Archive of Our Own

The sound of his rushing footsteps echoed in the empty alleyway, empty except for the trash overflowing the rusty and dark green trashcan by the end of it. He was panting, heart pounding in his chest, fists clenched into tight balls. Sweat had formed on his forehead and was running down his cheeks.

Or maybe they were tears, he wasn't sure anymore, nor did he care.

Because behind him, watching him run away, was the Beacon Hills vigilante known as the Hound.

The Hound who had his partner in crime in a choke hold, gloved fist tightly in his hair in an attempt to keep him from struggling and costumed body tense as his partner struggled anyway, regardless of the lack of air rushing to his lungs and regardless of the tight hold the Hound had on him.

Underneath the mask, Derek cursed as the other robber disappeared out of the alley and out of sight, running down the street to the right. He could still hear him, the sound of his heavy footsteps and rapid heartbeat easily picked up by Derek's superhuman hearing, and the robber's scent even more easily picked up by his superhuman smell.

The escaped robber hadn't been out of his sight for more than five seconds, before the captured one went limp in his hold, and Derek let him drop to the ground by his feet and rushed after the escaped one.

The street was dark and empty, much like the alleyway. It was in the middle of the night, after all. It wasn't often that civilians were milling around at this hour. Not unless they were drunk people going to or from a party, but the best clubs – Jungle, to name one – were much further in town. Only strays made sounds down the street and in alleyways, streetlights illuminating the otherwise dark streets.

Having not lost track of the escaped robber, Derek found him easily. Except he wasn't alone.

“And here I thought the Hound was good at what he did,” a robotic voice said, the voice coming from the costumed man – lean, muscular, pink lips pulled into a grin the only thing visible below the dark red, nearly crimson, mask. The rest of the costume was a mix of the same color and black, looked like it might all be leather of some sort – currently standing above the robber, one leg lifted and one foot pushing down on the guy's throat, closing off his air.

The robber was lying flat on his back on the ground, struggling for air. It didn't seem to bother the masked stranger. He was holding him down practically effortlessly.

Derek huffed, his fangs retracting back into his mouth but his eyes stayed red and focused on the stranger, as he started walking toward him, his pace slower and less rushed now, but his steps careful.

“I had it under control,” he bit out, his own voice distorted to a deep rumble, thanks to the electronic device stuck to the collar of his suit, pressing against his throat. Not in an unpleasant way, but in a way that he knew it was there. A constant and comforting reminder.

The stranger scoffed, the sound robotic and odd, and he lifted his foot from the robber's throat, when his breathing became hollow and his heartbeat slowed down slightly. “Clearly not.” The stranger stepped around the passed out robber on the ground and took no more than a handful of steps toward him. “This jackass was about to slip right through your fingers, so...” He bowed, bowed, his arms held out as he ducked down just a little. “You're so very welcome, Hound.”

Derek narrowed his eyes at him, but he didn't move while the stranger stepped closer. His still red eyes were glued to him, tracking his every move, and his claws came back out of the holes of the fingers of his gloves. Just in case this guy wasn't a friendly.

“I would have caught him.” The stranger huffed as a response, and Derek continued. “Who are you?”

The stranger hummed in thought and shrugged. “I'm not sure yet,” he told him, a small smile appearing on his pink lips. “But I'll be sure to let you know when I am.”

There was a moment of silence, a moment where Derek tried to catch the stranger's scent but for whatever reason, he couldn't. The stranger was the one to break the silence between them.

“See you around, Hound!” He lifted a hand in a quick wave, smiled widely at him, before he turned around and left.

He was gone before Derek could even see where he went, before he could even keep track of his heartbeat, and before he could catch a scent.

Not only was the guy fast, he was skilled and talented as well.

It kind of pissed him off.

{ x }

Derek Hale was born with powers in his blood. That was what his mom had told him, when she had sat him down and explained how special he was, after he had gotten in a fight with Theo Raeken on the playground when he was 7. He had broken the other kid's nose and had been send to the principle immediately. He had been scolded, sure, both by his mom and his dad, but then he had gotten a lecture and had gotten things explained to him and suddenly everything made sense.

It made sense why he was faster than the other kids when they were playing sports or just running around. It made sense why he was stronger, heard better, and could smell better than the other kids, sometimes even see better. As a kid, it was barely noticeable for everyone else unless you really looked, his powers weren't fully grown back then. But these days, as an adult, it took a lot of willpower to keep them down and off.

The first time his powers were truly visible and impossible to control was when he was 15 and heartbroken. He had fallen in love with a beautiful girl named Paige. She had made him feel happy in ways no one else had done before. Not even his own friends, not even his own family. She had made him feel like he was floating on a cloud in the sky just by being in her presence, and when she had kissed him for the first time, he felt lighter than air.

They had dated for no more than three months – three amazing, wonderful months – when Paige's mom called the Hale house to pass on the tragic news.

It was an accident. That was what Derek had been told after he had run to the hospital where Paige had been rushed to. It was an accident, but it didn't feel like it. Derek had a gut feeling that what had happened to Paige hadn't been an accident. To this day, he still didn't consider it an accident, but he didn't dwell on it. Not anymore.

When he had stepped into the Hale house that day, he had lost control. His mom had come and picked him up from the hospital, when Paige's mom had told her he was there. And in the entry hall, he had broken down.

He couldn't remember much. Mostly flashes of red and a dull pain from his mouth and fingers. Then only darkness.

When he had come to again, his mom was holding him tightly and running her fingers through his hair, shushing him and telling him it was okay. Things around him were destroyed, scratch marks running along the walls, and he could see his sister Laura trembling with fear further down the hall, their younger sister Cora poking her head out from behind her, eyes wide and full of tears.

He had hid in his room in shame for three days.

With the help from his mom, Derek had learned to control his powers a little better. He learned how to turn them off, learned how to turn them on. When his eyes flashed red, all his senses were heightened. He could hear everything for miles, and his mom had taught him how to focus on only one thing rather than everything at once, so it wasn't overwhelming.

When his eyes lit red, he could smell everything. It had been horrible at first, made him gag and turn it off right away, but he got used to it after he had walked around with his eyes turned for a whole weekend.

He was faster when his powers were on, could jump higher and farther, and he was strong. He was strong even when his powers were off, which he learned when he accidentally broke his door one night by slamming it shut too hard.

The one thing his mom didn't teach him, what she never got the chance to, was his ability to heal quicker than any other human being. Because he didn't learn that until the worst night of his life.

Derek had been woken up in the middle of the night to the smell of smoke and the distant sound of coughing, yelling, screaming, and crying. He had woken up to feeling too hot, sweat soaking through the shirt he had thrown on before crawling under the duvet now on the floor.

The duvet that was burning. Along with everything else in his room.

As soon as he had realized that, he had become wide awake and his eyes had flashed red, his ears filling with the sound of rapid heartbeats. His own and everyone else's. He had panicked, knew he had been, and everything had just sort of become a blur.

He couldn't remember what had happened, not even with all the amount of therapy he had gone through. He couldn't remember walking through his burning house, couldn't remember how the flames didn't hurt him, only burned his clothes. He couldn't remember seeing his family, because he hadn't. He hadn't seen them because they were all hidden by the high flames and the smoke or trapped in their rooms.

All he could remember was sprinting out of his burning house and into the arms of a firefighter. All he could remember was being send over to the wailing ambulance parked nearby, while firefighters rushed into the flames swallowing up the Hale house, along with parts of the forest surrounding it.

Al he could remember was screaming for his mom, for his dad and for his sisters.

All he could remember was nearly losing all control but then breaking down into tears instead.

Things had been rough after that. Having been only 16 and with no more family left, a family that wasn't his took him in and moved him to New York for a fresh start. The Reyes'. They had a 13 year old daughter, and she had very quickly become Derek's best friend and the person that had helped him through the grief of losing everything and everyone. Erica was her name.

She had found out about his powers when he woke up from a nightmare no more than a week after moving into a small place in Brooklyn. A nightmare of smoke in his lungs and the sound of his family screaming loud in his ears. He had woken up with his eyes red, claws digging into his bed, fangs out, and his shirt soaked with sweat.

Erica had been the one to calm him down and help him through it. They became inseparable after that.

“You should become a superhero,” she had told him one night, her back against his side and a Superman comic open in her lap. “I could be your sidekick or your gadget girl. Imagine it, Der. We could save the whole town, have cool superhero names, and be heroes!”

It had sounded ridiculous at the time, Derek had told her so. They didn't live in a comic book, didn't live in a TV show or a movie. But the idea of saving people and keeping the town safe? Yeah, he liked that thought.

So that was exactly what they decided to do.

Derek Hale, having moved back to Beacon Hills with Erica by his side a few years ago, was 28 years old with a well paying job at Whittemore & Co. during the day hours. And during the night hours, he was out saving the people of Beacon Hills as the Hound, the town's very own vigilante – or superhero, as Erica kept calling him.

Erica became his sidekick along with his gadget girl. She wasn't powered like he was and had some health issues, so he had quickly shot down the mere idea of her going out in the field with him. She worked wonders with technology though, and he wouldn't be able to do the things he did without her and her brilliant brain.

Along with Erica, he had Vernon Boyd and Isaac Lahey by his side.

Derek had met Boyd at the local gym and they were nothing but workout buddies, silently working together and spotting each other during weight lifting. Until Erica came by one day, and Derek saw Boyd's eyes flash golden for just a split second. It hadn't taken much convincing for Boyd to join their team of crime fighting. Derek knew it was partially because Boyd was crushing on Erica from day one and sure enough, a month later, they were together.

Isaac had joined the team after Derek and Boyd had saved him from his abusive dad. He had practically begged them to let him join and Derek had been reluctant to let him in. But Isaac was good. Even now, he still needed a lot of training, but he was good.

They were a team. A family.

Derek Hale was 28 years old and using his powers for good. Like his mom would have wanted him to.

{ x }

Smoke. Burning.

Flames surrounding him, trapping him on his bed.

Heavy and shallow breathing, panic rising in his chest.

Derek woke up with a start at the sound of a baby wailing on the street below him. He sat up and breathed heavily for several minutes, sweat gleaming on his bare chest and thick brows drawn together. It took the annoying alarm clock on his bedside table to snap him out of it, and he very nearly broke it in his rush to turn it off.

Again.

Groaning and silently telling himself it was just a dream over and over again in his head, he rubbed at his eyes until the redness turned back to hazel... or whatever color his eyes usually were. Even he himself was unsure of the color.

The baby's wailing and the mother's piercing shushing drew back into the far distance, and Derek threw himself back onto the bed with a heavy and exhausted sigh, his eyes closing.

His eyes turning red somewhere along the night wasn't an uncommon thing. It had been happening since he had become aware of his powers, although it happened a lot more frequently after the fire. Usually it would happen when his sleeping mind started to wander toward a nightmare. His instincts would kick in, and he'd wake up because of a single cough from somewhere several floors below him, or because of a bird chirping from the other side of the street.

Derek didn't bother moving for a while, just laid there and let his heart calm down again. The therapy had supposed to help him with the nightmares, but it hadn't, so he had stopped going after moving back to Beacon Hills. Why waste his family's money on something that only made him feel worse?

Eventually he did get out of bed and on with his day. His shower was quick, breakfast quicker, and he was in his suit and out the door before the clock on the bedside table ticket over to 8 AM.

The building was quiet as he headed down the flights of stairs, the sound of his shoes hitting the steps echoing in the empty stairwell. The parking space was just as empty, cars filling the spots. People didn't get out this early, not in this building. Derek had learned that quickly after moving in. It was nice, he liked it this way. He liked not having to greet anyone in his building first thing in the morning. Not that the people living there were horrible people, no, he liked them. He just liked having a quiet morning all the way to his workplace a little more.

Correction: He liked it quiet until he stepped foot into the coffee shop three blocks from Whittemore & Co. for his morning coffee.

Martin's Coffee had started up a little over three months ago, and Derek had walked inside on a Monday morning, taken one look at the barista leaning against the counter, and had fallen in love.

Fallen in lust was probably more accurate, but lust became love quickly.

Stiles, as the barista was named, was beautiful. His eyes were a calming brown framed by thick lashes, nearly golden if the light hit them just right. His dark brown hair was always a mess, which somehow suited him so perfectly. His nose was slightly upturned, cutely so, and his lips were plush and pink. Very kissable, and Derek had spend many mornings with his eyes fixated on them, imagining what they would feel like against his own.

Stiles was lithe. At first glance you'd say he was skinny, but he wasn't. No, Derek had very quickly taken notice of the muscle under the graphic tees and the red apron hanging loosely around his neck, his name tag stuck onto the right side of it. He was muscular but not overly so, and his hands were obscene, fingers always touching something in a way that had Derek fighting any reaction his body tried to have.

Moles dotted Stiles' pale skin, probably covered his whole body. Derek wouldn't mind finding out just how many moles this guy had on him, wouldn't mind mapping them out with his tongue. Stiles was an absolutely beautiful man, and Derek was floored the second he had laid eyes on him that first time.

Stiles was- Well, Derek's first impression was that Stiles was beautiful but annoying. He talked a lot, didn't know how to lower his voice sometimes, and he rambled. Boy, could he ramble. On and on until the people in line behind Derek cleared their throats, impatiently waiting for it to be their turn.

But Stiles wasn't annoying. No, he was fascinating. He was funny, sarcastic, always had a joke ready. He was kind, sweet, would always smile at Derek when he came in on the mornings he worked (Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, Derek had learned that quickly) and he would always wish him a good morning and start up a conversation. Like they were friends, not just barista and customer.

Derek had never been good with people, even worse after the fire happened and he didn't know how to hold a conversation anymore. But with Stiles, everything was just so easy. Words flew out of his mouth so naturally, and he felt calm by the time he walked out of the coffee shop with a warm coffee in his hand, a smiley face drawn on the side of it every single time.

He felt calm, which was something he hadn't really been able to feel until he met Stiles.

Seeing Stiles the days he could were the highlights of his week. He only wished he could see him every single day instead of just three times a week.

He wished he could, but he knew he couldn't. Not with the life he lived. That just wasn't how it worked.

The door had just closed behind Derek when Stiles' eyes went from the phone in his hand to him, and there it was. There was that bright and warm smile that made butterflies flutter in Derek's stomach.

“Morning, Derek,” Stiles greeted him, locking his phone and slipping it into his pocket, as he stood up straight. “You look like you've had a rough night. Want it extra strong today?”

There were only a few people in the shop this morning, none of them in line, so Derek went right up and nodded. “Please,” he said with a small sigh, as he rested his elbows on the counter, eyes focused on Stiles' fingers wrapping around a take out cup, before they snapped to those pink lips pulled back into a smile. “Not so much rough as it was long, to be honest,” he continued, making Stiles glance his way. “Ran into a slight inconvenience.”

“Boss got you working late nights, huh?” Stiles paused, putting the cup down and pressing the buttons to fill it with warm and steamy coffee. “Sounds like something Jackass Whittemore would do.” He looked over at Derek, catching his eyes. “You know what you should do? Tell him to shove it up his ass and quit.”

Derek huffed quietly, a small smile tugging at his lips as he ducked his head. “I can't do that, Stiles,” he said with a shake of his head. “It pays well.”

“Yeah, but do you enjoy it?” Stiles put the lip on the cup and turned back to Derek, suddenly so close that Derek could count the lashes framing his brown eyes. “'Cause you've been complaining about this job a lot and looking more and more tired and worn out, so obviously it's not worth the long nights and the asshole boss. You should quit.”

Derek watched him for a moment, watched as concern and worry washed over that beautiful face, and he couldn't help but smile just a little at him. It was nice to know that the man he cared for was worried about him and his well being. It wasn't that he hated working at Whittemore & Co. Sure, it wasn't the best and his boss could be a bit of a dick on occasion, but it paid well and it was a good cover for the Hound.

Besides, Erica worked alongside him, so it wasn't all bad.

“Not that simple,” he said and grabbed the cup after Stiles had scribbled a smiley onto it. “But as long as I can get my coffee,” and see you, he didn't say, “I'll be fine.”

He paid for it, Stiles told him to have a good day and kick ass at the office, and then he left Martin's Coffee to drive the rest of the way to the office building.

{ x }

Whittemore & Co. was a big building in the middle of town, floor to ceiling windows on every floor and full of business people buried in paperwork, phones glued to either their hand or their ear.

Christian Whittemore had retired a couple of years back and had handed the company over to his son Jackson. Jackson was- Well, calling him a douche would probably be correct. A douche who thought he was better than everyone, had a harsh tone toward the people who worked for him, and wasn't afraid to yell at someone if they weren't doing their job well enough. He had even fired Dahler a few months ago for reason Derek still wasn't sure of.

But Jackson was good at his job, good at keeping the company running. And if he could marry someone as kind as Danny Mahealani, he couldn't be all bad, so Derek kept his mouth shut, did his work, and didn't stand up to him or talk back.

Except for that one time, of course.

By the time Derek made it to the lobby of the building and nodded at the security guard by the elevators – Parrish was the name on his uniform – in greeting, the cup in his hand was empty. He didn't throw it away as he passed the trashcan though. Call him pathetic, but he always kept the coffee cup of the day around on his desk until he left the office, the cup turned with the smiley facing him, just so he could glance at it and feel a little less stressed during his day of being buried in paperwork.

Because Stiles was what got him through the day. Always.

Derek stepped into the elevator, pushed the button to his floor, and while the floors ticked up, his mind wandered to the night before. To the new vigilante in town. To the grin and the masked face. To the distorted voice and to how easy it was for someone to run away from him.

It bothered him. Not because he was afraid the spotlight would leave him and be on the stranger, he didn't care about that. It bothered him because he didn't trust this new guy. He didn't trust him, and it made him nervous to know someone like him was walking around town. Someone he didn't know whether had good or bad intentions.

The doors dinged open, pulling him out of his thoughts, and Derek's eyes were immediately on Erica. Erica who was leaning against the counter just in front of his office, waiting for him like she always did.

“Uh oh,” she said, pulling a face and heading over toward him. “You know it was a rough night when not even seeing the cute barista could cheer him up.”

Derek huffed at her and rolled his eyes. “We've got a problem,” he told her and headed into his office, Erica following him. “There's a new crime fighter in town,” he continued once the door was shut. There weren't many people working on their floor, and most of them would be busy working behind closed doors. But in a company this big and with so many enemies out there, you could never be too careful.

“Good or bad?” Erica walked around the desk – a fresh stack of papers was slapped onto the right side of it, and Derek sighed at the sight of it – and threw herself onto the desk chair, crossing her legs. “I'm assuming good because you said crime fighter, but judging by the look on your face, you wold say bad. Correct?”

Throwing his bag onto the desk, narrowly missing the stack of papers and the computer, and placing the coffee cup on it as well, Derek sat down on one of the chairs on the other side of the desk and leaned heavily back, his shoulders jumping in a quick shrug. “I don't know. I don't know who he is, what he can do, what his intentions are. I know nothing, and I don't trust him.”

“You don't trust anyone though, Der,” Erica said, sliding the chair over so she could reach the paper stack, flipping through the first few pages curiously. “Except for me, Boyd, and Isaac, of course. But that's a given, since we're a team.”

She let the pages fall from her fingers, fall back to the pile, and then she turned her attention back to him, resting her elbows on the wooden desk. “So, tell me about this new guy in town.”

So Derek did. He told her about the red and black leather suit and the mask hiding all but the lips and chin of his face. He told her about the guy's strength and his ability to quiet himself to the point of Derek not being able to pick up the sound of his heartbeat or his footsteps – Erica raised her brows in surprise at that. He told her about the distorted voice and the lack of a name, about the lack of a scent on him. He told her everything.

“He stopped the robber that slipped through your fingers,” Erica said when he finished. “I understand why you can't trust him, but he doesn't sound too bad to me.” She got up and went around the desk, placing a hand on his shoulder. “At least give him a chance, Derek.”

When she left, the door standing wide open, Derek sighed heavily and tipped his head back to look at the ceiling. He didn't trust this new guy, didn't like not knowing who else was running around the street. He didn't like it, because the last time he had run into someone like him, they had turned out to be bad. Very, very bad. And he couldn't and wouldn't relive that.

Inhaling sharply, Derek pulled himself up from the chair and headed around the desk, a hand slapping onto the stack of papers waiting for him.

His life as a vigilante could wait. For now.

{ x }

“Where are they heading?” Derek asked as he raced down the street, feet slamming against the concrete and his red eyes scanning his surroundings, his ears trying to pick up the sound of the criminals evading him. He could hear the rapid heartbeats and tires squealing against the road, but he couldn't pinpoint a location.

“Greenvale Park, it looks like,” Boyd told him through his earpiece. He was up high somewhere, keeping track of them so they wouldn't get away.

Derek looked around for a moment, before he darted down an alley and toward the park only a few blocks from where he was. They wouldn't get away, he wouldn't let them.

With the park in sight just ahead of him, he could hear the motor of the van as well as yelling from the criminals, yelling that was mostly one of them – Derek had gotten a quick glance at him before the van drove off. He was muscular, black mask covering his most likely red with anger face – cursing at the others and telling them to get their guns ready. Derek wanted to laugh at that, but only huffed and shook his head.

Bullets couldn't kill him. Slow him down, sure, but not enough for them to get away.

Even if they did, Boyd was still there as backup.

Derek turned and ran down the street, quickly coming to run behind the truck. It was only one reach away from being stopped, but before he could get to do that, the truck came to a screeching halt, and Derek had to dodge out of the way so he wouldn't get hit by it.

He stumbled but managed to restore his balance quickly. And when he did, he whipped around to see what the truck had stopped so suddenly for.

And there he was.

The masked man in red and black, a grin on his visible lips and gloved hands clenched into tight fists, his whole stance screaming “ready for a fight”.

Derek felt eyes on him, knew it was from the stranger and not the criminals getting out of the truck with loaded guns. The gaze on him disappeared after a moment though, when a criminal pointed his gun at the stranger in red.

“Get out of the way and we won't shoot,” he said, voice trembling slightly and fear radiating from him. Derek doubted you needed heightened senses to be able to catch that, considering the gun in the guy's hands shook ever so slightly.

The stranger snorted, the sound odd, and he shook his head. “You're not gonna shoot me,” he said, sounding and looking confident as he took a step closer, causing the other criminals to raise their guns and point them at him. “It's one thing to threaten one superhero, but to threaten two?” Derek felt eyes on him again, this time from the criminals. “That's just stupid. Especially when one of those two just happens to be the Hound of Beacon Hills.”

“Give him a chance, D,” was what Erica's voice in his ear told him, when there was a low growl rumbling in his chest.

Right. This guy was a stranger but not necessarily bad. He was fighting bad guys, just like Derek was. He could give him a chance to prove his goodness, but to trust him like Erica wanted him to? Yeah, he didn't see that happening. Ever. Derek didn't do teamwork with people he didn't trust, and he doubted he was ever going to trust this guy.

“Well,” the stranger said, spreading his arms out, “are you gonna give yourselves up willingly, or are we gonna fight?”

The answer came instantly when the criminal closest to the stranger moved his finger to the trigger of his gun. He didn't get to shoot though. The stranger moved before he could, moved to grab the hands clasped around the gun and he pulled, bringing his knee up and slamming it into the guy's stomach.

Derek watched as the criminal bend in half and fell to the ground with a painful groan. The moment that followed was silent, a moment where all they did was stare at each other. It was like the moment passed in slow motion, but when things started up again, they moved fast.

And Derek was over in the middle of the fight in a split second, when the other criminals started moving.

The previous moment had passed in slow motion, but this? This happened so fast, Derek could only just keep up. He threw punches, kicked, ducked out of the way when a punch or gun was thrown his way. He got punched a couple of times, when he let his attention slip from his attacker to the stranger, just to see him fight.

The stranger was good, knew how to fight and fight well.

They were outnumbered – two of them, six of the criminals – and while they fought well, the criminals still managed to get hits on both of them. Mostly nothing but punches and kicks, but one of them whipped out a knife somewhere during the fight and managed to get the stranger, slicing across his bicep, and the stranger groaned in pain, losing his focus.

Despite not trusting him, despite the guy not being on his team but clearly being on his side, Derek was over there in a second, grabbed the criminal, and took him down. The stranger seemed to recover quickly after that, and the rest of the fight went by smoothly.

When the last criminal fell unconscious to the ground, Derek let out a heavy sigh and let his guards fall, even though the stranger in red was still standing right next to him.

Panting, slightly out of breath, Derek turned to him, turned and saw him clutching at his wounded arm, blood seeping through his slightly parted fingers. “You okay?” he found himself asking, ignoring the teasing coming from both Erica and Isaac in his ear.

The stranger grinned at him. It looked forced. “I'm fine,” he answered with a shrug and a slight wince, before he turned his back to him. “Good fight. See you around, Hound!”

Derek stepped forward when the stranger started running away, reaching out for him. “Wait!” he yelled but it was too late.

He was already gone.

{ x }

“Ow!”

“Sit still!”

“I can't sit still when you're stabbing me in the fucking arm, Scott!”

Groaning, Scott tightened his grip around Stiles' arm and pulled at him, making him lean toward him again. “I wouldn't call it stabbing when I'm just stitching you up,” he said, bringing the needle back to the open and cleaned wound across Stiles' bicep. “Now sit still and let me fix this.”

Stiles sighed heavily, the sigh quickly turning into a groan as his shoulders slumped. “I don't even know how I didn't see the knife,” he complained, eyes on the ceiling and teeth digging into his bottom lip, when Scott started stitching him up. “Fuck, or how it sliced right through the suit.” He glanced over to the other side of the room, where Allison stood, the suit in her hands. “You can fix it though, right?”

Allison lifted her gaze, her fingers poking through the hole in the suit, and gave him a look. “Yes, Stiles, I can fix it. I've fixed worse, this shouldn't be a problem.” She let the suit fall from her hands and onto the table and lifted her arms, crossed them over her chest as she turned to him. “What is a problem though,” she continued, eyes trained on him, “is that you didn't see the knife. You're losing focus. We need to train more.”

“In my defense,” Stiles started, voice strained because of the pain coming from his arm, Scott almost done stitching him back together, “the Hound was kind of distracting. That dude has got some serious moves, and he looks like a wolf! Well, a werewolf but it's basically the same thing.”

“Werewolves aren't real,” Scott said, reaching over to grab the bandage for the now stitched wound. “He's powered. Like the mutants in X-Men.”

Stiles whipped his head around, eyes wide on his best friend. “Oh my God, I can't believe you just said that.” He brought a hand to his chest and smiled at him, sniffling softly. “I'm so proud of you, Scotty.”

Scott rolled his eyes, shook his head, and focused on the wound. “I did watch all the X-Men movies with you, Stiles. Willingly.”

“Yeah, but you actually said that.” Stiles reached out and patted Scott's cheek, ignoring the slightly annoyed but amused look he got in return. “I'm so proud.”

Scott scoffed halfheartedly at him and opened his mouth to say something back, but then the door to the secret lair in the back of Martin's Coffee slammed open, and Lydia poked her head inside.

“You done patching up yet?” she asked, looking from where her girlfriend was putting the suit in her bag and giving her a smile in greeting, to where Stiles hurried off the table, while Scott started cleaning up.

“Good,” Lydia continued when Stiles nodded and rolled down his sleeve. “Because you may be a hero, but the shop still needs you. Help Liam clean up, then go home and rest.”

“You got it, boss!” Stiles called after her with a lame salute. Walking toward the door, he turned to Allison and spoke again. “Text me when training's happening.”

“Of course,” Allison said, just as Scott said “No training before the wound's healed!”

Both Stiles and Allison ignored that.

{ x }

Derek was already in a bit of a grouchy mood a few days after that, having been kept awake the whole night by nightmares, but whatever decent mood he was building up was thrown out the window the second he stepped into Martin's Coffee.

Stiles was hurt.

His arm wasn't in a sling, but Derek could see bandage peeking out from the sleeve of his Superman shirt. Not that it seemed to bother Stiles himself, his focus firmly on the phone in his other hand, but it certainly bothered Derek. A lot.

“What happened?” he asked when Stiles looked up, bright smile slowly forming but disappearing quickly. Derek sounded angrier than he had wanted to as he stalked forward, fists clenching by his sides, but how could he not be? Someone had hurt Stiles.

“What?” Stiles followed his gaze to his arm and pointed at it with the phone still in hand. “Oh, this? That's nothing.” He waved a hand, smiling at him. “Word of advice though, don't be too friendly with stray cats. They've got sharp claws, dude.”

Derek frowned. Cats clawing at you usually didn't result in your arm being bandaged, but he didn't push it. After all, they were only friends. Hell, barely even that. They were customer and barista. Even though Derek had a giant crush on Stiles, that was all they were.

“So,” Stiles said, bringing Derek out of his thoughts of worry, “can I get you the usual?”

{ x }

The thing about being a hero, the thing that Derek was aware of in the back of his mind but hadn't put thought into, neither had Erica, is that you create enemies. The more you fight crime and the more bad guys you take down, the bigger and badder enemies you create. And they multiply. Quickly.

For Derek, it was no different.

Back in New York, when he and Erica were just starting out as superheroes, there was one bad guy in particular that nearly killed him.

His name was Deucalion, known as the Blind Alpha.

As his name suggests, Deucalion was blind. For anyone else, that would probably be hindrance in his villainous activities, but not for him. For him, it only meant heightened senses and surprisingly good fighting skills. For him, it made him a terrifying villain.

When Derek had first come across him on a night of crime fighting, he had underestimated him and had stumbled home to the Reyes', beaten and bloody. Deucalion was the first real bad guy he had come across, and it had taken him months of hard work, broken bones, and lots of bruises to take him and his team down.

But he had managed to do it, and he hadn't taken Deucalion's threat of coming back for him seriously.

Because this wasn't a comic book or a TV show or a movie. Bad guys like Deucalion didn't just come back for revenge. That was what Derek had told himself, had told Erica when she had worried.

If only he knew how wrong he was.

{ x }

With the half empty coffee cup raised to his lips to take a sip, Derek stepped out of his car and locked it, before he headed toward the Whittemore building. His mind was still full with thoughts of worry about Stiles and his injured arm.

He wasn't allowed to be mad at Stiles for lying to him – Derek knew he had been lying about the reason for his bandaged arm – because they weren't at that level of friendship. It wasn't his place to intrude or to even know the truth, he knew that. If Stiles didn't want him to, he could do nothing about it.

Not that that made him worry less though.

The street was full of people going to work, as Derek headed for the entrance of the Whittemore building. He wasn't paying attention to the people around him, despite being a nightly crime fighter. That was his night job. During the day, he didn't do it.

Not unless he had a bad feeling. Like now.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he felt a pair of eyes on him, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as a chill ran down his spine. He ignored the man bumping into him and calling him something rude, and instead zoned in on the feeling.

A tight grip around his bag and the coffee cup, he turned his head and looked over his shoulder.

And saw nothing.

Only a woman flicking her dark brown hair over her shoulder, her back turned to him.

“You're getting paranoid, Derek,” he told himself in a murmur so low, that he was the only one able to hear it, and he turned back around and headed into the building, greeting Parrish with a quick nod.

When he got to his floor, he paused at the sight of not only Erica waiting for him but Boyd and Isaac as well. He looked at them, they looked back at him, and he raised a questioning brow at them as he headed over toward them. “Is something wrong?”

Erica shook her head, but Isaac was the one to talk, holding up the day's newspaper. “Your office?” he suggested, waving the paper.

Derek couldn't catch the headline, only the words “crime” and “vigilantes,” so he nodded and gestured to his open and empty office. When they were all in, Boyd closing the door, Derek grabbed the paper from Isaac, putting his bag and the now empty coffee cup down, and scanned over the article on the front page.

“They named him Crimson?” he asked, making a face at it.

“I know,” Erica said in a chuckle. She had sat down on one of the chairs in the office, legs crossed. “It's a terrible name, isn't it?”

Derek nodded in agreement, tossing the paper onto the desk. “It really is. Worse than the Hound.”

“Hey, I think the Hound is a good name,” Isaac disagreed and sat down on the edge of the desk. “It's pretty fitting. Crimson though, that's just lazy name giving.”

“It's better than no name,” Boyd commented, his hands on Erica's shoulders and rubbing gently.

“You could get a name from the press,” Erica said, tilting her head back to look at him, “if you went out in the field and got noticed more. But I know that's not what you want, so what are you complaining about?”

Boyd shrugged, and Derek looked at him. “Have you been able to identify him or track him down? Crimson and a blurry photo,” he pointed at the one printed along with the article naming him, “isn't a lot to go on.”

Boyd shook his head. “No. I tried following him the other day, but I lost him. He's quick.”

“Too quick,” Erica added with a nod.

“So we're still not sure if he's good or bad,” Derek said and sat down, leaning back on the chair.

Erica huffed. “I can make an educated guess and say he's good, Derek. So far, he's done nothing but take down bad guys, the same thing we do all the time.”

“So far, yes, but that doesn't mean he can't still have bad intentions.”

“Okay, now you're just being ridiculous.” Erica grabbed one of Boyd's hands and got up from her seat. “Did you have an extra bad night or what is it?”

Derek sighed and lowered his gaze, his fingers touching the coffee cup absently. “Stiles got hurt,” he told them in a lowered voice, his brows coming together.

He wasn't looking, so he didn't see the way Erica's features softened and the three of them shared a look. “And what,” she started, looking back at him, “you think Crimson is the one who hurt him?”

“I don't know,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe. It could be.”

“Stiles is Cute Barista Guy, right?” Isaac asked Boyd in a whisper, and Boyd nodded.

“Don't go putting the blame on someone who might just be a guy trying to do good,” Erica said. “I'm sorry Stiles got hurt, I know why that gets to you, but don't take it out on Crimson for no reason.”

Derek nodded and opened his mouth to say something else, but the phone ringing cut him off, and he sighed heavily. “Back to work,” he murmured and reached over to take the call.

“See you tonight, Derek,” Erica said, while Isaac said “Bye!” along with a short wave, and Boyd nodded at him in a silent goodbye.

Derek had a feeling it was going to be a long day.

{ x }

“Losing focus, Stiles!” Allison yelled out as she threw a punch in Stiles' direction. Stiles only just managed to dodge out of the way before her fist collided with his face.

“Woah!” Stiles stumbled slightly but managed to stay on his feet. “Are you trying to actually punch me, Ally?”

Allison grinned and shrugged. “Yes. That's the point of training. If I'm not actually out to punch you, you won't have your guards up. Now come on.” She put her fists back up in front of her face, her stance not wavering the slightest. “Throw a punch at me.”

Stiles did as he was told, and Allison dodged it and tripped him. He landed on the mat on the floor with a groan and a curse. “Allison! You're playing dirty!” he accused and threw his arms up before letting them drop heavily onto the mat. He was sweaty and gross, his arms hurt and his legs were killing him.

Grinning, Allison came to stand over him. “And you're getting worse.”

Stiles lifted an arm and pointed a finger at her, his mouth open to say something back, but the door to the lair opened before he could say anything, and someone rushed inside.

“Sorry I'm late!” Kira had her arms up, tying her hair into a ponytail. “I lost track of time during lunch.”

Stiles groaned, raising a hand to let Allison help him back to his feet. “Please don't go into detail. I don't wanna hear about you making out with my best friend, thank you.”

Kira just rolled her eyes as she put her bag and jacket in the corner, and Stiles sighed when he was back on his feet. “Can we please take a break? I'm dying over here.”

“Okay,” Allison said, retying her own hair. “But only five minutes, then we have to get back to work.”

Stiles waved a hand in her direction, already on his way over to Lydia who was sitting to the side with a water bottle held out for him. “Yeah yeah,” he said, grabbing the bottle with a murmured “thanks” to Lydia. “Just gotta make sure I don't drop dead.”

Stiles sat down on the floor by Lydia's feet and downed half the water in the bottle in the matter of seconds. When he finished, he let out a satisfied sigh and leaned back against Lydia's knees, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

“So, how are things with Hot Derek?”

Stiles cracked an eye open and looked at Lydia. Lydia who was grinning widely down at him, Allison sitting next to her with an arm wrapped around her shoulders and a curious look on her face. Stiles would bet that if he looked over at Kira sitting in front of him, stretching, she would look curious too.

Sighing, he shrugged. “Fine, I guess? I don't really know.” He paused to take another swig of water. “I still can't tell if he's responding to my flirting or not, or if he's even into dudes.” Another pause, his hand running through his damp hair, pushing it back. “I mean, I'm pretty sure he cares about me though, 'cause he saw the bandage the other day,” he gestured to where his bicep was still bandaged, “and kinda got really mad. I said it was stray cats but I don't think he believed me.”

“Stray cats, Stiles? Really?” Allison looked at him, a brow raised. “You couldn't have come up with a better lie?”

“I was under a lot of pressure, Ally!” Stiles flailed a hand, nearly spilling water. “It was either that or I fell and got myself hurt, and who wants to date a clumsy as hell dude?”

“Pretty sure he'd date you regardless of your clumsiness,” Lydia commented from behind him. “In fact, he'd probably be your personal bodyguard and catch you when you fall.”

“Hey!” Stiles turned around and lifted a finger at her. “I am not that clumsy anymore, I'm a goddamn superhero.”

“Of course not.”

“Speaking of that.” Allison stood up, gave Lydia's cheek a quick kiss, and then patted Stiles' shoulder. “Your five minutes are up, superhero.”

Stiles sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping, but he got up and quickly downed the rest of the water in the bottle, throwing it to Lydia when it was empty. “Okay, but don't beat me up too much,” he told both Allison and Kira. “I do need to catch some bad guys tonight.”

“We won't beat you up too bad if you're good enough,” Kira said, a smile on her face as she stretched her arms above her head.

“Haha,” Stiles replied dryly and rolled his eyes, before going into position, eyes locking onto the two of them.

He did get pretty badly beat up – they were two against one, after all – but he was getting better.

{ x }

“I've been thinking about asking Stiles out,” Derek admitted just as an intense fighting scene came to an end on screen.

It was true. He had been thinking about it. He had been thinking about it a lot, ever since his crush appeared. He kept telling himself that he couldn't have that, not with the life he had, but he wanted to. He wanted to have that.

Erica – she was sitting in Boyd's lap, leaning against the armrest of the couch, and her feet were firmly placed in Isaac's lap – immediately turned her attention from the movie playing to Derek, the small handful of popcorn raised to her lips forgotten. “Are you serious?”

The night before, Boyd had decided they should have a night of resting and movie watching. “Give the crime fighting a rest for just one night,” as he had said. Derek hadn't agreed to the plan, even though it sounded nice, but the others had made him join them.

Made him meaning they had showed up at his loft with popcorn and beers and had forced him to sit and watch with them. A couple movies in though, he had to admit that it was good. It was nice with a break.

Shrugging, Derek raised his almost empty bottle of beer and took a quick swig. “I think so, yeah.”

Erica reached over for the remote and paused the movie, despite Isaac's noise of protest, and turned her attention fully to Derek, her arms moving around Boyd's neck and her head resting against his shoulder. “Well, it's about damn time you did, if you ask me.”

“I just don't...” Derek cut himself off with a heavy sigh, and he lowered his gaze to the beer bottle, fingers picking lightly at it.

“You don't know if you can both date him and be the Hound,” Boyd finished for him, and Derek nodded after a moment of hesitating.

A silence followed that statement.

If Derek hadn't been the Hound, maybe he would have asked Stiles out a lot sooner. Or not maybe, he definitely would have. Because if he wasn't the Hound, it wouldn't be so complicated and he wouldn't potentially be putting Stiles' life in danger.

“Ask him out,” Erica said, and Derek looked up and over at her. “You deserve some happiness in your life, Derek, so ask him out.”

“But what if-”

“I agree with Erica,” Isaac cut in, interrupting him. He tossed a popcorn into his mouth before continuing. “You should ask him out.”

Derek looked at them, especially noticed the way Erica was looking at him. It was her “I dare you to challenge me”- look, the same look she gave him when they had argued over Derek's costume all those years ago.

So he just nodded and leaned back on his chair. “Okay. I will.”

“Good,” Erica said, a soft smile replacing her previous look. She lifted the remote still in her hand and moved to press play on the movie again, which was when Isaac spoke up.

“Now that we're on the subject of life changes,” he started, giving all three of them nervous glances as he scratched the back of his neck. “I, uh... I've got a job interview.”

Erica and Boyd wasted no time on congratulating him, and when Isaac looked over at Derek, Derek smiled and said “I'm proud of you” to which Isaac's smile widened.

{ x }

When was the last time he was this nervous? When was the last time he stood frozen in the same spot for minutes and minutes just building up the courage to do something? When was the last time his heart pounded so hard in his chest, that the sound of it in his ears drowned out the sound of people walking by him? Derek couldn't remember.

He was standing on the opposite side of the road from Martin's Coffee, looking in through the huge window on the front of the shop. His eyes had found Stiles behind the counter immediately, Stiles who was currently serving a handful of teenage girls and smiling at them.

Derek was nervous, because he had made up his mind.

He was going to go over there and ask Stiles out on a date. He was going to do it.

Any second now.

Except he had been standing there for several minutes and had made no progress. Not even on the how he was going to ask him out.

The thing was, he hadn't dated since his teens. Sure, there had been one or two dates when he lived in New York, but that was all it was. A one night stand, maybe, but no solid relationship. Which was what he wanted with Stiles. A solid relationship. For a long time.

He didn't have much experience with dating, hadn't really asked anyone out since Paige. All his knowledge of dating came from the romance movies he had watched with Erica, the romance novels he had read, and from what his friends had told him about their dating life.

That was why he was nervous.

That and the possibility of Stiles saying no.

Derek had been standing there for about fifteen minutes, when he finally took in a deep breath, crossed the street, and went into the coffee shop.

Stiles' attention was still on the teenage girls as he handed them their coffees, but when the door closed behind Derek, he glanced over at him and did a double take, the friendly smile very quickly turning into a bright one. “Hey, Derek!” he greeted him, the teenage girls looking his way before scurrying off further into the shop.

Derek nodded at him in greeting and let out a short breath as he walked over to the counter. “Hey.”

“I think this might be the first time you've come in twice in one day,” Stiles said, hand already reaching out to grab a take away cup. “Guessing it must be a really rough day, then. You want it double?”

“No,” Derek said, scratching his stubbled jaw. “I didn't come here for coffee, Stiles. I came here to ask you something.”

Smile slowly fading, Stiles put the cup back and looked at Derek, his head slightly to the left in a curious tilt. “Okay. What's up?”

Derek lowered his gaze to the floor for a moment, looking down at his shoes. But taking in a deep breath, he looked back up at Stiles and just let it out. “Do you wanna go out with me sometime? On a date, I mean.”

The silent moment that followed, for him, felt like it lasted forever, and not just the couple of seconds it did. Stiles blinked at him, pink lips parted and brown eyes wide with surprise.

“Seriously?” Stiles asked in a breath.

Swallowing, Derek nodded and then shrugged. “Yeah.”

Stiles chuckled, and Derek's heart sank. Apparently, that was obvious on his face, because Stiles quickly reached across the counter and grabbed Derek's arm. “No, no, I'm not laughing at you!” he said, a smile slowly forming on his lips and his cheeks going pink. “It's just... I've kinda been working up the nerve to ask you for months.”

Derek's shoulders sagged as he huffed a sigh of relief, and he smiled. “Beat you to it.”

Stiles' smile grew wider. “That you did.” Slowly, he pulled his hand back and without losing the smile of the pink color dusting his cheeks, he reached over to grab a take away cup and scribbled something down on it.

“I know you didn't order anything,” he said as he handed it over to Derek, “but I think you're gonna want that.”

There was a phone number written on the cup, a winky face underneath, and Derek smiled down at it. “Text me when you wanna take me out,” Stiles continued, now leaning slightly over the counter and biting his bottom lip.

“I will,” Derek promised him and took a step back. He paused when he was halfway turned and raised the cup. “Won't I have to pay for this?”

Stiles waved a hand at him. “Nah, it's empty and my boss is one of my best friends, so I won't get in trouble.” He paused, blinked, and then grinned widely. “Although if you really wanna pay for it, you can pay me in a kiss on our first date.”

Derek felt his ears going hot, a small chuckle escaping him. “We'll see about that.” Pushing the door open, he smiled back at Stiles. “See you.”

The smile didn't leave his lips as he exited the shop. Stiles had said yes, and Derek couldn't remember the last time he had felt this good. This happy. He looked down at the number written on the side of the cup in his hand, and the smile grew wider.

However, he hadn't been out of the shop for more than ten, maybe fifteen, seconds when the smile dropped from his lips in an instant.

A chill ran down his spine,the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he stopped dead in his tracks.

Slowly, he turned his head and looked over his shoulder, looked toward the door leading into Martin's Coffee.

A tall and muscular man was holding the door open for another man, the other shorter and wearing glasses – or sunglasses, Derek couldn't tell. He couldn't make out the face of either of them, the tall one standing with his back to him and the shorter's face blocked by the taller.

For a second, the shorter guy looked like Deucalion. For a second, Derek's heartbeat picked up. For a second, fear washed over him.

But it was only for a second, because that couldn't be Deucalion. Because Deucalion was behind bars, had been for years.

Letting out a slow and deep breath, Derek turned back around, shook his head, and continued walking.

{ x }

“Someone tripped the alarm at the National, Crimson,” Lydia's voice told him, and Stiles groaned.

“I told you to stop calling me that,” he said as he kicked the motorcycle on, mask already pulled down over his face. Leaning forward, he drove off down the street toward the bank. “It's a terrible name.”

“I know,” Lydia said, sounding amused. “The reporters are getting worse at naming their heroes. I doubt they're even trying anymore.”

Stiles sped down the street, leaning into the turns and passing countless streetlights and drunk people whooping at him. “At least the Hound is a pretty decent and fitting name,” he commented as he took a turn. “Crimson is just lazy.”

“You could send them suggestions.”

“I'll send them a whole goddamn list,” he said and came to a halt a block from the bank, where the alarm was blaring. “Talk to you later, Lyds. It's ass kicking time.”

Parking the motorcycle and climbing off it, Stiles silently ran toward the building and made his way inside, careful not to disturb the robbers currently gathering money in the vault they had just gotten open.

Four robbers, three armed, all masked.

“You know,” the sound of his distorted voice startled the robbers and suddenly he had four guns aimed in his direction. Not that they could see him, not from where he was hiding. “Stealing from the bank is a real dick move.”

“Show yourself!” one of them yelled, carefully stepping out of the vault with his gun raised.

“And have you shoot my brains out?” Stiles snorted, shifting from his hiding spot. “How dumb do you think I am?”

He pressed himself up against the wall at the end of the hallway leading down to the vault, out of sight from the robber. And when the robber's gun came into view, the robber walking toward him carefully, Stiles reached out, grabbed and yanked it out of his hands with one of his own, while his other hand, clenched into a fist, came into contact with the guy's face. The punch send him stumbling backward, nose most likely broken by the looks of blood seeping out of it.

The sound of fighting alerted the other robbers, and two of them came rushing out of the vault, the fourth staying behind to finish the job. Stiles prepared himself for a fight, hands clenched into fists, but the two robbers didn't make it far.

Because then the Hound appeared from the other end of the hallway and took both of them out.

“Need a hand?” the Hound asked, looking annoyingly smug and cool with his fangs and glowing red eyes.

Stiles scoffed and dropped the gun from his hands after pulling it apart, ignoring the robber on the ground angrily shouting “You broke my fucking nose!” at him. “Actually, I don't, but I appreciate the help,” he said and stepped closer to the vault and the Hound. “Because I, for one, know how to be thankful when I get some help. Unlike some people.”

The Hound rolled his eyes and huffed, turning as he shook his head. “Whatever,” he murmured, or more like grumbled. “You wanna take care of the last guy or should I? His gun's not loaded.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at him, but he didn't stop walking toward the vault. “And how exactly do you know that? Is that part of your powers, being able to tell whether guns nearby are loaded or not?”

“No, I'm just observant.” The Hound held out a hand, gesturing toward the opened vault where Stiles could hear hushed cursing. “After you.”

Sticking his tongue out at the Hound as he passed him and stepped into the vault was childish, sure, but Stiles did it anyway.

The four robbers, tied up and groaning in front of the bank, were picked up by the deputies on duty a few minutes later, and they were all four put behind bars.

And Stiles, back on his motorcycle, watched as the Hound ran away.

{ x }

Derek looked at himself in the mirror, hand running down his chest to flatten the shirt he was wearing. He made a noise in the back of his throat, grabbed the hem of the shirt, and yanked it off before tossing it to the bed.

To the bed where Erica was sitting, and she groaned when the shirt was thrown at her. “What was wrong with this one?”

“Too tight,” Derek said in a low mumble, head stuck into his closet in the search for a new shirt.

It was Saturday and he was picking up Stiles in an hour. They had been texting a little – meaning a lot – in the past couple of days, and Derek was both excited and nervous at the same time. It was a date with Stiles, after all. The man he had been crushing on and pining over for months.

“I'm pretty sure Stiles isn't going to care if your shirt is too tight, Derek,” Erica said, throwing the shirt at his back. “In fact, he might even like that better than a loose one.”

With a sigh and a new shirt in hand, Derek stepped back out of the closet and looked at her. “I don't want to fuck this up, Erica.” He stepped in front of the mirror and pulled the shirt on, running a hand through his hair with one hand while he tugged the shirt down with the other. “I actually really like him.”

“And he likes you too.” Erica jumped off the bed and came up behind him, reaching up to fix his hair for him. “You've got nothing to worry about, I can promise you that. You could wear a potato sack and he'd still wanna make out with you.”

Derek huffed, a smile tugging at his lips, and Erica continued. “I like this shirt,” she said, smoothing down the back of it. “Looks good on you.” She patted his shoulder. “Now go pick up your boy and have a good date.”

The ride to Stiles' place was both too long and too short. Derek sat in the car in front of the building for about a minute, before he send the text to let Stiles know he was there. And Stiles showed up only a couple of minutes later looking absolutely beautiful.

Not that that was surprising, considering he always looked beautiful.

“Nice wheels,” Stiles said as he opened the door and got into the car. “Thanks for picking me up. I would've met you at the restaurant, but my car's broken.” He huffed. “Again.”

“It's my pleasure,” Derek said and turned on the car. He hesitated for a second, before he smiled at Stiles. “You look good.”

Stiles' cheeks turned a pink color, and a smile appeared on his lips. “Thanks. You look good too.” He put on his seat belt and leaned back as they drove to the restaurant.

As the night went on, Derek felt less and less nervous. Talking with Stiles turned out to be easier than what he had thought. He had been afraid it would be weird and awkward, but it wasn't. Stiles always had something to say and always listened intently to what Derek had to add to the conversation.

It was nice, sitting there with Stiles in front of him and learning things about him. It was nice, good.

The date was good all the way to the end, the food was amazing, the wine was great. And Stiles was perfect.

When the check arrived, a comfortable silence had fallen over them. Both of them had a hand on the table, lightly touching each other. Their eyes were locked and soft smiles rested on both their lips.

Derek paid the check with only a small amount of protesting from Stiles, and when they were two steps from Derek's car, Stiles grabbed him, turned him around, and pressed him against the side of it, leaning in for a kiss.

A kiss that Derek didn't hesitate to return with just as much enthusiasm as Stiles had initiated it with, his hands finding Stiles' hips and pulling him in closer.

Kissing Stiles was so much better than anything he had ever imagined it to be. Stiles kissed him so desperately, like he had been craving this for as long as Derek had, and Derek kissed him back just as desperately, enjoying the small noises that came from Stiles when he pulled him flush against him.

Their lips moved together for a while, Derek didn't know how long. It could have been minutes or it could have been seconds, when Stiles broke it, leaning back just an inch to catch his breath.

“I don't have sex on a first date,” he told him, breathless and in a small whisper. He didn't step back though, nor did he stop the slow and teasing grind against Derek.

A smile tugged at Derek's lips, a smile he let grow. “Neither do I,” he replied, before diving in for another kiss, Stiles returning it with a small moan escaping him. “Your place or mine?” he asked in a whisper when he pulled back, his lips brushing over Stiles' now red ones as he spoke.

“Yours,” Stiles replied with no hesitation. Derek raised a brow at him, pulling back just slightly so he could see, and Stiles shrugged. “You've got more money. More money, bigger and better bed.”

Derek laughed and shook his head. “You're ridiculous.”

“I know.” Stiles shrugged, grinning, and reached down to grab Derek's hand from his hip. “But I'm right, so I'll take being ridiculous.”

Derek nodded and leaned in for another quick kiss. “Sure. Let's go.”

{ x }

Derek slowly woke up to the sound of a bird chirping outside his window and a soft snoring in his ear. It took him a moment to properly wake up and be aware of his surroundings, a moment where he was confused.

Until he turned his head and saw where the snoring was coming from.

Stiles was sound asleep next to him, an arm thrown over his chest and cheek resting on his shoulder. Derek smiled at the sight and leaned over to press a soft kiss to his temple.

The night before had been amazing. A little rocky when Stiles had taken his shirt off after a moment of hesitating and revealed the scars underneath. He hadn't said anything about where they came from, and Derek hadn't asked. He had just leaned over and kissed him and told him he was beautiful. Because he was.

As carefully as possible, Derek slid out from Stiles' hold and got out of bed. Stiles made a soft noise of protest but didn't wake up, just curled around Derek's pillow instead. Derek watched him for a moment, ran a hand through Stiles' wild bed hair and down his bare back, the blanket still covering his lower half.

Pulling on a pair of sweats, Derek left the bedroom and headed for the kitchen. He turned on the television in the living room area on his way over there.

“- crime has gone down,” the newscaster on the screen said, and Derek offered it a glance as he opened the fridge to grab the tray of eggs. “The sheriff's department was wary when the Hound first appeared in Beacon Hills and started taking down criminals, but now...”

Derek tuned it out, letting it run as background noise, as he started making breakfast for him and Stiles. What they were talking about wasn't news. He had been fighting crime as the Hound for close to two years, and they were still milking it like it was all they had to talk about.

In a town this small, it probably was.

He focused on scrambling the eggs instead, staying focused until Stiles stepped out from the bedroom wearing one of his shirts and rubbing his eye while yawning. “Morning,” Derek greeted him and smiled softly.

Stiles grunted softly in response and went over to wrap his arms around Derek's middle from behind, soft lips pressing against his neck. “Morning,” he murmured, chin resting on his shoulder.

“- and now with Crimson in town, crime seems to have gone down even more,” Derek heard the newscaster continue from the television, and Stiles snorted.

“Such a lame name,” he said as he nuzzled Derek's neck with his nose.

Derek huffed and turned his head to give Stiles' forehead a quick kiss, before he turned back to the eggs. “You hungry?”

“Starving.”

Stiles left after eating breakfast and borrowing Derek's bathroom for a quick shower, but not before a lot of kissing in the doorway and the promise of a second date soon.

Derek spend the rest of the day thinking about him, texting him a little, and smiling until his head hit the pillow later that night.

{ x }

“Derek.”

Derek looked up from the file opened on his desk to Erica. Erica who looked not only incredibly uncomfortable but also scared and tense, and that was all it took for Derek to forget all about work and rise from his seat, guards up.

“You've got visitors,” she finished and stepped aside just as said visitors came into view.

Derek's hands had already curled into tight fists and his jaw was already clenching by the time he laid eyes on him.

“You're a hard man to find, Hale.”

The familiar and accented voice had Derek's heart pounding in his chest. The sound of the cane tapping against the floor made him breathe heavily. Deucalion still scared him, still infuriated him. Even after all these years.

So Derek hadn't just been paranoid when he thought he had seen him going into Martin's Coffee the other day, after all.

Deucalion's loyal sidekick, Kali, was right behind him with that familiar grin on her lips. It felt like that grin was permanent. Derek didn't think he'd ever seen her not grinning, actually. At least she was wearing shoes this time.

“Not hard enough,” Derek bit out, eyes glued on Deucalion just like Erica's were glued to Kali. “What are you doing here?”

“Sight seeing,” Deucalion said, a smile on his lips.

Kali huffed a laugh behind him. She had stopped walking and now stood in the doorway, leaning against the side of it, her arms crossed. “For a man who can't see, he sure likes to travel.”

Derek let the tense silence draw out for a couple of seconds, trying to calm himself. Innocent people were in this building, after all. Innocent people who didn't need to know he was the Hound. “How did you get out?”

Deucalion walked further into the office and sat down, tapping his cane on the desk. “I don't think that's important,” he said and send Derek a smile. “And is it really that surprising? I did tell you I would be back for you after all, and here I am.”

Derek clenched his jaw, and Deucalion continued before he could speak. “I've been keeping my eye on you since I found you, Derek.”

He moved to get up, cane sliding across the floor. “Collecting information on your loved ones. Now Erica,” he pointed over in her direction with the cane, “her I already knew about. Your loyal partner. Vernon and Isaac, those are new.”

Derek growled at him, which only seemed to amuse him. “But I don't care about them. Those aren't the ones you care for the most.” He stepped closer, his smile turning into a devilish grin. “You really need to be more careful, Derek. Someone might come take him away from you.”

“Don't you dare hurt him or even touch him,” Derek bit out, another low growl following his words. “He's got nothing to do with this.”

“Oh, but he does,” Deucalion said, grin turning back into a smile. “You care about him.” He turned around and headed for the door, his cane tapping against the floor even though he clearly didn't need it. “He's the most important piece in this.”

And then he was gone, along with Kali after she threw a wide grin at them.

Derek didn't waste a second to grab his phone and dial Stiles' number, his heart in his throat.

{ x }

Stiles had just stuffed a bagel from the shop into his mouth and was pushing the door open to get onto the street, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He raised a quick hand in a silent goodbye to Liam taking the next shift, before he reached into his pocket to pull out his phone. A wide smile immediately appeared on his lips when he saw the name flashing on the screen.

“Hey, Derek,” he greeted his caller and pressed the phone to his ear. There weren't a lot of people walking around on the street, most of them at work already. “Is this the second date call? 'Cause I was thinking we could go to this fancy new restaurant that just opened up in town. Or maybe we could-”

“Stiles,” Derek interrupted, and the tone in his voice had Stiles stop dead in his track. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said slowly, brows furrowing in worry. “Are you okay?”

Derek sighed on the other end, a sigh that sounded a lot like relief. “Stiles, listen to me. Go to my apartment. There's a key under the rug by the front door. Lock yourself in there and do not open for anyone but me, do you hear me?”

Slowly, Stiles turned and looked around himself, eyeing every single person passing him. “Derek, what's going on?”

“I'll explain later. Just get to-”

Stiles didn't get to hear the end of Derek's sentence.

The phone was slapped out of his hand and a fabric bag was thrown over his head, as well as two strong arms wrapping around his middle, trapping his arms and lifting him up from the ground.

His yell was muffled and his struggling was useless, his attacker, or attackers, clearly stronger than him.

And on the phone now laying on the sidewalk with the screen cracked, Derek called out Stiles' name repeatedly.

{ x }

“Stiles!” Derek yelled into his phone, the phone he was holding so tightly in his hand, it was probably seconds from cracking. “Stiles!”

He got no response, and he lost it. He threw the phone at one of the walls of his office, the phone breaking and clattering to the floor, and his hands went into his hair while his eyes flashed red.

Not good, not good, not good...

“Derek!” Erica came to view in front of him, a serious look on her face. “Do not lose control. Not here.”

“They took him.” He was shaking. He knew he was losing control, just like he had done back when he had lost Paige, but he couldn't help it. “Fuck!” He banged his clenched fist on the desk, the wood cracking against his knuckles, and Erica startled slightly but didn't back away. “They took him!”

He let out a long and unsteady breath and didn't move, didn't listen to Erica, for about a minute. “Call the others,” he said, interrupting her in whatever she was saying. “Now.”

He was out of the door and rushing down the stairs before he could hear whatever Erica had to say. He couldn't take the elevator. It'd go too slow and he'd lose control again. He had to keep moving.

He had to find Stiles. Before it was too late.

{ x }

Dark had fallen and the moon had risen by the time Derek walked back into the hideout in the basement of his apartment building, having searched all over town for Stiles or Deucalion or any of them.

But with no luck.

As he walked in through the doors, he ignored Isaac's apologetic look and went straight over to one of the chairs, sat down, and put his head in his hands. He had been searching for hours and he hadn't even been able to catch a scent or find Stiles' heartbeat.

It was like they had dropped off the face of the Earth.

“We'll find him,” he heard Boyd say somewhere close to his right, but he didn't look up. He didn't argue either, because he didn't want to deal with the mere possibility of having lost Stiles.

He didn't react to anything, until Erica said his name and came over to him.

“Someone's at your door,” she told him and handed him the tablet with the security feed playing. The feed that showed the hallway leading up to his front door.

Isaac had been the one to suggest he got something like it. “In case someone like you-know-who comes by again,” he had said with a shrug. “Works better than just an alarm.”

Taking the tablet, Derek looked down at the screen and studied the man knocking frantically on his front door. He studied him for half a minute, before it clicked and he rose from his seat quickly. “Scott,” he told them as he headed for the stairs leading back up to his loft. “Stiles' best friend.”

Scott was still hammering on his door by the time Derek made it inside the loft, and he rushed over to the door to open it.

“Have you heard from Stiles?” Scott asked the second it was open. His eyes were wide, fear and panic obvious on his face, and he was wearing green scrubs underneath his brown jacket. “I haven't been able to reach him for hours, and he was supposed to come pick me up at the hospital, but he didn't show.”

Derek made a gut decision in that moment, grabbed Scott's shoulder, and pulled him inside, before closing and locking the door behind him. “I don't know where he is,” he said, sadly, “but I'm pretty certain of who took him.”

“Took him?” Scott exclaimed, eyes practically bugging out of his skull. “He's been kidnapped?” Letting out a heavy breath, he walked over and fell onto the couch. He stared straight ahead of him for several seconds, before he continued. “Well, this isn't exactly how I expected to meet my best friend's boyfriend,” he murmured, mostly to himself, and then turned his attention back to Derek. “Who took him?”

“His name's Deucalion,” Derek said with a sigh, his arms crossed and shoulders tense. He hesitated for a moment. “It's my fault.”

“How is it your fault?”

“I'm the Hound,” he admitted, not looking at Scott or the way he reacted. “Deucalion's an old enemy of mine, and he wants to hurt me for what I did to him, so he took Stiles as revenge.”

Scott was silent. Too silent and for too long, so slowly, Derek lifted his gaze and saw him sitting there. Watching him with a surprising amount of calm for someone who had just been told that his best friend's boyfriend... well, that the guy his best friend was dating was the Beacon Hills vigilante.

“I have to call Lydia,” Scott finally said after several moments of silence, hand already digging into his pocket for his phone.

Calling Lydia meant Derek meeting all of Stiles' friends at once, apparently, and all of Stiles' friends to meet his own. Erica, Boyd, and Isaac had come up from the basement while Scott was on the phone with Lydia, and Lydia, along with two other girls, arrived only minutes later.

“I found his phone on the sidewalk,” Lydia – he assumed it was Lydia, her name written on a name tag she had pinned to her shirt – said as she walked into the loft, holding up said phone, the screen cracked and dark. The two other girls following Lydia eyed Derek and the others with a look of uncertainty. Derek didn't blame them. “So no tracking that, I'm afraid.”

“You're the Hound,” one of the other girls said, stopping directly in front of Derek.

“Kira,” Scott said in a warning tone. He hadn't left the couch.

“I'm not accusing him or anything,” the girl, Kira, said, glancing shortly at Scott. “But can't you use your supersmell or something to track him down?”

Derek sighed. “I've tried. Boyd,” he gestured over toward where Boyd was standing behind Erica, both busy looking at traffic camera feeds, “has tried too. Neither of us can pick up his scent or his heartbeat.”

The other girl – Allison, Derek assumed. Stiles had talked a lot about his friends during their date – walked around to look at what Erica and Boyd were doing, Erica leaning slightly back to give her a better view.

She didn't look very long though. “We might have to call his dad,” she said and looked over at Scott, meeting his gaze.

“And have him find out about everything?” Scott shook his head. “Stiles wouldn't let that happen.”

Derek, brows furrowed in confusion, turned to look at him. “What do you mean everything?”

Scott glanced at him, sighed, and scratched the back of his neck. “That's not my secret to tell, Derek. Ask him when we find him.” He took a second to look around at everyone the room. “Because we will find him.”

“Dead or alive, is the real question,” Isaac muttered from the other side of the room. Derek shot him a warning look.

“Alive.” Scott sounded so sure of that, Derek nearly believed him.

Nearly.

“You don't know Deucalion like I do,” he told him, sadness coming over him like a wave crashing into the shore.

“And you don't know Stiles like I do,” Scott threw back. “He's a lot stronger than you think he is. If you don't believe me, ask the rest of his friends. They know just as well as I do how strong Stiles is.”

Derek considered him for a moment. He didn't think Stiles was weak, quite the opposite. But knowing Deucalion had nearly killed him was what made him doubt what Scott was saying.

And Deucalion had had Stiles for hours now. For all he knew, he could be lying dead in a ditch somewhere, and the thought alone made his heart drop to his stomach.

“Abandoned warehouse just out of town,” Lydia spoke up, cutting through his thoughts. “No one and nothing around for miles. Classic supervillain place to keep someone hostage.” She paused, looking up from her phone. “Go check it out.”

Derek didn't even question it. He was running toward the stairs leading down to the basement the second she had finished talking.

Any lead was better than none. Even if there was only a slim chance Stiles was there.

{ x }

Abandoned was the right word, alright.

It took Derek a frustratingly long time to even find the warehouse, because everything was so dark. It being in the middle of the night didn't help either, the only light being the star filled sky above, the moon half full.

But he found it and focusing on the building, he caught several heartbeats, one familiar.

It was like a giant weight had been pulled off of his shoulders when he heard that familiar beat and smelled that familiar scent in his nostrils.

Stiles was alive. Captured, sure, but alive.

“I found him,” he informed the others before he went into a sprint toward the warehouse, mask on.

He didn't bother being quiet – not as he ran, not as he yanked the door to the warehouse open – because he knew Deucalion and the rest of his team would know he was there anyway. There was no point in being quiet, and he didn't want to be either.

He was pissed.

The doors got pushed open and Derek took one look inside and knew. He knew that they had been waiting for him. And the sight only angered him more.

In the center of the back of the room, Stiles was sat on a chair, arms behind the back of it, probably tied together, and duct tape put over his mouth. He didn't look scared, actually looked more annoyed than anything, but he did look surprised when he saw Derek – or, considering he was in his costume, the Hound – come walking into the warehouse.

Deucalion was stood right next to Stiles, hands in front of him with the cane loosely between them and a grin on his lips. Kali, now without her shoes again, stood the closest to where Derek was, looking ready to fight and with a grin on her lips.

Ennis, the tall and muscular one, was stood behind Kali, eyes glowing a piercing blue and hands turned into long claws. Not just from the fingertips like Derek, no, the whole hand. And both of them.

The last one, the even taller and even more muscular one, was someone Derek didn't recognize. Probably a new recruit Deucalion had taken in, either by force or with persuasions. There was a giant scar down the middle of his face, and something didn't seem right about him.

Derek paid it no mind though, because then Deucalion spoke.

“It took you an awful long time to find this place,” he said and walked forward slowly, the cane still between his hands. Derek had stopped moving, Ennis and Kali blocking his way out now. “I'd say you have gotten worse, but you were never that good at finding me.”

“Let him go,” Derek said, hands curling into fists despite the claws poking out. He had his voice distorter on, even though it was now inevitable for Stiles to find out who he was. He could draw it out though, just for a little bit longer.

Deucalion's chuckle was dark, and he lifted his cane slightly off the ground to point it back at Stiles. Stiles who was trying to speak but it only came out in muffled sounds, nothing of which Derek could understand.

“He doesn't know who you are, does he?” Deucalion asked, grin turning amused. “I think that would be something you'd tell him about, even if it is early in your relationship, don't you think, Derek?”

Stiles' muffling immediately stopped when Deucalion said that name, and his eyes went wide with surprise in an instant. Wide and on Derek.

Derek swallowed thickly and lifted a hand to tug off the mask hiding his face. When he dropped it to the ground, he looked back over at Stiles and gave him an apologetic look. This was his fault, after all, and Stiles wasn't meant to find out this way.

“Heartbreaking.” Deucalion's voice brought him back out of his thoughts, and Derek turned to glare at him. Deucalion just walked closer to him. “Truly. But you know what would be even more heartbreaking?”

Deucalion waved his cane, and Kali and Ennis were over by Derek in a second, both grabbing his arms and pushing him down to his knees, and Derek groaned. Deucalion walked over to him, a hand wrapping around his chin, and he smiled sickeningly sweet at him. “To watch him die. Right in front of you.”

Derek growled loudly, his eyes flashing a sharper red.”Don't you dare touch him, you piece of shit!”

“Oh but, Derek,” Deucalion said, letting go of him and taking a step back, “I already have. And I-”

He was cut off by the sound of tape being pulled off of something, and when Derek looked away from Deucalion, he saw Stiles, ropes hanging loosely around one wrist, ripping off the tape from across his mouth, a pained look on his face.

“Fuck!” Stiles shot up from the chair when the tape was off of him. “You couldn't have gagged me or something else? This was painful.”

Deucalion turned, his grin gone and an angry look replacing it. “Ethan, Aiden,” he said, getting the big guy's attention. “Restrain him.”

The big guy – Ethan and Aiden, Derek didn't even question it – grunted and moved over toward Stiles. Stiles didn't even look worried. No, he looked ready to fight.

“Stiles!” Derek called out, struggling to get out of Kali and Ennis' hold but with no luck. “Run!”

Stiles didn't run. He didn't even move. Not until Ethan and Aiden were one step away from him, which was when he dodged out of the way and threw a punch.

Derek blinked in surprise, maybe gaped a little, as Stiles fought the big guy with such ease.

But that wasn't what surprised him. What surprised him was that he recognized those moves. He recognized that fighting style.

Crimson.

The realization didn't finish processing in his mind, before an arrow pierced through the air from the doorway and hit Ethan and Aiden in the arm, sending them stumbling backwards and away from Stiles. Another arrow flew in and hit Ennis in the back, and Derek turned around and saw Allison standing there, back straight and bow held up with another arrow aimed at Kali.

Behind her, Kira and Isaac were running in, Kira wielding a sword. Derek was so busy looking at them – even though he knew they were on their way when he stepped into the warehouse and should have expected them to arrive soon enough – that he didn't even see Boyd drop in from the roof and punch Ethan and Aiden.

Now out of Kali and Ennis' hold, both of them having arrows to deal with, Derek stood up and charged for Deucalion. He only thought about helping out Stiles for a second, but Boyd seemed to have that under control, so he went for the Alpha instead.

Deucalion was rusty, as it turned out. Years behind bars could do that to a person. That along with Derek having no mercy left for him meant the loss for Deucalion.

And before he knew it, Deucalion fell to his knees and Derek grabbed onto his throat. Around him, Stiles and Boyd had managed to take down Aiden and Ethan, while Allison, Isaac, and Kira had taken down Kali and Ennis.

For a second, Derek considered it. He could kill Deucalion right there, right then. He had the upper hand and the perfect opportunity, his claws digging into his neck.

But he didn't.

“You're going back behind bars and not getting out this time,” he told him and punched him square in the face, knocking him out.

Deucalion fell to the ground, unconscious along with the rest of his team. And Derek, letting out a huff, turned to look at Stiles. Stiles who was looking right back at him, an unreadable expression on his face.

“We need to get out of here,” Allison said, stepping up between them. “Deputies are on their way. Lydia called it in.”

Derek nodded, shot Stiles one more look, and then turned to leave the warehouse.

{ x }

The drive back into town and back to the loft was silent. Even though Derek's car was big enough for four people, Stiles was the only one driving with him. The others had taken one look at them, sensed the tension, and decided not to get in.

The silence lasted all the way up to the loft. It lasted up until they stepped into the loft and Derek closed the door.

“So,” Stiles said, walking into the middle of the loft and then turning around to face him. “You're the Hound.”

“And you're Crimson,” Derek said back, ripping off the gloves and throwing them elsewhere.

Stiles groaned and made a face. “Please don't use that name. It's so lame.”

Derek let out a short huff. “What else do you want me to call you?”

“I don't know.” Stiles shrugged and moved over to sit on the couch, rubbing lightly at the rope marks around his wrists. “I think it'd be cool to be named something like... Red Howler, or something.”

“Red Howler?” Derek raised a brow at him, walking closer.

“Yeah, y'know,” Stiles shrugged, “'cause I'm loud and wear red.”

Derek couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him, and he nodded. “It's definitely better than Crimson, that's for sure.”

“I know, right?”

Both of them fell silent after that. Derek let it drag out for a moment. “Do you have any powers?”

“Nah.” Stiles shook his head. “All muscle and pure skill, baby.”

“So the whole no scent thing?” Derek asked, walking over to sit down next to Stiles on the couch, turned to face him. “That just skills?”

Stiles looked at him for a moment, then shook his head again. “Not my skills, no. Allison made the suit. I'm kinda scared to ask what she made it of, to be honest. Her family's kinda weird, but... it's pretty cool.”

A smile tugged at Derek's lips, but it only lasted for a second. “Why a superhero?”

“Other than it being cool as shit?” Stiles chuckled. It died quickly though, and he lowered his gaze, hesitating. “My mom was killed when I was 10,” he said in a small voice, and Derek reached out to take his hand. “Collateral damage. She was just... walking down the street, and she was gunned down, because some idiot robbers decided she was in the way.”

Derek squeezed his hand when he sniffled slightly, and Stiles continued. “The cops didn't make it in time to save her life. And, y'know, at first I wanted to become a deputy. My dad's the sheriff, so I already had a foot in the door. But I realized,” he shook his head, “I realized that that's not what I wanted to do. There are too many rules when you're a deputy, and I don't want some kid to lose their mom or dad or whoever they care about, just because the cops were too slow to respond.”

He shrugged, lifting his gaze to meet Derek's. “So, why not a superhero? Be an extra helping hand to the boys in uniform at the station.”

Derek offered him a smile and let Stiles move their hands so their fingers locked together. “Can I ask you the same question?” Stiles asked, head tilting slightly.

Taking in a deep breath, Derek nodded. “I was born with these powers. My mom taught me how to control them, right until she died. Along with the rest of my family.”

“Holy shit, Derek, I'm so sorry.”

Derek shook his head, continuing. “I'm doing this to honor them. My mom would've wanted me to do good with these powers.”

Stiles smiled softly at him. “She'd be proud of you. They all would.”

“Your mom would be proud too,” Derek said back, his voice lowered to a whisper.

They looked at each other, their thumbs slowly brushing over each other's hand. Derek never wanted to let go of him. Never wanted to let him out of his sight. Not again.

Stiles let out a heavy breath and moved closer, pressing himself against Derek's side. “Well, that was a heavy subject,” he said, smile still on his lips. “But you know what we should do from now on?”

“What?” Derek asked, leaning closer and pressing his forehead to Stiles'.

“Fight crime together,” Stiles said, smile growing wider. “We could be crime fighting boyfriends, you and I.”

Derek huffed, a smile of his own spreading on his lips. “Sure. Red Howler and the Hound. Partners.”

“Partners,” Stiles agreed, before leaning in to kiss him.