with a kiss that Derek melts into, and having that kind of power? Trippy.

"I'm not ready for their jeers yet or just really anyone else's comments," Stiles admits. "I just want to be wrapped in you for a night. Is that okay?"

Derek's eyes flash red as he nods. "Definitely okay. But to hide that we've been kissing, you need to let me go."

Stiles grimaces and sighs. "Can't do it. Impossible. Would never. Zero out of ten would recommend."

The little huff of laughter Stiles gets in response makes him want to die because it's so fucking cute. "Stiles," Derek says, his voice soft and quiet but full of meaning.

"Huh," the young man says. "I don't think I've ever heard you say my name without any trace of anger in it."

Derek leans forward, kissing Stiles' cheek then his jaw down to his neck. "That's because you are the most frustrating person I've ever met."

Stiles leans his head back, getting a growl as a reward that sends shivers down his spine. "Okay, we need to stop."

Derek takes a big step back suddenly, and Stiles absolutely whines at the rush of cold air. "Stop," Derek almost begs. "My control is slipping."

Stiles' eyes snap up to him. "I make you lose control?"

The alpha looks away and takes a deep breath. "Frequently."

Stiles hums but leans fully against the tree, staring up at the night sky. It's probably for the best they don't talk right now because Stiles is full of too many questions and too many "Please kiss me"s. He can't even look at Derek without wanting to just jump his bones knowing that he can now, that it's welcomed. "You have to go first."

"Why me?" Derek asks sounding offended.

"You're too tempting. Go wrap up pack night. I don't care. Just... stop being here because if you stay here any longer, I will try to convince you to take off your shirt."

Derek sighs loudly. "You're a menace."

"To society," Stiles agrees, still not looking at Derek for his own protection and maybe Derek's, but who cares about Derek right now? Stiles sure doesn't.

"Okay, I'm leaving. I'll meet you at the loft."

It takes a few minutes of freaking out about the fact that Derek just kissed him before Stiles can even think of moving. Derek kissed him . They kissed. It was amazing, and there's most likely more of that in their future. 

Their future.

They're a plural! Maybe. Stiles should really get moving so he can talk to Derek about that. So he does. Once in his Jeep, he's mindful of how fast he's going because he knows he just wants to speed back to the loft, but apparently that's not safe and also Stiles' dad would kill him. Which would suck because now he's alloweed to kiss the one, the only Derek Hale. Like he's pretty sure that's welcomed even. What the fuck is his life.

The door is unlocked at the loft, so Stiles walks right in where Derek is pacing a line by the wall of windows.

"Are you okay?" Stiles asks when Derek looks up at him.

They stare at each other silently for a few breaths before something breaks and they both rush towards each other. Derek grabs at Stiles' hips, harshly pulling him into a searing kiss. Stiles has a fistful of Derek's shirt in one hand and his hair in the other. But Stiles can't figure out where exactly he wants his hands because the answer is everywhere . One hand practically pets Derek's chest over his shirt while his other one is sliding up the back of the same shirt. Derek inhales sharply when Stiles runs his blunt fingernails down his back, and then Stiles is against a wall.

"What is it with you and shoving me against things?" Stiles asks, breathlessly as Derek trails his lips along his jaw.

Derek's only answer is a hum while he works down Stiles' neck.

"Hmm," Stiles mocks, gasping when Derek bites just below his ear in retaliation. "I was in the middle of a very good Witcher joke and here you are just - fuck ." Stiles can't think anymore as Derek starts sucking at his earlobe and who knew that was going to feel as good as it does? Stiles sure as fuck didn't.

"You can't even stop talking while we're making out," Derek huffs, picking his head up to look at Stiles with his slightly swollen lips and blown out eyes like Stiles has a major affect on him and not the other way around.

"Dude, did you expect anything else?"

Derek smiles so fucking softly as he says, "No."

And Stiles gets so lost in his fucking eyes that he doesn't realize what Derek is really saying here like uh. "Did you just admit that you've imagined this happening?" Stiles half yells.

Derek rolls his eyes. "Yes, I've been wanting this to happen for a while."

"How long is a while?" Stiles asks.

"Probably the whole time," Derek admits, ducking his head slightly, moving slightly out of Stiles' space, so Stiles grabs at him and pulls him back in.

"And we waited this long, why?" And why are they even bothering with talking about it when Stiles wants to taste every single inch of Derek's skin.

"Because I thought you were underaged, asshat."

Stiles can't help the silly grin on his face. "You're so sweet to me, baby."

Derek rolls his eyes and leans forward, kissing Stiles again and again and again with soft little presses of his lips and just the slightest hint of tongue like Derek is just chasing the taste of him. It's not the frantic energy it was just minutes before, but something softer and something more... promising.

Derek:

It's better than he imagined, and Derek imagined this as really, really good. Stiles is unsure at times, so Derek tries his best to reassure him that literally as long as it's Stiles touching him, Derek is good to go. He doesn't quite know how to verbalize that, though. Especially not when Stiles is baring his neck towards him, silently begging for more. Words are gone then, meaningless.

Nothing is more meaningful than marking Stiles as his , showing every other 'wolf around that Stiles is spoken for, that Stiles is one of the most important parts of his pack. But maybe he should run that past Stiles first. With a sudden realization, he doesn't actually know what Stiles wants from him.

"What's wrong?" Stiles asks immediately, framing Derek's face in his hands and forcing him to look in his beautiful, honey brown eyes. "What happened? Did I do something? Are we going too fast?"

"We might," Derek pauses to swallow over the lump on anxiety in his throat, "need to talk about things first. What the other expects and stuff like that."

Stiles nods. "That sounds like a great idea. Can I hold your hand while we talk, though? Because like, ever since that day at the grocery store, I've been thinking about holding your hand. Maybe that's weird. I don't know." He keeps talking as they move towards the couch. "I think being held by you in general just makes me feel safe."

"Holding hands is good," Derek whispers, shocked by how easy it is for Stiles to ask for that intimacy. They get settled on the couch, facing each other, when Stiles pulls Derek's hands into his lap. 

"What do you want from this?" Stiles asks. "Like, is it just sex for you?"

Derek shakes his head immediately. "You're... way more than that, Stiles. While yes, in the future on sex. I want more. I want to be there for everything, I want to curl up with you at the end of a hard day, and I want to hear about every hard day so I can be there for you." He stops and looks down at their hands. "Is it... just sex for you?" He is almost scared of the answer, but he needs to know.

"God no," Stiles answers quickly, letting go of one of Derek's hands to put it on his chin to raise up Derek's head. "You're way more than that, Der. Obviously, yes please. But that's not even necessary. If you never want to have sex, I'm okay with that. I want what you said. All of it, but for you. I want to be there for you. As much as possible. You're... Derek." And the seriousness of his voice has Derek's sight on him sharpen. "You're better than anything."

Derek surges forward after that, kissing Stiles so fiercely, it knocks him back on the couch with the force. He takes advantage and lowers himself on top of Stiles, kissing at his neck and jaw, tugging at his earlobe with his teeth because it makes Stiles make such beautiful noises.

"Wait," Stiles says, and Derek pushes himself up, though Stiles doesn't go far. "Clearing some things up. You're my boyfriend now, okay? Cool. Secondly, are you scent marking me right now?"

"Is that okay?" Derek asks.

Stiles nods enthusiastically. "Yes, oh my god yes. Show everyone where I belong. Next to you. Under you. Wherever you are, I wanna be. Let's go." His hands grab at Derek's neck to pull him back down. They kiss leisurely for what feels like hours. Finally, Derek pulls back with a sigh, looking down at the man he would absolutely do anything for. For a moment, it scares him how true that is, but then he remembers. This is Stiles. The man who wouldn't ask anything of Derek, who seems to be content with him the way he is.

"Let's go cuddle," Stiles suggests. "My dad doesn't expect me home tonight anyway."

Derek nods and pushes himself up then grabs Stiles' hands to pull him up too. He kisses the tip of Stiles' nose when they're both standing before they head over to the bed. Stiles jumps into the bed first and pats his chest when Derek kneels on it. Without question, Derek lays his head on Stiles' chest, wrapping an arm around his middle. 

"Oh my god," Stiles gasps.

Derek's head snaps up as he looks around for a threat he may have missed, which isn't likely that Stiles sensed something he didn't, but he trusts Stiles to prioritize their safety. Or at least Derek's. He's not so sure that Stiles would prioritize his own, which they will have to talk about in the future. "What's going on?" he asks.

"I'm sorry," Stiles hisses, putting his hand on the side of Derek's head and pushing him back down. "I just realized that you really like me."

Derek rests his chin on Stiles' chest so he can look at him with narrowed eyes in confusion. "What part of tonight left that unclear?"

Stiles rolls his eyes with a smirk. "Okay, smartass. I meant that... you don't let anyone in your bed. I think it's because you don't want anyone's scent on it, but you've always let me in your bed. Is that because you don't mind my scent on it?"

With a sigh, Derek pushes himself up to hover over Stiles, brushing his lips against Stiles' jaw. "I want your scent on my bed. I want your scent everywhere. On my bed, on me, everywhere I go, I want to sense your presence." He grazes his teeth along the underside of Stiles' jaw, making the younger man hiss out a curse and his name. Derek thinks that he would be happy with Stiles always saying his name like it's a curse and a gift at the same time.

"I need you to stop," Stiles tells him breathlessly, so Derek immediately pulls back, afraid he's done something wrong. Stiles frowns and grabs at Derek again. "No, I just meant... I need a second to control myself from attacking you. But cuddles. Cuddles are good."

Derek raises an eyebrow but rolls onto his back anyway so Stiles can curl into his side. It's silent for a few minutes with Derek's thumb sliding along Stiles' shoulder, and Stiles' fingers tracing designs along Derek's stomach. It's almost like they're both dumbstruck that this has finally happened, that they're finally together.

"We're gonna get so much shit from the pack," Stiles laughs. "Like so much."

Derek nods his agreement against his pillow.

"They're going to be relentless."

Derek snorts. "Does that bother you?"

Stiles shoots up and glares at Derek. "Does that bother me?" He sounds almost mad. "Derek, I can do this ." He leans up and kisses the corner of his mouth. "Anytime I want. You think anything will take away from that? No ."

And god, Derek feels like he finally has a good thing in front of him, something he doesn't want to self sabotage, something that feels like it belongs. 

"Plus, I get to mess with them now. I'm going to have so much fun." There's a mischievous sparkle in Stiles' eyes, and Derek doesn't find himself as bothered by it as he probably would have in the past. Teasing was a big part of his life when his family was alive, and seeing his pack come together like this settles something in his chest that hasn't felt right since the fire. It doesn't heal his wounds, but they're at least stitching together so the scars won't be as jagged. Plus, he likes being part of Stiles' jokes now.

"Deaton wants to meet with me," Stiles says, voice barely above a whisper.

"Did he say why?" Derek tries to keep his voice level with slight intrigue, but he's curious. He wants to know what Stiles is and what that means for him.

"I guess something has 'awoken' in me," and the air quotes in Stiles' words are obvious. "I remember, you know? I remember that entire night. I remember pushing you up against a wall. At first, I thought maybe you just went with me because you felt guilty, which dumb... But it wasn't that, was it?"

Derek takes a slow breath and exhales before saying, "It wasn't. The strength you had... scared me."

Stiles pops his head up, eyes worried. "I scared you? Derek, I would never - "

With a hand on his cheek, Derek looks up at the man he so desperately loves and trusts . "I know."

The screwed up, sour face Stiles makes after an eyeroll before laying back down brings a laugh out of Derek. "Don't Han Solo me."

"I can see you being Leia."

"You really do put the scruffy in the nerf herder quote," Stiles laughs, and even though he can't see it, Derek rolls his eyes. "But seriously. What if I'm dangerous?"

Derek takes a moment to reflect on that because his first instinct was to assure him that he isn't, but that's not necessarily true. "You can be," he answers.

"To those who hurt my pack," Stiles half-growls like a werewolf. 

Hearing Stiles call them his pack quickens Derek's heartbeat. The thought that Stiles sees their pack as his own stirs something in him. It feels right. Stiles is his Alpha Mate, and nothing has ever felt more true than that in this moment.

It's then that Derek thinks that maybe Stiles deserves some of the truth. "Stiles, can I tell you something?"

"Of course, tell me everything always. Nothing is ever TMI for me."

Derek nudges at him to get off his chest and sits up, so Stiles stis up, frowning slightly. "Regretting this already?" Stiles asks, laughing half-heartedly, but he smells worried.

"Never," Derek says honestly and takes Stiles' hand in his. "Wolves mate for life, you know?"

Stiles nods. "I know..."

Derek thinks on how to phrase what he wants to say, but quickly realizes that not much is going to come of that. "I was reading the other day, those books that Peter saved from the fire. There are mates, right? Then there are true mates."

"Derek, why are you telling me this?" Stiles already looks like he knows where this is going because of course he does.

"Please let me finish?" Derek almost begs, looking into Stiles' eyes. "True mates are one of a kind, rare. My parents weren't true mates. They loved each other more than I thought possible, they were mates, but mates are chosen, not destiny. True mates are destiny, and Stiles, you are my destiny."

Stiles looks back and forth between Derek's eyes and his entire face like he's searching for something. It takes a minute before he speaks. "I'm it for you?"

Derek nods.

"You didn't get a choice?" His voice breaks as he takes away his hand, but Derek quickly grabs it back.

"No," he says honestly. "But there's no one else I would choose. The thing is, we have these mates that destiny gives us because it's a perfect match. It's not because fate decided these two random people belong together. The universe, the moon, the whatever you want to believe in, saw each of us and saw our souls entwine."

A tear falls down Stiles' face. "I'm like pretty sure I love you, you know that? I can't bear that this isn't a choice for you. You've had too many choices made for you. I can't be something that was taken from you."

Derek frowns, jerking back in surprise. "You were given to me. Even if we were completely platonic, Stiles, you're an absolute gift. I choose to be with you. Please don't think that you're taking anything from me."

It takes a moment but then Stiles offers a wobbly smile. "You have talked more than you ever did the last year to anyone I'm pretty sure."

"Yeah, it's exhausting. I don't know how you do it."

Stiles' mouth drops in offense as he punches Derek's shoulder softly, playfully. "You're an asshole."

Derek shrugs and leans closer, his lips brushing against Stiles'. "But do you choose me?"

Stiles surges forward to kiss him, hard, definitively, and that's answer enough. Yet, Stiles never let's an opportunity for words to be left usaid. "I'd choose you for the rest of my life."

"This is moving pretty quick, isn't it?"

"It's been a year of build up," Stiles rolls his eyes. "We've moved plenty slow."

Derek kisses his cheek and pulls him back down. "I think we've had a long enough night. Let's sleep."

Stiles curls into his side again, throwing an arm and a leg over Derek before kissing his chest. "I love you, in case you missed that," he whispers.

"I love you," Derek says, kissing the top of Stiles' grown out hair. 

"'Night," he mumbles, his breath slowing slightly.

Stiles:

"This feels very... pick me."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, Mr. Stilinski," Deaton answers with an eyebrow raised.

"You know, like Mary Sue?" Stiles gestures wildly, almost hitting Derek in the face, but he dodges easily. 

Derek takes one of Stiles' flailing hands, and Stiles takes a moment to remember that they do this now. And since he's a werewolf, Derek side eyes him with a smirk like he knows what Stiles is thinking. Whatever. It's fine, it's all fine.

"What do you mean?" Deaton asks.

"It feels like this is too easy."

"On the contrary," Deaton says, "it will be incredibly difficult to control this now that you are aware and awake."

Stiles hums. "How do I control it?"

"I want you to start meditating and practicing mindfulness."

Stiles snorts because he sounds just like his therapist back in middle school. "Okay, yeah. Good luck with that. Have you met me?"

Derek's thumb swipes the back of his hand. "It's important you try. It's like new werewolves learning to control the shift."

Deaton's eyes light up and nod. "That is an excellent analogy. You have to find your anchor, which I assume is Derek." He glances at their entwined hands and looks back up meaningfully.

Stiles sighs and rolls his head around as he rolls the information around inside it. A spark. Spark? Is it special enough to warrant proper noun status? He'll grill Deaton on the grammar of it later. According to him, Stiles has all of this power inside of him that takes all but his will to summon. He can feel it, obviously. He feels different since that night, feels less defenselss. He wants to know what he can do, though, wants to be an asset to his pack, so he sighs again, scrubbing a hand through his hair while Derek smirks again because he knows .

"Fine," Stiles mumbles. "I'll meditate and work on control."

Deaton nods and dismisses them. Derek leads Stiles back to his Camaro and slides in easily, putting his sunglasses on and raises an eyebrow at Stiles.

"You ready to come out to the pack?" Stiles asks with a laugh because they haven't told the pack yet. They're all at the Hale house, waiting for them because Derek texted them that they need to talk. Stiles quickly followed it up with:

Don't panic. Derek isn't breaking up with you guys.

As they pull into the preserve, Stiles' fingers start dancing along his knee out of his own accord. What if the pack thinks he's not good enough for their alpha? What if they kick him out because he crossed a line? What if their reactions make Derek realize that he was wrong? They're not true mates. What if Stiles tricked him on accident?

"Stop worrying," Derek whispers, reaching over and putting his hand over Stiles' to stop the tapping. "They knew this was coming."

"Everyone knew but me, huh?"

"Pretty much," Derek laughs, and god, Stiles will never get over that sound. He's so in love.

Pulling into the driveway, Stiles can hardly wait to get out of the car. He has too much pent up energy, needs to not be confined. The second the car is in park, Stiles jumps out and all but runs to the front door. Derek catches up easily, wrapping an arm around his waist from behind. 

"It's all gonna be okay," Derek whispers into his ear, giving Stiles the shivers and desire to just... be all over that.

Stiles steps out of his arm and opens the door where the entire house is furnished. His eyes widen as he looks around with awe. There are giant couches where the pack is sprawled, Isaac, Erica, and Boyd on one. Jackson and Lydia are on the other, and Scott is on the floor on a rug laughing at something someone said. 

"Derek," Stiles whispers, turning around. "You didn't tell me it was done."

Derek smiles. "Welcome to the pack house."

Everyone cheers, and Erica is the first to get to Stiles, wrapping her arms around him. "Derek wanted it to be a surprise and hold the fuck on ." The last of the sentence is practically screamed into his ear. She steps back, eyes calculating as she flicks them between Derek and Stiles. "Fucking finally."

Stiles barks out a surprise laugh. "Finally?" he asks.

She rolls her eyes. "Stiles, we all knew.

He sighs and looks at Scott who is smirking. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, everyone. Derek's mine and whatever."

"Is this the big announcement?" Jackson asks, tone bored, but Lydia elbows his side. 

"Be nice," she hisses.

"Yeah, you're trying to join our pack here, Whittemore," Stiles jeers as he pulls Derek to the loveseat and shoves him down onto a cushion. He flops down, kicking off his shoes, and throwing his legs onto Derek's lap. "You better be nice."

"I'd rather turn back into a lizard."

Stiles flicks out his tongue and hisses like a lizard. It's a hilarious bit, but only Scott laughs which really, they're all uncultured swines and Stiles is forcing them to watch Mulan as soon as possible. "Also, I'm magic."

"You're what?" Lydia is the first to speak up, leaning forward. "Stiles, you can't just leave it at that."

"I'm a spark, look it up."

Derek puts an arm around the back of the couch, his hand resting lightly on Stiles' neck, fingers brushing his skin every so often. "It's hard to explain," Derek says. "It is worth researching more  because even I don't know much about it."

"I found some information when we were looking into Jennifer," Stiles says, his stomach still twisting when he says her name. "It's magic embodied in someone. Druids don't believe in conjuring magic, but Sparks are magic. That's all I got, my friends."

Lydia frowns slightly and looks like she makes a mental note to herself. She leans back into the couch and flicks her hair back as she turns to Jackson to talk about something else.

"So, how did it happen?" Isaac asks, looking at Derek and Stiles. "When did it happen?"

"Last night," Stiles answers. "Derek just realized he couldn't resist my charm any longer."

Derek snorts. "Yeah, something like that."

Stiles slides his eyes to him and then decides to launch into an overly elaborated story of what happened last night while Derek buries his face in his hands. "He couldn't keep his hands off of me."

"Gross," Scott says.

"I'm a hot commodity, Scotty boy."

"I don't need to hear about your relationship with Derek," Scott argues.

Stiles shrugs, not feeling even one ounce of shame. Instead, he kicks at Derek. "Give me a tour, lover boy."

The look Derek gives him is drier than a desert. He shoves Stiles' legs off of him and stands up, holding a hand out for Stiles to take.

"Such mixed signals," Stiles mumbles to himself as he grabs the hand for Derek to pull him up off the couch. He follows close behind looking at everything in detail. There's art on the walls, pictures of Derek's family, pictures of the pack that Stiles isn't sure how he got. There's even a picture of Derek staring blankly at the camera while Stiles is open mouthed (probably snoring) sleeping on his shoulder. He wonders when that was taken and who took it, but he loves that it made it on the wall of pack pictures.

"I want a copy of that one," Stiles points at it as Derek keeps dragging him along. Through the living room is the kitchen, which is giant and modern and gorgeous. He trails his finger along the light gray speckled granite countertops that have flecks of a red stone in them that Stiles would embarrass himself guessing it. "Wow," he breathes out.

"Food was important to my family. We ate a lot." Derek ducks his head and watches Stiles' reactions carefully.

"I can't wait to cook in here," Stiles tells him. "I used to cook for my dad before, you know, werewolves entered my life and I got too busy. I'll have to learn how to cook for a mini army."

Derek huffs a laugh while jutting his head over to the dining table. It's not only big, but it's in front of a wall of windows looking out into the preserve. The trees are turning orange and leaves are falling, and it's one of the most magical views Stiles has ever seen.

"Ten bucks says that a fight between Erica and Isaac breaks out and breaks those windows," he says.

"You would kill them," Derek replies.

"Immediately," Stiles agrees.

In the kitchen, there are stairs leading up, so Derek takes him there next but stops for a moment. "Under the stairs is an office," Derek says quietly. "It was my mom's because she worked from home a lot, but..." He turns and looks at Stiles. "It can be yours. For your research."

Stiles blinks. "You'd give me your mom's office." Except it isn't a question since Stiles is immediately hit with the realization that Derek would give him anything.

Derek's cheeks turn red as he shrugs and takes Stiles up the stairs. The landing is open and big. There are two hallways that lead in opposite directions. Along one hallway are pictures of trees and mountains, looking a lot like Beacon Hills haunts. The other hallway has framed art of different kinds, some classics, some that Stiles doesn't recognize. The latter is where Derek takes him first, showing him each of the pack's rooms. Erica, Boyd, Isaac, and even Scott have their own rooms.

"There's plenty of room for Jackson and Lydia to have their own rooms too," Derek quietly admits because he's a big softie. In response, Stiles just bumps his shoulder into him. "There's a room for you, but..."

"Yeah, we're sharing," Stiles finishes quickly. "You're not getting rid of me that easily, Hale."

Derek rolls his eyes and mumbles something under his breath that almost sounded like, "As if I want to."

After taking a peak into each of the rooms to see how they're decorated (each of them have their own en-suite bathroom, Derek points out) because Stiles is nosey, they go down the other hall, which only has two doors. One is a guest bathroom, and the next door is Derek's room. Stiles is almost vibrating with excitement as he remembers it's their room.

The walls are still bare of any decorations, but there's a giant bed in the middle of the room with two nightstands and a sturdy looking headboard. It's adorned with so many pillows, and that does not surprise Stiles even a little. Derek is all about comfort in his den. 

"Those pillows will not last long at night," Stiles laughs. "I'm sticking to you like a barnacle."

"That's a lovely mental image."

Stiles hugs his side, resting his chin on Derek's shoulder. "Why isn't it decorated?"

"I was waiting for your input," Derek admits quietly.

"You had hope," Stiles says, sounding surprised. "Glad one of us did."

"I had hope," Derek whispers. "It's ready to move in." There are two dressers in the large walk in closet, and Stiles just has a feeling, so he opens one of the drawers and sees his missing shirts.

"You big softie."

Derek wraps his arms from behind, kissing Stiles' neck. "Stay," he asks in a breath.

"Yeah," Stiles agrees. "I think I can be okay with that."

The bathroom houses a long counter with double sinks and the biggest shower Stiles has ever seen. Definitely enough room for both of them, if not at least two others, and Stiles is filing away that information for nefarious purposes later. There is more than one shower head, which absolutely blows Stiles' mind.

He leans in close to Derek's ear and says, "I'm so blowing you in that shower someday soon."

Derek buries his face in Stiles' neck again, groaning. "Yeah, that sounds good."

Stiles laughs, feeling so light for the first time in a while. Wrapped up in Derek makes him feel that way, safe, protected, and like there's hope for the future. He turns in the arms encircling him and kisses Derek soundly. "I love you. The house is gorgeous. When can I move in?"

"Whenever you want," Derek whispers, kissing him again and again. "I still have some stuff from the loft to bring in, but it's your space too. Do what you want with it."

"Well, first," Stiles announces, leaning back slightly, wrapping his arms around Derek's neck. "I need to get our scent all up in this bitch. We can't live somewhere that doesn't smell like us ."

Derek's eyes flash red, and god, that reaction is one of Stiles' favorites. He loves making Derek lose just a tiny bit of control, knowing the man would never hurt him, but the thrill of him being so close to danger... the adrenaline rush... the amount of therapy Stiles probably needs. Derek is a safe kind of danger, the kind that comes with the rush but none of the scary consequences. 

"I'd like that," Derek finally says, smiling wolfishly. "How about we start now?"

Eerily resembling a bobble head, Stiles nods his head enthusiastically. "What did you have in mind?"

Derek lets go of Stiles, who whines at the loss, and backs up to close the door and lock it. Oh hell yeah. This is definitely going somewhere Stiles desperately wants.

Derek:

Watching Stiles' eyes dilate with want and his scent turn the perfect amount of sweet is exactly what Derek wanted to happen tonight. As Stiles had pointed out, he had hope. Subconsciously at least. Once close enough, the first to touch is surprisingly Stiles, who is usually so unsure of himself. His hands push up Derek's shirt clumsily enough that Derek laughs and strips it off himself. The same hands that Derek has fanatasized about practically pet his chest, finger nails softly scraping through his chest hair. 

"God, you're beautiful," Stiles says almost reverently, his eyes looking at every single detail he can catalogue like this might be his only chance. 

Derek stills his hands, grabbing his wrists and holding him close. "Tell me when to stop, okay?"

"I doubt that's gonna happen, but yeah, you too."

Derek nods and leans in, skimming his nose from Stiles' collarbone where it barely peaks out from his shirt that he stole from Derek this morning to behind his ear then traces the same path down with his lips. His hands slide down to Stiles' hips to push up the shirt and pull it over his head. Hearing Stiles' breath turn slightly ragged is something Derek can get used to. Stiles wraps his arms around him again as Derek nips at his chin. His fingers dig into Derek's shoulders when he leans in and kisses him again, all soft lips and just a hint of tongue.

Stiles' mouth opens in a gasp as Derek's knuckles brush the lower part of his stomach right above the button of his pants. "Derek," he whines.

"What do you want, Stiles?" he asks, his lips brushing against Stiles' as he talks.

Stiles sighs, eyes still closed. "Everything, whatever you want."

"What do you want tonight?"

His eyes slowly open, pupils blown wide. "I've never done this before."

Derek shakes his head. "I don't care. If it's you, it's more than enough."

Stiles laughs, throwing his head back, and Derek wants to be offended until Stiles cups his face and says, "You are literally too good to be true. I can't believe I landed you."

After an eyeroll, Derek kisses him again because Stiles' kisses are something that he went without for way too long. Like someone begging for water in a desert, Derek can easily see himself begging for Stiles' lips. "What do you want?" he whispers again.

Stiles takes a deep breath, nosing at Derek's cheek before pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Please let me blow you." And before Derek can even agree, Stiles sinks to his knees.

" Fuck ," Derek groans when his hands land on Derek's pants. Having Stiles stare up at him like, with those doe eyes, is almost enough to make him implode, and his jeans are only unbuckled. He watches shaking yet deft fingers unbutton his pants and then shove them down like their very existence is offensive. Stiles stops and just stares for a moment until Derek runs a hand through his hair that's been growing out. He looks up at Derek with awe in his eyes and without breaking eye contact, licks a stripe over Derek's covered, hardening dick.

Stiles doesn't tease him for long and shoves his boxers down too as if he's lost patience. Derek cocks at an eyebrow at him and he huffs. "I've waited a year to get in your pants and I'm not wasting any more time." Then he stops again, marveling at Derek's cock like it's something to be worshipped, then he looks up at Derek like he's something to be worshipped and not someone who ruined his own life.

"You tell me as soon as you want me to stop," Stiles instructs, his voice almost as hard as Derek's dick.

"Not happening."

"Derek." It's demanding and concerned at the same time. "Promise me."

"Promise," Derek says softly, pulling on Stiles' hair just enough to tilt his head back slightly. "Now get your pretty mouth on my dick."

"Yes, alpha." Stiles smirks when Derek's eyes flash, but true to his word, he doesn't waste any more time. He licks the underside of Derek, tonguing at the foreskin when he reaches the tip, making Derek bite his fist. Stiles pulls back and Derek whines. "I want to hear you."

"I don't want anyone else to," Derek points out with a snort.

"Didn't you sound proof the rooms for this very reason, oh love of mine?" His hand lazily drags over Derek, the grip not quite tight enough to bring the pleasure he wants. Stiles leans in and nips at the V of his hips. "I want to hear you make these sounds for me and know that they're not for anyone else."

The possessiveness of the words and his tone make Derek feel more wanted than he ever has and all he can do is dumbly nod because at this point, he'd agree to anything Stiles says. 

"Good," Stiles purrs and then wraps his lips around Derek's cock. Derek allows himself to moan, to run his fingers through Stiles' hair and along his jaw, grounding himself to this moment, the moment where his mate, the love of his life, is on his knees in front of him treating Derek like he's the prize in this situation, treating Derek like he deserves every good thing that Stiles can offer. 

It's over way too quickly, Derek moaning loudly, "Stiles," as a warning. The man pulls back and drags the back of his hand over his glistening chin.

"Cum on me," he demands, pumping his hand, thumbing at the tip. "Mark me."

And that's all it takes. Derek can't even look away as his cum hits Stiles' chin, cheek, and lips. Stiles licks his swollen lips to taste and Derek watches his eyes dilate further.

"I know this is all new to me, but that was the hottest thing I have ever experienced."

Derek hauls him up and licks the cum off his face before slamming their lips together. "Let me take care of you."

Stiles nods but clings to Derek harder, which makes it difficult for Derek to take off their shirts, but he manages. He thumbs at Stiles' nipples before grabbing his hips and tugging him to the bed. He sits, letting Stiles straddle his lap and looks up at him.

"What do you want?"

Stiles laughs breathily. "I have no idea, but I know it's going to be embarrassingly fast because I've never been harder in my entire life." He pets Derek's hair, thumbs dragging over his side burns almost tenderly. Then it's like an idea phyiscally hits him as he flinches. "Can I cum on your chest?"

"You want to mark me too," Derek says.

"Yeah because I can't leave hickeys the way you can."

Derek nods and lays back, pulling a pillow down so he can look up at Stiles. "I'm yours."

Stiles' breath hitches, and his heart skips a beat as it kicks into over drive. "Just... look at me, okay?" He stands up and kicks off his jeans and boxers before straddling Derek again, hand on his dick. He moves quickly, and he's not wrong in that it's fast, but the way he moans Derek's name makes Derek's dick twitch like it wants to get back in the game.

He practically collapses on his hands on either side of Derek's head, chest heaving and breath fanning over Derek's lips. All it takes is a small tilt of his head before their lips are connected. 

"How does it smell in here now?" Stiles asks, still out of breath.

Derek leans his head back, not lost on the meaning of bearing his neck to Stiles, and breathes in deeply. He's hit with the strong musk of their combined releases and Stiles' earthy, stormy scent. 

"You totally just sighed dreamily so I'm guessing good." He laughs, sounding absolutely and unabashedly happy in the moment.

"Let's get cleaned up," Derek says, shoving Stiles off of him and rolling to sit up.

"God your abs ," Stiles moans. "I want to bite them."

Derek shocks himself by laughing as he stands up. "Come on. Shower then bed."

"Where we can cuddle?" Stiles asks, hopefully, like it's not a sure thing.

All Derek can do is snort and hold out a hand that Stiles immediately takes.

Stiles:

"Am I no longer a virgin?" Stiles asks Scott the next day as their lounging in his room at his dad's and wow, he probably needs to talk to his dad about the fact that this house isn't his home anymore. 

Scott shrugs from where he's concentrated on the COD in front of him. "Virginity is an outdated concept and has too many maybes to really define."

"You've been spending time with Lydia," Stiles guesses.

"Allison has her tutoring me," Scott grumbles. "Also you smell disgusting. It's like Derek literally rubbed himself all over you." Stiles doesn't say anything, which makes Scott groan. "I don't wanna know." Which just makes Stiles cackle maniacally.

"This is so deserved after what I went through with Allison, okay?"

Scott is silent for a moment as the game loads up a new match. "Did you picture this? That you and I would be grossly in love junior year?"

"I thought it would be Lydia," Stiles says. "Or had hoped." Then he cringes. "That feels like a lifetime ago."

"But you're happy, right?" Scott asks, looking back at him. "With Derek?"

Stiles can feel his face almost crack with how wide his smile is. "Yeah, I'm pretty happy with Derek."

But Scott's right. He never would have pictured this, even when he met Derek and felt an instant connection, a something . He never would have pictured that he would move in with the man, demand constant affection and not only be allowed to demand it but to easily receive it . He never would have pictured Derek Hale, brood master smile at his jokes and antics and look at Stiles like he's the love of his life.

Stiles never would have pictured any of this, but he can't say he's not 1000% happy with the outcome.