Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Technically Derek wasn’t allowed to bring humans back anymore. Not after the last time he had done that, which had resulted in their house almost burning down to the ground. It was never exactly put in so many words though. There had been no speech about the dangers of letting strangers in nor had his family straight up refused to let him go out ever again. It was more like an unspoken agreement; a certain way his parents turned their eyes on him whenever he went outside.

He had been twenty back then and that girl he had found in the woods - Kate, he remembered with a bad aftertaste - had been desperate and crying. Derek had always been easily swayed by tears—a weakness his sisters knew very well, and regularly took advantage of. Their parents had been gone for the weekend and Eric and Cora had welcomed the pretty blond with open arms, doting on her while Laura had voiced some concerns. An unclaimed human out in the woods during a full moon? Foolish, if not careless. But his sister wasn’t any less a softie inside than the rest of the family on the surface, so she still offered Kate shelter for the night.

They had woken up to the smell of burning wood and maniacal laughter from outside the house; Kate spinning on the lawn in an abstract dance, while the werewolves fought their way outside with Paige and Eric in the middle, protected from the blazing flames.

After Kate, there had never been another unclaimed or unmarked human wandering the woods of the Hale territory; mostly because it was banned. The Hale’s had always been isolated from the other packs, even more so after Kate’s attempt to kill them. Talia had a law invoked that would allow them to deal with unclaimed humans however they saw fit, in their territory without any questioning from second parties. The other packs had to submit to her will, all protest be damned. It wasn’t like she would have ever acted on it. It was more like a warning for everyone trying to get too close to them.

Now, Derek considered himself not particularly wiser but at least two years older. Told himself that he had learned from his mistakes. That he was allowed to make decisions again. Even decisions as stupid as this one.

So.

Why, exactly, was he standing at the edge of the clearing, looking at the family mansion and hesitating to move forward?

Derek turned his eyes to the human, his hand tightly wrapped around the other's bicep, while the boy kept on gnawing, scratching and biting on Derek's arm.

Might be because of that.

As he returned his attention back to the mansion still wondering what to do, he spotted Laura standing on the porch, burning holes into his chest with her glare. She opened her mouth, but then closed it and went back inside. Before Derek could take another step closer, her voice rang through the house: “Mooom! He did it again!”

There was a collective groan coming from his home. Derek frowned, a little offended, while the boy was still busy trying to chew his way through his upper arm.

Derek sighed.

Yeah, he probably had done it again.

Talia was traditional, she stuck to the roots. She disliked the bigger packs where members barely knew each other’s names. She preferred it small, familiar. If someone didn’t sit well with her she wouldn’t even claim them. Marking was worse. It took months of wooing the pack. An act that not many humans and even less werewolves were willing to perform when they could get a mark so much easier with other packs. Which was why humans usually turned to the Whittemores. They would mark whoever asked.

It was common knowledge: the larger the pack, the stronger the Alpha. What most didn’t consider was that with a large pack, more conflicts were prone to breed, members turning against each other, destabilizing the pack and thus weakening the Alpha. It takes a strong and unrelenting hand to guide them.

Jackson Whittemore as one of the youngest, if not the youngest—but not exactly the most able if you asked Derek—Alpha in modern history, showed such a strong hand after he had challenged and defeated his father at the age of sixteen and claimed his Alpha status.

Another common fact: a pack was stronger with more werewolves than humans. However, more werewolves meant more challengers to the Alpha, more struggle for power among the betas. Alpha challenges were thrown almost on a daily basis with too many overachieving betas. They weren’t in the middle ages anymore, had become more civilized over the centuries. An Alpha challenge usually didn’t end in fights to the death. If the Alpha lost, he would have to willingly give up his Alpha Status and transfer it to the winner. It didn’t mean that there weren’t severe injuries and near death encounters reported.

It was the reason why even big and power-hungry packs like the Whittemores chose wisely who to give the bite, who to turn and especially how many. There was a law that stated no more than twelve humans a year, breaking that law would end with the pack’s forced disband. Usually there were no more than three or four bites a year in most packs, mostly under severe circumstances, for example a sickness or as a replacement for a werewolf that had died. Alphas try to keep their packs stable and secure. For their own good.

Facing his mother wasn’t easy. He could barely meet her eyes. But she just took a long look at the boy before waving them inside. Derek relaxed slightly, the tension he didn’t know had been there leaving his body. He’d rather not see the boy get maimed because Derek had decided to bring him to his home against his will. Laura rolled her eyes and turned away, while Cora trampled down the stairs.

Eric didn’t even look up from his book from where he was sprawled on the couch, but waved at him in greeting.

The human continued to gnaw on Derek’s arm. By now his skin there started to feel raw and the scratches itched where they were trying to heal again.

“I didn’t know there were any unclaimed humans left in Beacon Hills. Apart from the Argents, of course” Peter suddenly said as he came out of the library, watching with visible amusement as the boy tried to pry Derek’s finger from his arm one by one, apparently having given up on the biting approach.

“Who’s that,” Cora asked, approaching until she was en par with her older brother, leaning slightly forward to get a better look at the boy. “Jesus, he looks like he has been living in the woods for weeks.”

“I think he has,” Derek guessed.

Cora’s head jerked up. “Nuh uh,” she disagreed. “We would have noticed, right?”

“He’s been around here for at least three days,” Eric said from the living room and everyone backtracked to the archway, staring at the him while he was still not looking up from his book.

“You knew?” Talia asked.

“You telling me you didn’t,” he asked, resting his copy of Gulliver's Travels on his chest and squinting at them in irritation. “I’m pretty sure you have these hypersensitive noses and ears. Because, hey, just human here.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Eric rolled his eyes before dropping back against the pillow. “Figured you knew. Because, again, me human, you werewolves. There’s not a lot that gets by you. Apart from a teenage boy living in the woods. Apparently.”

Talia brushed off her son’s statement, looked at Derek, then to the teenager still struggling against the unrelenting grip.

“Call Deaton,” she decided with a heavy sigh, and waved in dismissal. “Don’t let him out of your sight.” She pointedly stared at the tight clasp around the boy’s wrist. “Or grip.”

“Yes,” Derek replied dutifully.

“And when you’re done, lock him in the cellar,” Laura sneered from where she leaned against the wall, one leg propped up and foot pressed against the old-fashioned flowery pattern. “Feed him once a day and leave him with a bowl of water.”

Their mother frowned at her but didn’t comment further instead retreated into her study. Laura pushed herself away from the wall, closing in on the boy and yanking him forward by his tattered collar. He yelped, eyes wide in fear as he struggled against her firm grip, clawing at her hand for release.

“He’s dirty,” she stated, curling her lips into a sneer. “And he stinks. Get him cleaned before Deaton sees to him.” Ignoring Derek’s growl of protest, she pushed the human back against him, her eyes glowing blue and fangs poking out as she roared at the boy until he submitted to her, lowering his head and almost curling into himself as he simultaneously tried to hide between Derek’s legs.

“Laura,” Derek snarled at her smug expression. She ignored him and walked past him up the stairs.

“She’s kind of right, though” Cora said as soon as Laura was gone. “He does stink.”

“Second it!” Eric called. “Even I smell him.”

Derek rolled his eyes and forced the boy back up into a straight position. “Call Deaton, Cora. I’ll get him clean.”

His sister nodded.

Peter just chuckled in the background before he returned to the library.

The Whittemore pack had the most werewolves in all of Beacon County. In terms of manpower, they were the strongest. But the pack was barely stable and the Alpha had to put all his power into keeping order, leaving most of the politics and diplomacy to his former Alpha and father: David Whittemore.

The Martin pack was mostly human. Smart ones too. Rumor had it there was some kind of intelligence test involved in the claiming or marking application. Derek wasn’t sure but knowing some of the Martins, it wouldn’t surprise him. There were some nasty tongues spreading rumors that Natalie Martin, the Alpha of the pack, was just a puppet; played by her highly intelligent daughter Lydia, who maybe was a banshee.

The Mahealani pack were all smiles and dimples, happy go lucky and heart warming. They embraced with a big heart - and ruthlessly kicked out betrayers of their well-meaning friendliness. Even the Whittemore pack showed more mercy on traitors than the Mahealanis did. Iolana Mahealani, the Alpha, wasn’t someone anyone wanted to ever mess with.

Being kicked out was mostly considered shameful. Finding a new pack was difficult, considering that there had to be a big fall out to get kicked out in the first place. If there was a mark, it was crudely scratched out by the Alpha’s claws. For werewolves, the claws were dipped in aconite. The scars were always ugly. But the bigger the fall out, the uglier the scars.

The Hale pack was the smallest among the packs residing in and around Beacon County. But they were the oldest, strongest and most influential. They originated from an old Irish family line and were considered one of the very, very few that could shift completely into a wolf. Getting into Talia’s good grace and actually receiving the Hale mark was both nearly impossible and an honor. There had been but a few outsiders who received her mark, earning it by showing undeniable loyalty, strength of will, and by making it clear they would be willing to abandon everything if it was for the pack.

The easiest way into Hale pack was through marriage. Everyone knew: a Hale’s mark came with a ring attached. It was a joke among the town’s people and the other packs and the reason why the Hale siblings chose very carefully who to go out with. Which was a disappointment for their Nonna and Nonno.

They wanted great-grandchildren.

And they wanted them now.

Even with his werewolf strength it was a fight to get the boy in the shower. When Derek’s last thread of patience snapped, he undressed to his underwear and pulled the boy with him under the streaming water, boxing him in between his arms. Shampooing was a fight, soaping was a fight, everything was a fight while the boy snapped after him, tried to bite into his chest and shoulder and whatever part he could reach. At one point Derek just let him ram unusually sharp teeth deep into his left bicep. At least that way the boy kept still when Derek shampooed his hair, blood and dirt pooling at their feet.

Derek ignored it. After a while the boy withdrew his teeth, jaw clenching and twitching in a dull ache.

But if Derek had thought getting him in the shower was going to be his biggest problem, he was sorely mistaken when he tried to dry the brat with a towel. In the end he just plugged the hairdryer in and let the warm bursts of air dry the boy’s skin. Derek simply sat on the lid of the toilet with a resigned frown, hand steady around the other’s wrist while he struggled and fought against the gusts, wriggling and trying to get out of the way.

Derek grunted in annoyance and waited until the boy was dry enough to avoid him dripping all over the expensive kempas floor in the hallway. It would make his mother much less inclined to throttle either of them as soon as they left the bathroom.

They were both almost the same height, their stature however differed. Eric was taller than Derek but slimmer; so he pulled the other into his brother’s room instead of his own and threw clothes at his face.

The brat growled at him.

Derek had to forcibly dress him. Getting him into shorts and pants was almost as bad as pushing the sweater over his head. The boy’s hands were defiantly batting at Derek’s and he was about fed up and ready to hit him unconscious when Derek finally managed to pull the arm through the sleeve and the sweater down to the rim. The sleeves of the sweater and pants legs were too long, showing only the tips of the fingers, and the collar too wide, revealing one shoulder completely. It looked sloppy and messy. Derek just shrugged. It would have to do.

“Maybe you should talk to him,” Cora advised, standing in the door.

Derek could almost see the boy's hackles rise at her voice.

“We all know you’re not good with strangers, but you shouldn’t manhandle him.”

“I’m not—”

“Derek, I could hear you in the shower. And you are dragging him everywhere. I know you mean well, but maybe explaining what you’re going to do would make it easier? At least scare him less,” she continued, taking a step forward. Her approach was met with low, warning growls, and she lifted her palms in surrender. “I’m not going to hurt you,” she said soothingly, her voice warm and gentle as she pushed past Derek. The snarling lessened and eventually stopped altogether and, confidence boosted, Cora moved to touch his shoulder. As a reply, she got a snap that didn’t hit skin as the boy backed away and out of her reach. It was victory enough for her to look at Derek with a smug expression anyway.

“Now you try.”

Derek opened his hands, palms facing the boy, mimicking toneless: “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Cora slapped her hand against her face. “God, you’re so awful at this.” A car pulled up the gravel driveway, before Derek could defend himself. “Must be Deaton,” his sister stated superfluously, spun on her heels and went downstairs, leaving Derek alone with the boy who was petulantly scowling at him.

“Look,” he began, rolling his head back and staring at the ceiling for a few suffering seconds before he established eye contact again. “We are going downstairs.” His voice lacked compassion, gentleness and everything Cora had put into her own to calm him down. As expected he received another growl in reply. “Do you understand words?” he asked, feeling foolish. He couldn’t talk to people who did understand him, and now there was someone who maybe had never heard a single word before and Derek was supposed to talk to him?

This could only end in disaster.

“Down,” he repeated, pointing to the floor.

From the entrance hall, Derek could hear Cora laughing. He rolled his eyes, then impatiently grabbed the boy by his hand again in exasperation. The boy evaded his grasp, took several steps back, snarling, lips curling. “There’s someone who will help you.” The snarl turned into a low growl. “He’ll find your family.” The growl was a bark as soon as Derek had captured the wrist. Frustrated, he just pulled the boy along and down the stairs. If he had to, he would have carried him bridal style to get this over with.

“Buy him a leash,” Laura’s voice reached him as soon as Derek stopped next to Cora. His younger sister rolled her eyes at the words but Derek just ignored Laura. Eric came out of the living room, book tapping against his shoulder, halting in his steps as he curiously watched them.

“Hey, are those my clothes?”

“Do you even have to ask,” Derek answered dryly. "Noone wears tartan like you do."

“Urgh.”

The first strays Derek had picked up were a group of three children, who were lost in the woods. One was a boy with curly light blond hair and big blue eyes, crying while clutching the hand of the blond girl next to him. The girl was glaring at Derek with a protective fierceness he had only ever seen in a mother’s eye. In front of them stood a tall boy with dark skin, arms and legs akimbo, expression stoically calm, heartbeat steady and hard.

Derek had been fifteen back then.

He had looked at them, before turning around. He wasn’t very good with children, especially crying children and for a split second he thought about simply abandoning them. Instead he sighed, jutted his chin in the direction he was going hoping they would pick up on his non-verbal request, and then headed back to the mansion.

The shuffling had been hesitant, slow and uncertain at first, but the crying and presence of the three kids grew closer and stronger until he knew they were right behind him. Derek tried to ignore them, until a shy hand suddenly clasped around his wrist, fingers lightly brushing the skin, before closing in determination.

Derek let his hand drop out of his pocket and another one, smaller, latched right onto his little finger.

The little blond boy never stopped crying, but at least his wailing turned into muffled sobs until they reached the house. Upon arrival his mother baked them cookies, Cora played with them in the backyard, his father called the police and an hour later their parents arrived and crushed them in tight hugs.

“I sense a pattern,” Deaton stated when he entered the house five minutes later with his familiar leather doctor’s bag, eyes already trained on the boy.

Cora counted on her fingers, before a pained smile spread over her lips. “Six. I guess you can call it a pattern.”

“You might want to sedate him. He’s a little fierce,” Laura spoke up, looking down at them from the upper story. Derek was just about to tell her to shut it and leave them alone, when the boy growled at Deaton before barreling into Derek’s back. Surprised, Derek stumbled forward into the doctor and before anyone could react the boy slipped past them and out through the open door. A moment later a gray shadow brushed past and bolted after him. When Derek got his balance back to follow, there was a roar echoing in the clearing of their front yard. Laura had the boy pinned under her heavy wolf form, snarling and growling in his face. Huffing out a noise that sounded like a laugh when he whimpered in reply.

Derek stormed over, pulling her off. “Stop it.”

Laura just shifted back into partial human form. “I caught him for you.”

The boy was trembling, curling into a tight ball and when Derek touched his shoulder he let out another pathetic whine.

“Go away,” Derek ordered. Laura scoffed, then turned around and went back into the house. Derek took a deep breath, before he looked back at Cora who was standing on the porch, head tilted to the side as she moved aside to let Laura pass. After an encouraging nod from his little sister, he returned his attention to the boy.

“I’m going to lift you up,” he warned, waiting for a reaction. There was none. “Now,” Derek added and then pushed his arms underneath to heave him up.

Cora was right, Derek was bad at this.

He wasn’t empathetic, nice, gentle, communicative or anything, really. He usually brought the strays in and his family took care of the rest. After Kate, though, Laura had become bitter and suspicious. The burned skin on her legs and arms had healed over the past two years, slowly but steadily, yet the anger was still festered deep inside her like a scar. Cora was willing to help, but had an extensive social life that left her rarely home and Eric was busy preparing for his final exams.

“Put him on the couch,” Deaton said before he had even entered the house again. Peter had come back out of the library and Talia out of her study, arms crossed as part of the family suddenly gathered in the living room, Cora flinging herself on Eric’s legs. The boy was trembling in his arms. Derek looked at them, frowned, and then shook his head. “Cellar,” he decided and walked past the room and down the stairs.

The Hale Pack had a sort of infirmary at a corner of the cellar to treat more demanding wounds. It was right next to the shackles and cage. The make-shift infirmary hadn't seen much use, but had been badly needed after they had decided to turn one of the kids - Erika - into a werewolf. She had been unable to control her shift on the Full Moon and her self-harm reached horrendous proportions. However, it was unused ever since then.

Derek sat the boy down on the operating table and then took a step back. The boy didn’t move to run away, just hunched in on himself in what seemed like resignation.

Deaton was professional and fast. ‘Human, Caucasian male, probably in late teens, about 5 ft 11, malnourished, eye responsive, reflexes working’ he told his recording device, while he probed and prodded, snapped his fingers on both sides of the ears. ‘Several badly healed wounds, parasites’, at the last word Derek could hear his whole family groan at the ground floor, his mother telling Eric to go and find his hair clipper. Derek looked at the boy’s semi-long, tousled, completely shaggy and still wet hair. Not even the shower had helped to get all the dirt out. They probably couldn’t get a comb through without tearing out whole bushes. It would be for the best to shave it. He wasn’t sure how the boy felt about that.

‘Doesn’t communicate with words, unsure if capable of human speech. Probably lived for years in the woods without further human contact.’

“We didn’t feel his presence,” Derek added.

Deaton stopped his recording device, looked at him, and pushed the red dot again. ‘Probably spelled,’ he noted. “We should call Julia,” the emissary suggested, “she knows more about spells than I do.”

From upstairs, Cora told him she would take care of that. Derek relayed the message.

“We’ll have to bring him to a hospital for further examinations. They’ll call the police and take care of the rest.”

The second time Derek picked someone up he was eighteen and her name was Julia Baccari. Her body was covered in claw marks, her mark and face rendered unrecognizable. She was weak, barely breathing, bleeding from open, infected wounds, haphazardly and inexpertly treated. He lifted her unconscious body, arms falling limply to the side, and brought her home where Eric tended to her wounds until Deaton showed up. The emissary didn’t say anything, merely finished the treatment, cleaned the gashes while Talia tried to find out what mark could have been beneath the torn skin.

Julia slept for two days straight. When she stirred Eric had been beside her bed, changing the bandages.

She introduced herself with a weak voice, told them about the fall out with her pack, how she had fought when her late Alpha had tried to instigate war in the packs around her.

Talia allowed her to stay.

The Hale Pack became known as the only pack with two emissaries working frighteningly well together.

Another rumor started that day: If you wanted to get the Hale’s mark, let yourself be found by 'the retard'.

Julia said it was maybe an ancient spell most likely gone wrong.

Probably.

She said she could fix it.

Possibly.

After the fifth attempt, Derek put as much space as possible between the woman and himself. Whenever presented with a challenge Julia became scary. She was intrigued and frustrated at the same time, captivated but easily distracted by annoyance. Like a child, she would throw a temper tantrum. Derek was openly scared of Angry Julia. The last time she threw a fit, the walls of the house had started to crack and the stone foundation still had fissures to serve as proof to never mess with her.

“Derek, come here.”

Derek took another defiant step back. “No.”

She scowled at him and with a wave of her hand, Derek’s body was pulled forward by an invisible force.

Sometimes Derek hated Julia.

Considering how the boy had started to huddle in the corner of the cellar the second she walked in, eyes wide with fear, he probably hated her a little too. Or maybe he was just afraid of her face, scars unconcealed behind magic unlike she had done in the beginning. Julia wore them like war trophies now, a reminder of what she had been fighting for, pride mixed with a devil-may-care attitude. She had stared death in the eye, had been strong enough to walk through hell not with a smile but with sheer inhuman determination; there was nothing to be ashamed of.

“You have to calm him down.”

Derek snorted in derision.

“His whimpering is distracting me.”

“Right.”

Julia gave him a withering look that promised another painful inflammation of his bladder if he didn’t do her bidding. He hung his shoulders then slowly approached the boy with his hands up, body stiff, face schooled in something hopefully none-threatening. When he finally reached him, he sat down cross-legged on the cold stone floor, still out of arms reach. The human was curling his lips in a silent snarl, but didn’t lash out which Derek for whatever reason chalked up to his increased social skills and not the boy’s exhaustion.

It was probably the exhaustion.

It took a few seconds that felt like an eternity, with Julia almost boring holes into Derek's back like he could force the other to shut up, until the growling and snarling stopped.

Julia still couldn’t lift the untraceable spell. Even after her tenth attempt. The stone foundation had another fissure, a crack beneath Derek’s ass the only forewarning he got before Julia threw an invisible force at the ground in frustration.

“Not your fault,” Derek found himself muttering to the suddenly panicking boy, before he turned to block the view of Julia’s tantrum until his mother came downstairs and kicked her out, complaining loudly about magical damage not being covered by insurance.

Derek didn’t like to talk about Kate.

Mostly because it upset his family.

Derek had to carry the still fighting, albeit less violently so, boy up the stairs where the police were already waiting. Surprisingly, as soon as he caught sight of the uniformed men he stopped struggling for a few precious seconds, which Derek used to put him on his feet, so he couldn't bite into his shirt anymore. There was already a wet spot in his back. It was getting slightly disgusting.

Deputy Parrish introduced himself to the boy with a warm smile and gentle voice and honest eyes. Deputy Bungalon simply offered a curt nod.

The boy remained mute, but he didn’t growl or chomped at the men’s face, so Derek counted it as a civil greeting. The boy was actually quiet until he was led outside to the police car. The second he spotted it he turned and tried to run away again, but Deputy Bungalon had him by his wrists, cuffed in a second and pushed into the back of the car.

Derek was back in his room before the deputies had started the engine.

The next stray Derek had found had been another boy, around sixteen, foolishly dehydrated and shivering to his bones as the nights were severely colder than the days.

It had only been a month after the Kate incident.

Derek had turned around and walked away.

An hour later he returned with a water bottle and a blanket, absolutely pissed at himself. He sat down a few feet from the boy, staring into the black nothingness of the hidden full moon, while the other – Greenberg his name – had started to chew his ear off about how he had ended up in the preserve – a stupid dare – and how Derek had probably saved his life, because he was completely lost.

As soon as morning dawned and the ramping werewolves returned home, Derek heaved the by now sleeping boy over his shoulder and brought him home.

Greenberg never left the Hales alone after that.

The next time Derek saw the peculiar boy, he was strapped to a hospital bed, heavily sedated, his hair shaved into a buzz-cut, complexion pale in the lucid white artificial light, almost invisible against the bright walls and sheets.

Derek was glaring through the window, staring at the motionless form, when Laura stepped up next to him, fully clothed in her deputy uniform, which meant she had come straight from work.

“His name is I don’t even know how to pronounce that Stilinski,” she opened.

“A bit of a mouthful, isn't it,” Derek drawled. His sister slapped a folder against his chest and Derek stared at the name. “I prefer your suggestion.”

Laura ignored him. “He turned eighteen barely a week ago, father and mother John and Claudia Stilinski, no other relatives. His family used to live here.”

“They moved?”

His sister was silent for a moment, before she moved closer, shoulders touching, her voice low. “They used to be good friends with the McCalls,” she whispered conspiratorially with a voice indicating it should mean something. It took a moment before it did.

“The True Alpha Pack.”

Laura nodded in confirmation. “Both families vanished the same night without a trace.”

Derek furrowed his brow. He had heard about a young boy granted the bite because of some sickness. About how the Whittemore pack had agreed after his mother had pleaded for months. About how Talia had realized the moment the bite had taken that the boy had been special. How Deucalion had noticed, too. Scott McCall had been promised his own pack as soon as he turned eighteen. Whittemore hadn’t liked it. As the Alpha who had given him the bite, he was responsible to ensure the True Alpha Pack had territory to live in by giving up parts of his own.

“They are presumed dead,” Laura continued, but didn’t repeat the words that had been going around at that time. That everyone suspected the Whittemore pack behind the disappearance, that the power hungry Alpha didn’t want to give up even one hectare of land.

“That either leaves him the only survivor—”

“Or they are hiding,” Derek finished.

“If they are alive, if they are in hiding, which would explain him being untraceable, the McCall kid will turn eighteen in a few months and if he does, they’ll return and claim what is rightfully his.”

“What about him?” Derek asked, nodding his chin at the boy.

“He’ll be sent to Eichen House until then,” his sister explained. “He’ll be put together with other unclaimed humans, so he should be fairly safe.”

Until someone found out. Until the Whittemore Alpha learned about his existence and had him marked for his own. “Who knows?”

“No one,” Laura replied, and suddenly it made sense that she hadn’t changed out of her uncomfortable uniform before coming to the hospital. “Yet. But I won’t be able to keep it secret for long. So if you want to convince mom to take him into our pack, you should do it fast.”

After Greenberg there were several other kids, all lured in by the lurking danger of getting caught by the Hales; a dare for high school kids and a death trap for idiots. Derek found them all, one by one, month after month. They screamed like they saw a deadly ghost when they spotted him. The only ghost in the woods was old lumberjack Jenkins, who was still trying to axe the newly grown tree of an old oak that had killed him a few hundred years back. The ghost couldn’t care less for fools.

Derek mostly stayed hidden in the dark, watching and keeping an eye on them in case something happened.

“Claudia Stilinski,” his mother saved him impatiently after he had tried to repeat the boy's name several times, probably butchering it more with every try.

“Yeah, Something Stilinski,” Derek agreed in relief of being spared from trying the real thing out again. Somehow.

“I gave her the bite as a personal favor to the Martin Pack.” Derek nodded in understanding. It could only mean that the woman had been sick and that the Alpha of the Martin Pack had turned her share for the year. “It was a bad year,” his mother explained, “terrorist attacks, riots, demonstrations. Everyone was begging for help. She was my last for the year. She had been almost dead.” Derek didn’t ask were the other eleven werewolves were his mother had bitten that year. Most likely, none of them had been for her own pack. It wasn’t uncommon for Alphas to appear with their claimed, petitioning for a bite. The bite, it seemed, was mostly used as a cure these days.

“I think she called the boy,” her face wrinkled in concentration, lips slowly moving to a faded memory. “Style.”

“Style?” Derek asked, trying to come up with any way how the name on the paper could be somehow phonetically translated into that.

“It had something to do with fashion and I’m pretty sure she didn’t call him Design or Draft,” his mother defended herself, uncertain though. Derek was proud to detect the left-out question mark after the words. Talia used his quiet moment of self-praise to give him a skeptical once-over, then crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Why are you interested anyway?”

Before Derek could answer, Eric entered the living room. He stopped when he spotted them, looked from one to the other, before he took an anxious step back, then another. “Oh no,” he said, leaving the room again. “I’m going to get another brother,” he complained as he headed up the stairs. Derek and Talia tilted their heads. “I don’t need another brother. God, he’s more a wolf than Laura.” Derek wasn’t always sure whether Eric was aware that they could perfectly understand him even if he was muttering under his breath or if he actually wanted them to hear what he was grumbling about.

Probably both.

“This could drag us into politics,” Talia pointed out. “You’re aware of that?” Derek nodded with an added shrug and his mother narrowed her eyes at him. “And he will be your responsibility. You can’t just bring him home and hope one of us takes care of him.” Derek internally cringed at the words but then gave a sort of half nod, hoping she was going to forget her own words. Maybe if Derek was clumsy enough, she would get frustrated and do it herself. “And,” Talia continued, locking their eyes. “You have to housebreak him.”

Derek rolled his eyes at her, turned on his heels and walked away, his mother’s laughter following him up to his room.

Actually, Derek wanted to talk about Kate.

The boy - Mieczyslaw - had to stay in the hospital for two more weeks. Paperwork had been a hassle for their mother, so had been the treatment payment and the interview with Deucalion discussing her intention claiming that boy for her pack. Talia had stated that he was their responsibility, considering they had found him and that he was already used to the family. Which was a big lie but the human in question hadn’t been around to counteract their point. And Talia was Alpha enough to lie to another Alpha’s face without letting anything slip.

When Derek and Laura picked him up from the hospital, he wasn’t fighting them. He wasn’t really cooperating either. He let Derek clothe him with passive aggressive resistance and only calmed down when Derek refused the collar and leash the nurses showed him. Derek had been confused they offered it anyway, it wasn't like they were dealing with a feral werewolf. The hospital staff and doctors had called him a feral human, but no one really knew what that meant. What had happened to him, what made him behave the way he did, or how long he had been like this was a mystery. Neuroscans showed an ever-changing brain, as if it was slowly evolving. They had never seen something like that and further examinations would be necessary to determine anything.

Furthermore, the unknown spell used to make him untraceable was a tricky one. There was no doubt that when Julia couldn’t lift it, that no one else would be able to. The hospital tried anyway. They even called in several experts, but all of them failed.

The human had watched them in wary smugness.

The spell was neat, Julia explained. It made it impossible to trace a person’s specific scent, made it impossible to detect emotions or listen to their heartbeat or breathing. In short: the spell rendered the higher werewolves senses to nothing. Around the boy, everyone was human.

Which irked Derek more than anyone else.

Derek was bad with facial expressions, with emotions and empathy. He relied solely on his senses. They were the only reason he had survived through High School unscathed. Well, his senses and Paige.

Mostly Paige probably.

But now he was stuck with a kid whose feelings he couldn’t even smell. As he led the boy into the house under the watchful eyes of every present family member, Derek wondered if it was too late to give him back, to nullify the paperwork his mother had to go through for hours and the questioning she had been forced to endure. She would probably kill him. At least now he knew why Laura had kept chuckling to herself the whole drive home even though the boy had continued to scratch on the fake leather seats of her cruiser. His sister had probably realized what Derek only had the second it was too late.

That he was completely screwed.

Derek had found the human by accident.

He had been strolling through the woods, when the snapping of twigs caught his attention. He had assumed it must have been far away, as quiet as it was, and was surprised when he turned to face the direction of the noise just to see a shadow running past him. Usually there was nothing that could creep up on him. He wasn’t able to shift, but his senses were sharper than the rest of his family’s. Even his own Alpha couldn’t sneak up on him. Derek bared his teeth in a threatening gesture, lowered his body to the ground before he leapt and followed the trespasser.

Derek was fast and strong and had caught up to the boy in the blink of an eye, pounced and hauled him to the ground, trapping him under his weight. He was twisting and turning and kicking under Derek's body before he eventually stopped, viciously glaring back, not a hint of surrender.

“Who are you?” Derek snarled, confused and irritated at the lack of uniqueness, only smelling forest and leaves and dirt. No hint of sweat or body odor, his heart beating only under Derek’s hand, breath just a too quiet hitch.

The stranger remained immobile, glaring defiantly at him.

Under the dim moonlight Derek could make out his grimy face, hollow cheeks, scratch marks, filthy, messy hair, and dirt over clothes and skin Derek wasn’t willing to analyze closer. He let his eyes travel further down as he began to scan the thin body with his fingers, taking in the skinny frame, before taking one of the surprisingly big hands and bringing it to eye level. The nails were broken and chapped, superficial wounds marring the palm and arms. Derek dropped the limb, took a closer look at the clothes, which were in tatters, damp from the moist air of the forest, sleeves ragged, holes everywhere. He was barefooted and there were even more injuries on the soles of his feet.

In a beat Derek scrambled off him, taking several steps back.

Cautiously, the boy got up too, slowly bending forward to kneel with one leg on the ground, the other bend like he was about to flee, though eyes firmly trained on Derek’s every movement, before they flickered around, veering off to the sides as if he was contemplating escape routes and options. But before he could make a run for it, Derek rushed forward, wrapping his hand around the alarmed boy’s wrist. He was fighting the grip for a moment until he finally, grudgingly gave in.

“Name?” Derek asked.

He got bared teeth in reply.

Rolling his eyes, Derek dragged the weird teenager back to the main house. Whatever had happened, someone in his family would be able to make sense of it, he hoped.

It took ten minutes of low, short shrieks for Derek to realize that probably not even his mother would be able to get anything out of him.

“Malia?” Peter chuckled, when Derek had left the boy - Mieczyslaw, honestly, it was time he used that name - in the living room with the rest of his siblings and instead hauled Peter out of there. “I love my daughter but I wouldn’t trust her with a cactus. Let alone a feral human.” He turned sideways about to head back into the living room, before he stopped and took a step back to face Derek again. “You know how often she comes over and just yesterday her mother voiced great displeasure. Now if you would give Malia a pet, I don’t believe she will ever leave. And we don’t want her new dad to get jealous, do we?”

Derek furrowed a brow.

Peter’s ex, commonly referred to as The Shrew ever since the fall out, wasn’t someone Derek wanted to deal with if it could be avoided. Thanks to her, the divorce had been nasty, all on account of who was going to get custody over Malia. In the end it was Peter who backed off, going against Talia’s wishes and letting his daughter go with her mother. Stubborn daddy’s girl that Malia was though, it hardly made a difference in the end; Derek was sure she spent more time with the Hale family than with the Tates.

Malia was naturally curious, cheerful and playful. She loved pet projects—her latest had been poor Liam—loved spending time with other people no matter what age. It made her a better caretaker than Derek. And she was totally in puppy love with her big cousin anyway. It wasn’t even a question whether she would jump at the opportunity to own a new ‘pet’ if Derek asked. But Peter was right. The three gold fish she once possessed all died mysterious deaths and Derek suspected at least one was eaten while she was in her coyote form.

Derek didn’t want the boy to get eaten.

“She will play with him, if that helps you,” his uncle started again with a shrug. “Keep him occupied and out of your hands for a while. Just don’t let her mother know.”

Peter Hale never bowed down to anyone.

Except to his pushy ex and daughter.

There were different types of ranks in a pack.

Simplified, Omegas were the lowest and barely above the Claimed, then Bitten Betas. It was racist, but Bitten ones were looked down on considering that they did not inherit unique family traits. After all, a full wolf shift would not be transferred to a Beta just by bite.

Marked and Born Betas were at the same level in a pack, as they hold the most influence in inter-pack relating issues.

At the top was the Alpha.

There was a chart somewhere in the mayor office, with a lot of what ifs and who was in command in a pack when something happened to the Alpha and stuff like that. It was confusing with arrows pointing everywhere. As stuck to the roots as they were, the Hales didn’t care for hierarchy. Whoever was pack belonged to the pack and had a voice equal every other beta.

Except for Greenberg.

The boy sat hunched on the floor, knees hugged to his chests, eyes darting from one Hale to the other. Everyone currently at home was gathered in the living room, keeping a hopefully acceptable distance while they stared at their new addition to the family.

“So,” Eric started, coughing once for show, “Is he my brother or nephew?” A pointed look at Derek. “Or my—”

“If you finish that sentence, I’m going to maim you,” Cora declared, snapping teeth in a threatening gesture. Eric didn’t even have the grace to fake intimidation, instead just rolled his eyes, because that was a family trait handed down from grandmother to father and to every Hale sibling around: dramatically sighing with added eye-roll for emphasis.

Derek suppressed the urge to sigh. And roll his eyes.

“Question remains though,” Eric continued. “And what do we call him? Are you finally telling us his real name or should we continue calling him Stilinski?”

Derek shrug in reply. They had only used ‘Stilinski’ when they talked about and with the teenager, simply because neither Laura, Talia nor Derek knew how to pronounce the given name without making a mess of. The other reason being that when ever they had used the real name in front of the boy he really hadn't liked that. There had been trashing and throwing objects involved. Derek wasn't sure if the reason for that behaviour had been their inability to say it right or the fact that he didn't like his name.

The expectant silence was interrupted by every mobile in the room vibrating or going off with their respective obnoxious ring tones. Peter hummed to Wall of Death for a few seconds as he languidly pulled his phone out of his pockets. Derek’s phone was upstairs, somewhere between magazines and books and clean laundry. Probably. He hadn’t seen it for a few days, so the battery must be empty anyway and he wasn’t sure where his charger was.

As soon as everyone had checked their received messages, they turned to stare at the armchair across the room, where Laura had settled down, grinning at them.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Cora asked her older sister.

“It’s his name,” Laura replied cheerfully. “I don’t know how to pronounce it, so,” she left the sentence hanging, shrugging in a nonchalant manner.

“Laura, I think your auto-correct messed this up,” Cora suggested helpfully.

“Nope.”

“That’s his real name?” the youngest Hale exclaimed incredulous.

“It’s Polish I think—”

“We don’t care,” Eric interrupted their uncle. “We want to know how it’s pronounced.”

“Mom said they used to call him,” Derek scrunched his nose in contemplation, “Glamor or Trendy—”

“Style,” his mother corrected, choosing that moment to walk into the room.

“Do you really want to call him that?” Cora asked skeptically.

“Well, he doesn't seem to like it. Any of the suggestions,” Derek replied. They all looked at the boy who appeared to be contemplating murder.

“How about just Mie?" Cora finally continued.

“Or call him Lassie. Though Lassie is better behaved,” Laura had to add her two cents.

Derek ignored them and decided to continue calling him Stilinski for the time being. It was the only name that didn't result in him being stoned with pillows, books, decorations and whatever they had in their living room.

Derek’s room was rather large, bed slightly hidden in a corner. It wasn’t visible from the door, but from the desk at his window or partially from the couch. The larger area held his cupboards, desk, TV—which he rarely used—couch, bookshelves—where he stored all the books he couldn’t let his parents have in the library downstairs. He was sitting on his desk chair, almost motionless while Stilinski prowled up and down in a safe distance, exploring the room, frowning at the bed before he settled down in front of the closet and started to build something that sort of resembled a nest.

Derek didn’t stop him, just watched him curiously.

He had read on the internet that untamed animals usually needed a place where they felt safe, where they could hide and retreat and Derek was rather lucky the boy was clean and wouldn’t lose hair or parasites all over his clothes. Derek continued to watch the on-goings for a few seconds as Stilinski dragged pillows and blankets from the bed into the closet, spreading them out on the ground after throwing shoes and several boxes out in arbitrary directions behind him, uncaring where they would drop. Luckily, there was nothing important in there. Old school books mostly, Lacrosse gear and shoes. After everything appeared to be arranged to his satisfaction, Stilinski tried the handle a few times, opening and closing the door, before he gave Derek one final glare and slammed the door shut behind him.

Derek blinked, watched the closed door for a few moments, before he turned around and started an online search of ‘how to tame a human’. After stumbling upon a couple disturbing articles about owner/property relationships and contemporary consensual slavery Derek closed all his tabs, deleted his browser history, cookies, uninstalled the whole browser and everything related to it before re-installing and looking up ‘how to tame wild animals’. At least that did not involve the use of whips or sexual punishment.

He had been reading for an hour or so when he heard the closet opening. Stilinski stuck his head out, squinting at him, before carefully crawling out, restlessly walking up and down along the wall furthest from Derek, turning in a corner, before staring at the door leading out. Derek had it locked, the key was right next to him on the desk in case he tried to get away again. They would be able to easily catch him, but Derek really wanted to avoid a situation like last time with Laura almost spitting drool in his face in a show of superiority.

Stilinski started to bounce on the heels of his feet.

“Oh,” Derek finally realized when the bouncing changed to stepping from one foot to the other. Oh! “Bathroom?” he asked, earning himself an evil glare. Wide eyed, he stood up, pulled Stilinski at the wrist out of his room and hauled him immediately into Eric’s.

“You have to house break him,” Derek announced to his brother who was sitting up from his bed in mild bewilderment.

“Come again?”

His big brother was the best choice. Eric had potty-trained all of them over the years, dealing with tantrums and claws and snarling and whining. Derek really didn’t know how well behaved Stilinski was and he really, really didn’t want find out.

“Do it or I let him pee in your room,” Derek threatened. He wasn't proud about it, but he was desperate.

Eric rolled his eyes, before he pointedly, laboriously brought himself to stand up. “You owe me. Again,” he said, jabbing one finger into Derek's chest before gently navigating the twitchy boy on his shoulders to the bathroom. Derek followed, but waited outside. A few seconds after the door had closed behind the two humans, it opened again and Eric was pushed out of the bathroom, almost stumbling hard into Derek before he braced himself to a stop and the door was slammed shut in their faces. Surprised, Derek turned with raised eyebrows to his brother, waiting for an explanation.

“Looks like he knows how to do it,” Eric assumed, shrugging. “You just had to show him the bathroom.”

“He knows where the bathroom is. We’ve been here on his first day.”

Eric just gave him an unimpressed eye-roll. “Don’t. Ever. Ask me strange stuff like that ever again. I mean, I know you will anyway because I’m living with annoying werewolves. But as a matter of principle.”

After his brother had left in a fit of indignation, Derek continued to hover in front of the bathroom like a worried creeper. He listened to the flushing of the toilet after a few bangs that almost made him barge in there to see what the noise was all about. He restrained himself. Then he heard the running water in the sink. Derek felt slightly uncomfortable and majorly invasive checking on someone like that, but he figured it was a necessary evil.

If Stilinski fled or something happened to him, his mother would be held accountable for it. So would his mother if Stilinski fled and did something stupid or illegal. Derek could practically smell an arrest for indecent public behavior, theft or other petty crimes. His mother didn’t care much for her reputation but Derek was sure she wouldn’t want a member of their pack arrested for urinating in public. Or something equally embarrassing.

Derek paused his thoughts when he realized the water was still running. With a frown he knocked on the door, but was only greeted with silence. A moment later he threw the door open—luckily it wasn’t locked, maybe because Stilinski didn’t know the mechanism behind it—and then froze on the spot when he spotted him attempting to brush his teeth. With someone’s tooth brush. Pink. Cora’s. The bristles were obviously gnawed on. Cora was so going to kill them as soon as she found out.

“Sorry,” Derek mumbled, ignoring the feeling of his face heating up in embarrassment, and started to retreat backwards but stopped at the desperate look he received.. “What?” he asked, stopping in his flight attempt. Stilinski was working his jaw, opening his mouth wide without closing it again. “You have to spit it out?” Derek suggested helpfully. In reply a toothbrush was thrown at his head. He caught it reflexively. As soon as he realized that whatever was on the toothbrush neither smelled like the peppermint paste most in his family used nor like the green tea variety Laura favored, Derek took a closer look at the bristles, which were stuck together like glue.

“What did you use?” he asked, rushing to the sink were Stilinski was rubbing his fingers against his teeth in a futile attempt. When Derek spotted the open adhesive cream he groaned.

“Mom,” he called out to the house at large, “is adhesive cream in large quantities dangerous?”

“Why?” she replied immediately.

“He might have brushed his teeth with it.”

It didn’t come as a surprise when the whole house erupted into laughter and Cora and Laura actually rushed out of their respective rooms and leered into the bathroom. Eric left his own to see what the commotion was about. Derek had the presence of mind to hide the pink tooth brush behind his back.

“No way,” his youngest sister squealed.

Derek went and shut the door in their faces, before they could gloat any further and then turned back to the boy who was walking restlessly in circles now.

“Why was that even out? Nonna hasn’t been home for months,” Derek muttered under his breath, throwing the toothbrush into the sink before he approached Stilinski, completely ignoring the warning growls. Before Derek could reach him, Stilinski barreled past him, threw the door open and went into the hall where his siblings made way for him. Derek followed in confusion. Stilinski looked around until his eyes finally settled on Derek’s open door and proceeded to storm off, a telltale click revealing when he was back in the closet.

“It’ll dissolve in a few hours,” Eric offered helpfully while ushering his still chuckling younger sisters away.

“Do I even want to know?” Derek asked.

His brother shrugged, a secretive smile playing on his lips as he dumped Cora and Laura in their rooms. “Clean the bathroom. It’s a mess.”

Derek just stood there stupidly for a couple seconds, before he dared another look into the bathroom, just now noticing and groaning at the mess. He went and locked his door from the outside, then headed back to the bathroom and began to clean the water from the tiles around the toilet and the sink, picked up the unrolled toilet paper, which was partially dumped into the bathtub and partially wrapped around the toilet seat, then scrubbed the remains of the adhesive cream off the porcelain.

Apparently, he had to help Stilinski with the bathroom for a while.

Derek seriously wasn’t looking forward to it.

There was a knock on his door a few hours later. Stilinski had remained silently in his hideout while Derek had thrown himself on the couch to read Wolf Children, a book about a pack around the Alpha Akhuna, and sort of completely forgot Stilinski was even there. He was used to rely on his senses, yet he could neither hear nor smell another person and almost had a heart-attack when the closet door suddenly opened once while he was completely immersed in his book.

Shortly after the knock, Laura poked her head in.

“Dinner’s ready,” she said. “Called you awhile ago but we forgot your door is closed, so you better hurry.”

Usually the doors of their individual bed rooms were open during the day, after all they were sound-proofed. According to his parents, everyone deserved their privacy, as long as whatever they did stayed in the bedrooms and not the bathroom—sharp eyes on Eric who had blushed furiously before slowly etching out of view.

Derek put the book away with a sigh and approached the closet, walking up and down in front of it before he decided to knock, feeling utterly stupid. It was his closet after all. It took several impossibly long moments, Derek already prepared to just yank it open, when it suddenly stood slightly ajar and Stilinski peeked through the small opening. After another moment the gap widened a little more.

“Dinner,” he explained. When Stilinski just blankly looked at him he added, “food.” Honestly, the suspicious glare was completely uncalled for. “Downstairs,” he amended, just to say something, pointing down. Stilinski followed his finger to the ground, then let his eyes flicker up again. “How much do you even understand?”

Derek wasn’t used to people being silent. Usually others tried to drown out his silence by talking non stop. Rolling his eyes, he grabbed for the boy’s wrist and hauled him up. They stopped at the bathroom, where Derek tried to examine his teeth. It was fairly easy considering the annoying habit of growling at everything, revealing the row of white in the process. There was still some cream left but he figured it was alright, when Stilinski could act like that.

Derek rummaged through the cabinet for a new tooth brush, put peppermint paste on it and pushed it at Stilinski who looked at it for a moment, before putting it in his mouth, grimacing at the taste but then brushing with a little too much vigor.

Derek continued to watch him surreptitiously.

He really didn’t know what Stilinski could or could not do. Laura had gotten a hold on the hospital file but as far as they knew, they had him strapped to the bed most of the time, concerned with some self-harm issues. So far, Derek had not witnessed anything like that, but he didn't know what Stilinski was doing in his closet anyway. He made a mental note to check for fresh wounds as inconspicuously as he could, as soon as he had a chance.

“Mie!” Cora called out as soon as they entered the dining room. Derek wondered what she was talking about until he remembered the conversation from the morning. “You sit here,” she continued, pointing to the open seat next to Derek’s. It was suspiciously void of cutlery. Cora sheepishly rubbed the back of her neck when she noticed his look. “Because we don’t know if he remembers how to use silverware. Maybe he eats with hands?”

“How did they feed him in the hospital,” his father asked, face hidden behind a SCC mag.

“Infusions,” Laura replied, bringing a bowl with beans and putting it on the table. “I’ve read his file. They said he was refusing food so they had to force feed him.”

“We’re not doing that,” Peter decided immediately.

No one argued back.

Stilinski pinched Derek’s hand and he let him go with a sigh, watching as he sat down on the chair Cora had previously indicated, then looked to left and right before he took Derek’s plate and fork to put it in front of himself, while defiantly—and he thought he spotted an edge of smugness—glaring at Derek.

“Guess he remembers that, too,” Eric said.

When the rest of the family joined the table and sat down, Derek rolled his eyes and left for the kitchen to get himself new tableware and then sat down next to Stilinski, watching him warily out of the corner of his eyes as bowls changed hands. Stilinski was worrying his lips, hungrily eyeing the food. Derek wondered how much truth was behind the nurse’s words and report and when was the last time he had real food. Not whatever he had been eating in the woods. Or what the nurses had forced down his veins. Eric carefully handed the potatoes to Stilinski, making sure that he had a steady hold on it when he gingerly accepted it before letting go.

Derek noticed his family purposefully not looking at Stilinski, while continuing to chat about their day, his mother taking the tuner magazine out of her husbands hand, whacking it over the back of his head.

Meanwhile, Stilinski pressed the bowl tightly against his chest with one hand, taking the spoon in the other. The grip around the metal was of a toddler learning to hold his utensils, fist tight and clumsy on the handle. Derek wanted to correct the grip like he had done with Malia a long time ago, but had the tiny feeling he would get his hand chewed off for his trouble.

Stilinski growled in frustration when potatoes halfway to the plate toppled down, some of them tumbling over the rim of the plate and rolling over the table, stopping at Eric’s hand, others dropping down to the floor. Eric looked up in confusion for a moment, but didn’t comment when Stilinski reached for the fleeing potatoes to put them on his plate. Usually Cora would snicker, Laura would laugh, Eric and Peter would raise their eyebrows in silent judgment but neither of them made a sound or grimaced. They behaved like nothing unusual happened. Who knew, apparently his family did know tact. Too bad they never used it on Derek. Then it was his turn and Derek accepted the bowl Stilinski was holding out to him. Apparently he had been the only one who had continued to watch the struggle with the spoon. That was until Cora kicked him against the shin. Unaware of any wrongdoing he glared at her but she just kicked him again, rolling her eyes at him in exasperation.

His mother gave a low warning growl.

Derek stopped blatantly staring after that, but let his eyes drift over every once in a while. Stilinski avidly watched their every movement with hawk-eyes, brows furrowed deep, biting his lips in concentration. After a moment he picked the fork up, glared at it for a few seconds like it offended him. But then his glare skipped back and forth from Peter’s hands—who must have noticed because his movements were deliberately slow now—to his own. With every glance he adjusted and corrected his grip around the fork before he picked up a potato, a successful and proud smirk on his lips as he brought it to his mouth.

He was a fast learner.

Or maybe he was just fast at re-learning. He had spent at least his first nine years as a human, that should count for something.

To say that Derek was strangely fascinated with him was probably an understatement. Derek couldn’t look away if he wanted.

Derek would have given him the bed to sleep in. Or the couch if Stilinski felt better about that. Nevertheless, Stilinski chose to stay in the closet. Not for the first time, Derek contemplated giving him the guest room. However his mother had made it clear that they would lock it because she didn’t trust him alone in the house yet. Neither did Laura who was still of the opinion to lock him up in the cellar for the nights.

No one was really sure how to handle him. The nurses hadn’t been much help, when they asked. Strapping him to the bed was out of the question. Locking him in the guest room maybe not the best idea considering it was sound-proofed too. Locking him in the cellar not even an option Derek wanted to entertain. The doctor in charge had said something about nightmares, restless sleep that sometimes led to self-harming in form of clawing nails or scratching his arms raw.

Derek wasn’t sure if it was a good thing to let him sleep in the closet either.

In the end he decided to go with what Stilinski was most comfortable with and if that was sleeping surrounded by his wardrobe he would let him. He knocked at the closet door for the last time before he settled in for the night. Apparently he was getting over the embarrassment, only feeling slightly foolish by now but still glad no one else in the house knew he had to do this. How was this supposed to work out when he needed to get dressed in the morning anyway? Would he have to ask for permission first? What if Stilinski used one of his shirts as a pillow? Would Derek ever get it back?

It took a while before the door opened.

Derek had a feeling he was being tested, that he had to wait longer every time he knocked. So far it had been three times since dinner, once to retrieve something, once to ask if he wanted to use the bathroom again and another time just to make sure he was still breathing in there. Derek really didn’t know about the oxygen circulation in a closet and he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to.

“Sleep?” He asked, grimacing when he put his hands together and then tugged them under his cheek in a gesture he hoped meant the same to everyone and wasn’t something offending in Stilinski’s animal language. “Bed. Sleep?” He started again, pointing to where his bed was. He earned himself a low, fierce howl-screech thing. Apparently he was offended by beds. “Couch?” he asked instead, pointing to the black couch stuffed with several pillows and blankets because Paige liked it ‘comfortable’, and no, Derek, the armrest doesn’t count as a pillow.

Stilinski slammed the door in his face with a final snarl.

Claiming was fast and easy and repeated once every year or with a change of packs. It was just an Alpha’s claws dipped into skin, a simple symbolic procedure. The wound would heal within days with a werewolf and a few weeks for humans. Claimed Humans were free to go wherever they wanted, free to change packs at whatever leisure. They were part of a pack, but strictly speaking they weren’t. They didn’t belong to the inner circle, weren’t trusted or relied on and didn’t have any vote in pack related business.

Most humans didn’t care who claimed them, as long as they were protected. However, there was some status in being claimed by exclusive packs like the Hales or Deucalions. Some chose a pack based on their general reputation that fitted their own character. Strong like the Whittemores, or smart like the Martins or easy-going like the Mahealanis.

“Maybe I should collect leaves and dump them in the closet?” Derek asked his sister after the first restless and mostly sleepless night with Stilinski. He had never shared his room with anyone before, not even his siblings and he was uneasy knowing someone else was there now. Especially when it was some weird brat, who behaved like an animal and whose presence he could neither hear nor smell.

One time during the night he had woken up to the sound of the closet door opening and only a few seconds later Stilinski hovered over him at the end of the bed. Admittedly, Derek was proud that he had shown enough restraint to avoid instinctively attacking him during his silent freak out. Luckily Derek was strong and there was nothing a puny human—no matter how feral—could do to him. It was still a shock to his system and made him contemplate really locking Stilinski up.

Stilinski only wanted to use the bathroom, though.

“I think he’d like leaves,” Derek tried to reason. Cora paused her game, skeptically looking him up and down, probably trying to figure out if he was serious. “For his nest?”

“Derek, he is not a real animal.”

“I'm not so sure about that.”

She threw her controller at his face, but he caught it easily and threw it back. He hadn’t really aimed but it hit her shoulder hard. Cora growled and jumped at him in retaliation. When their father walked by with a hamper he stopped at the door, watching them wrestling on the ground, Derek pinning his snarling sister down at the floor with a smug expression.

“Kids,” he sighed fondly and continued downstairs.

“Maybe you should try leaves,” Cora agreed beneath him. Derek let her wrists go and she rammed her leg into his stomach with a sly smirk, before kicking him off her. His sister had always fought dirty, Derek remembered when he tried to wheeze a deep breath in but didn’t try to retaliate. Instead he stood up, brushed a hand over his stomach, where he still felt a lingering stab of pain.

Derek did try the leaves. When he stood in front of the closet, he knocked, then turned away to sort his clean clothes on the couch. He figured if Stilinski wanted to make him wait literally minutes he could at least be productive by doing something else instead of just stupidly standing in front of the door. As soon as it opened, Derek presented the basket with the collected foliage. Stilinski simply snorted, looked at him like he was stupid and slammed the door shut with a bang.

Derek had to knock again.

He still needed his underwear.

Derek was sure Stilinski let him wait about half an hour just to piss him off.

Biting was a tedious affair, lots of bureaucracy and both parties involved had to sign a fifty paged contract. The suitor stating that they willingly chose the bite, were of a sound state of mind to make a life changing decision like that, adhere to every law and regulation that came with becoming a werewolf, that they would be allowing themselves to be put into shackles for every full moon until they had complete control over their bodies, that their families were informed, present, approved and wouldn’t sue in case the initiated died because of natural resistance to the bite or some incompatibility issue that scientist were still trying to crack to prevent death by bite. Derek had never witnessed a death by bite. It was unusual, but not unheard of.

The Alphas would by contract pledge that they took care of their members, were held responsible for whatever might happen and so on. All Alphas of a region were present for the bite, free to interview the initiated, though commonly done beforehand. If the majority was against the bite, the suitor had to leave as human.

It took about a week until Stilinski felt comfortable enough to leave the closet for longer periods of time with Derek still around in the room. He still kept his distance but Derek left his door open when the family was home so Stilinski could at least wander the whole house if he wanted and not just the bed room. Slowly but surely Stilinski was widening his comfort-zone. First the closet, then it was Derek’s room, which he didn’t leave for another three days even though the door was open. Unless he wanted to use the bathroom.

Derek took more entertainment from watching him sneak around—hiding in every crook and nook of the house until he reached the bathroom, sprinted the last couple of feet before throwing the door shut with a bang—then was probably acceptable. Until he remembered his struggle the first few days when he had insisted to show Stilinski how to operate the toilet and shower. The shower had been a disaster. It had been just like the first day and eventually Derek simply gave up and threw him in the bathtub. Which had been an utter success. Strangely enough. Stilinski loved it, loved getting comfortable and playing with the bubbles, sometimes suddenly jumping up to chase an escaping one, and spilling water all over the ground.

Derek had stayed the first four times, making sure he didn’t drown himself, but gave him as much privacy as he could, even letting him leave his boxers on. Though Stilinski wasn’t very shy about it. Derek was, though. He could admit he really didn’t need to see another guy’s junk. Especially if said person wasn’t even in the condition to voice proper consent.

Derek had bought children’s shampoo in the store, remembering the fuss Malia had always made when he had to wash her hair. He didn’t need an eighteen year old whining over burning eyes. When Derek showed him how to use it there was more shampoo all over his clothes than in the hair, because, and Derek really wasn't surprised about that at all, Stilinski kept fighting him every step of the procedure. Eventually Derek's tenacity won and he started massaging the shampoo in Stilinski's hair, ignoring the grumpy pout on his lips.

Stilinski loved the bath sponge, though. Derek wouldn’t say he was purring when he used it on him but he did make some strange noises, more a satisfactorily humming than anything else, with a few thrown in purrs for good measure.

Now that Derek was sure the boy wouldn’t kill himself in the bathroom—Derek had thrown the adhesive cream into the trash together with Cora’s tooth brush after she had whacked Derek over the head with it—he was allowed to use it whenever he wanted without supervision. Though sometimes Derek still worried, considering Stilinski was an utter klutz and almost brained himself on the bathtub several times by slipping on the wet ground as he was about to climb out.

It took another few days until Stilinski started to roam the house. Derek was trying to track his footsteps as far as he could. Which was, thanks to the spell, not very far. He lost track of him before he even reached the stairs most of the time. But all the doors in the house were open and his whole family had an eye on him. They kept Derek updated whenever they spotted him somewhere.

Eventually Stilinski discovered the library.

It was mostly Peter’s domain, where he worked on his thesis or whatever the hell kind of research he did there. Derek only frequented it whenever Peter wasn’t around, because his uncle had the annoying habit of constantly muttering under his breath when he reached a deadlock. Apparently it helped him refocus and refresh his ideas or whatever. It drove Derek insane.

Now Peter had to share the library with a scrawny, noisy teenager who nested in one of the corners. Derek was surprised when the pitter patter of bare feet reached his ears and just a second later, Stilinski stumbled into the room and into his closet, taking a few selective items—one blanket, one pillow and five of Derek’s shirts—before hurrying out of the room again.

Curiously, Derek followed him to the library, where Stilinski spread the fabrics on the ground, contently getting comfortable before flipping through some books.

According to Peter, he didn’t read. Maybe he didn’t know how to. But it was apparent that he liked books, which was why Derek approached him one day in the library with Malia’s old picture books. He got himself a haughty huff when he wordlessly put them down beside the nest. An hour later, Peter informed him that the Stilinski brat was making some seriously adorable noises, obviously enjoying himself with them.

After that Derek went to the attic and got more of their own childhood books out. He left them in front of the closet together with a flashlight. That night, when he returned from the bathroom, the closet was closed, books and flashlight gone.

During the night he was woken by loud snarling and hissing, the clatter of something hitting the wall hard and then a steady drumming against the door. Derek argued with himself whether or not to get up. Eventually he did and knocked on the door, already expecting to be back in dreamland before it even opened, but to his surprise Stilinski poked his head out immediately. Derek wordlessly held out his hand and the flashlight was in his fingers a second later. He showed Stilinski the rotary mechanism a couple of times, and before he had the chance to return it the boy had stolen it from his hand and already retreated into his hideout.

Derek gave a tired sigh and dropped back into bed.

Marking was formal. A ritual with incense, purification, runes for healing purposes and a big feast followed by an optional cuddle session for everyone who cared enough for the neophyte. Which should be the whole pack, but as the size of some packs – Whittemore and Martin namely – was too large it would be narrowed down to friends and family.

The marking symbol was chosen weeks beforehand. It was usually a slight derivation of the family symbol, diverse in style or size, mostly depending on which body part the tattoo was going on.

The Mahealani's symbol was a simple tribal lotus; Whittemore chose something that represented power and strength: four circles, touching at the base with the two outer parts disrupted by dots. With the Martins being all over wisdom and intellect, it wasn't a surprise that their symbol was a simplistic, yet filigree and rather beautiful version of Yggdrasil. The Hale's family crest was a triskelion.

Derek’s was done in simple black tribal style between his shoulder blades. Laura chose a white ink tattoo on her hip which had nearly driven their mother insane with the logistics. Cora had her mark done in dottwork on the ankle, while Eric had a white tribal with gray wash highlights on his upper arm.

Depending on marking a human or a werewolf, they used common ink or aconite ink both spiked with a few drops of an Alpha’s blood. Everybody had assumed Laura’s tattoo would be a horrible red splotch because of the blood but it turned out pale against her tanned complexion, making it look like a scar. Seemingly the effect she had been going for.

Marking werewolves was uncommon as it was mostly considered a form of atonement, but after Kate, Derek thought it was only appropriate. His mother told him he didn’t need to, that it was too painful for a werewolf, but Derek didn’t mind pain. What surprised him the most were his siblings following him in on his decision, Eric loosely looping an arm around his shoulder and telling him it was as much their fault as it was Derek’s. Cora had been fourteen back then, legally too young for the Marking. She was the most badass, talking her mother down until she got a special permit and after about five interviews with every Alpha in a hundred mile vicinity she was eventually allowed to receive the mark.

It had been weird.

Their mother torn between proud affection over her children sticking together, worrying that something might go wrong and angry that they chose to take this way of atoning and limiting their future to the pack at such a young age. Laura had just laughed and told her siblings that they wouldn’t ever get rid of her now as soon as she became the new Alpha.

There were worse fates than that.

The cuddling session was even more awkward. Everyone was in pain but still tried to ease whoever's was closest, with Eric in the middle as the only human and the one who was most likely in least pain but still everyone’s person of interest. It got even more awkward when Erica had heard about the ritual, dragged Boyd and Isaac along and all but pounced on the bed and the squirming werewolves. Paige just stood in the doorway, her arms crossed in front of her chest, eyebrows arched, as she shook her head and jumped right after the three teenagers onto the bed with a delighted squeal, affectionately kissing everyone on their temple.

Marking was a commitment, it was a pledge for life and only a few humans followed through with it, proving their loyalty to their Alpha. Changing packs after receiving the mark was almost impossible, but it brought political and inter-pack relation advantages, which, to some, was worth the commitment.

Three weeks after the arrival of Stilinski, Eric was fed up with Derek’s not at all sneaky clothes stealing attempts. Worn one day by Stilinski and the sleeves were gnawed on, leaving tiny holes or stretch marks when he tried to fit his knees underneath the shirts, too. His mother was fed up with the too long sleeves always dirty with food when he carelessly let them fall into his soup or whatever he was eating.

They sent Derek shopping.

It was bound to be a disaster.

He left Stilinski at home, obviously, walked into the first shop he saw and bought some plain white shirts in a size that should maybe, possibly fit, added a set of trackies and underwear and avoided eye-contact when the clerk offered a weak smile in greeting and then told him the price. There were quiet whispers behind him, followed by laughing, which Derek studiously ignored.

He hated going out into town.

Hated the way people thought he wasn’t able to hear them, when it was obvious that he did.

Upon returning he threw the bag of clothes at Stilinski’s head.

Cora rolled her eyes at his shopping acquisitions. Derek simply shrugged, it wasn’t like Stilinski was leaving the house or getting dressed for anyone. Derek was sure he had a slight aversion against clothes anyway, considering the way he kept tugging and picking on them. Which made him wonder why he had worn clothes when they first met him.

“How long has he been like that?” Derek asked, arms crossed in front of his chest as he watched Stilinski sniffing the new clothes, grimacing before pawing at them.

“A few years?”

“When we found him, he had clothes that fit,” Derek pointed out. They had only been scraps, torn and ragged, but clearly not old and small enough for him to have lived in them for several years.

Cora made a silent ‘oh’. “Maybe he stole them?”

“Maybe,” Derek repeated, pushing thoughts of other people who might have taken the boy under their wing out of his mind. Thoughts that might explain the scars and badly healed wounds Derek had spotted when he bathed him; might explain his distrust in other people that Derek strongly suspected was not solely based on feral instincts.

The full moon did strange things to werewolves. Some felt the tug more than the others. According to law, werewolves were allowed to go wild once every month—it was their nature after all. For three days—before the full moon, the day of the full moon and the day after the full moon—werewolves had an excuse for almost everything, doing whatever they wanted without fearing consequences, receiving special permits to take the days off.

After all it was stressful, being a werewolf, trying to keep an inner monster locked inside.

Talia just scoffed at the propaganda wielded around like a sword.

The problem was that many humans, and most werewolves, actually believed it.

Once every month, werewolves went on a rampage. They called it a Full Moon Run. There were sometimes human’s among them, mostly the marked ones, though some claimed were allowed to attend too. They were protected by the scent of their pack.

Teenagers under sixteen weren’t allowed outside, teenagers above sixteen had to chose a pack, if they wanted to stay safe during those days.

Derek had always been detached from the mysterious magic the big stone in the sky had on living beings and oceans. He had never felt a pull or a tug or whatever the other werewolves described.

Derek Hale was considered malfunctioned.

A werewolf who couldn’t shift.

A 'retard'.

Chapter Text

The three pups kept on complaining. Ever since Stilinski had started living with the Hales, Derek received daily messages, sometimes something simple like ‘You suck!’, and sometimes more childish ones along the lines of ‘I'll tell Paige’.

It was obvious that the Cub Trio—as Laura called them—was pissed.

By Derek’s orders they weren’t allowed to meet Stilinski as long as he wasn’t used to the family. The Hales were enough people to be a strain for someone not used to human contact anymore, even with Nonno and Nonna traveling the world at the moment. But even with that reasoning, the puppies still wanted to meet the new pack member. Adding that they apparently missed Derek too, because Derek wouldn’t meet with them in town like his siblings did.

He knew they were just playing with his guilty conscience, they could meet him in the woods, considering the few hours he spent there every day. On the other hand, it was unusual to keep newcomers away for so long.

Yet Stilinski was a special case.

Derek was pretty sure Erica would scare the hell out of him. Technically, not even Malia was allowed. Not that she listened. She kept coming every other day to visit her dad or Derek, following him around in the woods, playfully weaving around his legs in her coyote form. No one told her they had a new pack member and she was ignorant of the fact. Whenever she visited her dad in the library, with Stilinski hidden, she didn’t even notice his presence.

Which wasn’t a surprise.

Stilinski smelled like Derek and Eric’s clothes and fresh soap and shampoo. His nest was hidden behind shelves, and he remained quiet whenever he noticed the girl entering. She could hear neither heartbeat nor breath and her tunnel vision made her notice only her dad. Luckily, Peter wasn’t cruel enough to reveal him.

Or maybe he was but was more afraid of Derek’s mother.

Malia found him by accident one day, though. Stilinski was huddled in his usual corner but a few books were missing in one shelf, allowing a narrow view to the nest. The girl cocked her head once, twice, her arms wrapped around Derek’s arm in a tight hug as she had dragged him into the library for whatever mysterious reason. Knowing his cousin, it was just for the heck of it.

“What’s that?” she asked, furrowing her brow.

“That’s Dean, our new pack member,” Peter replied. Derek groaned and Malia unwound herself from the octopus grip she had on her older cousin, slowly and carefully approaching the boy, who stiffened slightly, then pushed himself further back against the wall, eyes fleeting between Derek and her. The dark-haired werewolf kept close to his cousin’s heels, in case she was going to playfully attack the other teenager.

“His name’s Stilinski,” Derek corrected Peter, but the girl didn’t really listen. Her lips shaped into a wide grin and he could barely reach out and grab her at the back of her shirt before she tried to jump, facial expression already shifted. She struggled against his grip, pouting when she realized he wasn’t going to let her go.

“Not a shifter,” he explained.

Malia gave a pathetic whine, pawed at Derek’s arm, but he just raised his eyebrows at her until she stopped, curling her lips in disappointment but retracting claws and fur nonetheless.

“Be careful,” Derek told her, waiting for an affirmative nod, before he eventually released her. Malia immediately dropped down on all fours, slowly crawling up to Stilinski. As soon as the brunette boy let out a snarl, she stopped her approach promptly.

“I’m Malia,” she offered with a wide smile. “What’s your name?” When after a few seconds the boy still refused to answer, her smile wavered at bit.

“He doesn’t speak,” Derek informed her.

Malia sat down on the hunches of her feet, smacking her lips together in contemplation until her eyes fell on the book in the other boy’s hands. “That used to be mine,” she said, pointing at the colorful pages. He only looked down briefly, before he returned his attention back to Malia, then to Derek, raising both eyebrows in question.

“It used to be my favorite,” she continued unperturbed, getting comfortable in a cross-legged position and went on explaining the plot of the story, highlighting her favorite passages and telling him in great detail why she loved those. If the boy understood their language, she had probably spoiled the ending for him. However, considering that he only looked at her with a hint of mild curiosity and maybe a little like Malia was crazy and, not like Cora had when Eric accidentally spilled the twist of Donnie Darko, they were probably safe.

“See, that girl there looks just like me, right? And she’s a coyote, too! Do you know I’m a coyote?” she asked proudly, puffing her chest out. “They used to bully me for it, but it makes me special, not strange. That book taught me that being different is fine.” She hesitated, cocking her head. The brunette mirrored her gesture. “You’re fine, too.”

“Keep an eye on them?” Derek asked his uncle, who was hunched over a big old tome, towers of other reams surrounding him.

“Sure,” Peter replied.

Derek wasn’t sure he would.

The first time Derek spoke he had been four.

Eric had dropped his mug, Laura had roared in laughter and Cora had continued to happily coat her hands with carrot puree.

Ever the darling, his first words had been “Shut up.”

His third word had been “No,” when his mother had threatened to rinse his mouth with soap.

Julia came by a couple days later, demanding to see Stilinski again. Their last encounter had ended with the house's foundation getting a new set of cracks, so Derek didn’t think it was such a good idea. But Deaton and Talia were at a loss as to what to do with the spell, so he shrugged and lead her to the teenager’s usual hiding spot in the library.

“How’s he doing?” she asked as she crouched down in front of the brunette. His shoulders tensed slightly, his eyes flickered up to Derek, who was standing behind her and after that, to Derek’s surprise, the human relaxed, if only a little.

“Better, I think,” Derek replied.

And he was. Stilinski had gotten used to the family, wasn’t fighting everything anymore, accepted their help for what it was and when it came to meals, he was faster down the stairs than Derek could blink. The boy had learned to use the fork and knife pretty quickly and stopped dropping half his vegetables while eating. They still weren’t sure how much he really understood when they talked to him, but he had learned the words ‘dinner’, ‘lunch’ and ‘breakfast’ pretty fast and perked up whenever the words left someone's mouth.

Stilinski was a glutton.

More than the werewolves sometimes.

Cora had introduced him to the TV but he shied away from the moving pictures and noises more often than not. One time when the family had been watching an action movie, the fired gun shots had Stilinski panic. Before anyone realized what was happening, he was screeching and running upstairs.

Derek watched him in a dumbfounded silence, until Laura elbowed him in the thigh, pulling her shoulders up in a wordless comment.

When the dark-haired man entered his room, at first suspecting Stilinski was hidden in his den, he eventually found him underneath the bed instead. Where he was biting his own arms, fingers scratching every part of open skin he could reach. It took Derek what felt like an eternity to coax him out of there, almost an hour before the boy let him close enough to treat his biting wounds and scratch marks, some of which had even drawn blood. And another two days before he was able to enter the living room again, and a long time with lots of chocolate to chase the scared look out of his eyes.

“‘Better’,” Julia repeated, drawing Derek out of his thoughts. “Your use of the English language keeps astounding me every time you open your mouth,” she continued without any malice. “At least he’s tame now. Doesn’t growl as much as the last time I saw him.”

“You mean when he was scared because you arbitrarily threw spells at him?”

“Oh please, it wasn’t ‘arbitrary’.”

“Fine,” he corrected, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “That time you spectacularly failed to find a counter-spell and instead threw spells at him based on random choice, rather than any actual knowledge of what you were doing. But of course the growling was what distracted you,” Derek continued dryly and didn’t add, ‘how was that for my use of English?’ Because it was childish. And he didn’t have that much of a death wish.

Peter huffed out an amused snort from somewhere in the library, quiet enough that Julia wasn’t able to catch it.

“Derek,” the emissary warned, and Derek took a step back just to be on the safe side. The human caught his movement and immediately squinted at them before he suddenly pushed himself in a defensive position as he began to growl at the woman in front of him threateningly.

“Cute,” she commented, but stood up and brought more distance between the brunette and her, before she returned her attention back to Derek. Derek had preferred it when it wasn’t on him. “Don’t get sassy with me,” she ordered and an invisible force slapped Derek at the back of his head. He grumbled a complaint, but didn’t say anything else. In the beat of a second, however the boy changed from his defensive state of aggression to offensive. Derek barely had the time to pull Julia by her hand out of Stilinski’s reach before he maneuvered himself between them in a fluid movement, catching the brunette around his waist while simultaneously stabilizing Julia’s balance.

Surprised, the woman slapped Derek’s hand away and took another few steps back, eliciting a warning snarl from the boy. There was a moment of stunned silence, only interrupted by the continuous growling into Derek’s shoulder, which was slowly easing up.

“It’s fine?” Derek semi-inquired, not sure what just happened. The teenager quickly glanced at him before focusing his attention on the emissary again, but his posture slackened, his shoulders relaxing. Even though he was still exceedingly alert he dropped down in his nest, baring his teeth one last time at Julia.

Derek moved his body between the two. Just in case. One never knew whether Julia was going to strike a revenge attack or something. But she just looked sort of amused, when she crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Now explain to me how he has gotten better,” she ordered, as if nothing had happened.

Derek wondered where the Julia they first met went. She used to be sweet, nice, warm and shy; and not the bossy dictator she had become over the years. Somehow the werewolf suspected it had all just been a front until she had been comfortable enough around them to show her true self—no pun intended.

With a sigh, Derek launched into a heavily clinched explanation of what had been going on the last few weeks, using as little words as possible, partially to annoy Julia who scrunched her forehead whenever he skipped a few information for her to figure out herself. She refrained from openly assaulting him for his obvious obnoxious behavior, at least as long as Stilinski was around, which was something Derek filed away for later use. Julia liked to act tough, but inside she was cotton candy. At least sometimes.

“Alan wants to perform more PET scans. He wants to prove the theory that his brain is changing. Do you think he can handle regular visits?”

Derek turned partially to look at the boy, shrugging. “If Deaton comes over, possibly. He just has to get used to strangers. PET scans? Don’t think so.”

Julia nodded and left without another word. Derek followed her with his eyes until she left the room. When he turned around as soon as he heard the entrance door fall shut, he noticed Stilinski watching him carefully. Derek frowned, before he started to leave the library. Stilinski followed him silently.

It was a first.

Or maybe the teenager just wanted to hide in his den after meeting Julia. Derek wouldn’t hold it against him.

Derek used to be a papa’s boy.

As soon as he was able to crawl he would follow his dad around like a duckling, trying to imitate him. At the age of four he stood next to him with a blunt plastic miniature ax, pretending to chop wood. They were only thin branches that merely snapped under the force he used. It was as close to what his father did that it was still satisfactory for him. At six he helped him with his work as a mechanic by passing him tools, proud that he could differentiate between end wrenches and oil wrenches and Allen head bolts and star head bolts, internally preening whenever he was praised.

His father was human.

He never changed during full moon. Not like his mom did; into a huge warm soft-furred wolf, or like his sister into a shape half-human, half-wolf. Derek never thought much of it. His older brother wasn’t shifting as well, so it shouldn’t be odd that he didn’t either.

Strangely, his family always seemed like they expected him to.

It wasn’t until he was eight that he realized his strength wasn’t normal for a human, neither was his hearing or smelling ability nor his night vision. His mother sat him down. She thought he was special, a natural in controlling his shift. They only realized something was wrong, when she urged him to let go and shift.

And he couldn’t.

Paige came over the next day. Derek figured it wouldn’t be much of a deal after Stilinski had survived Julia. Paige, from all the humans he knew, was the most normal. She was barely in his room, when Derek told her how his mother had tried to finally settle Stilinski down in the guest room, figuring he wouldn’t run away or try to burn down the house.

The teenager had refused, hiding behind Derek’s broad shoulders as the woman tried to make the room appealing by waving her hands in a private sign language no one really understood. Stilinski just pushed his lower lip forward in a pout, before he shook his head repeatedly.

Cora suggested that it maybe was the smell. So his mother took Derek’s clothes and blankets out of the closet and spread them on the bed under the watchful eyes of the boy. With an indignant snarl the brunette grabbed the fabrics and moved them back into his den, assertively nodding his head once while pointing at it.

Laura laughed at the defiant display and the sheepish look Derek gave his mom, when she turned to glare at him like everything was his fault.

Then Eric suggested putting them into the guest rooms closet, instead.

Stilinski snorted at them in contempt, vanishing for a few seconds in the closet, before reemerging with all of Derek’s belongings. He hid in Derek’s closet for the next few hours, even refusing dinner. Talia threw her hands in the air, muttering under her breath that she was never going to try again.

That night Derek was woken by a tiny sound. He contemplated turning around and returning to sleep, when something tugged on his conscience. Drowsily, he fought his way out of the bed and left the nook. Derek was instantly wide awake when he noticing the open closet door and the boy missing.

Alarmed the werewolf hurried out of his room and sprinted to the library, trying to repress thoughts about how Stilinski was gone because Talia had tried to force him out of his comfort zone. The library was empty. Derek willed his heart and thoughts to calm down, to focus and listen.

There was a noise from the kitchen.

When Derek entered the room he found the teenager ransacking the fridge. Stilinski must have heard him, because he slowly turned around, face partially illuminated by the white fridge light, his cheeks puffed. The boy frowned at Derek before he let his eyes wander to his hands, one holding a piece of cheese, the other a half eaten sausage. There was a pause for the fracture of a second and then Stilinski looked back at Derek before he ostentatiously pushed the food in his already stuffed mouth.

“I left dinner in front of his closet,” Derek grumbly defended himself. “He ate it and probably figured it wasn’t enough. It took me an hour to clean up the mess!”

Paige couldn’t hide the smirk as she sat on his couch, three blankets draped over and around her in some weird cushy cocoon, playing with one scatter cushion in her lap.

Stilinski was sitting in the closet, the door open. So far, he had only left his sanctum to go to the bathroom and even then had made sure that no one was around to steal his nest again. Right now he was simply flipping through more picture books while warily glaring at the intruder every once in a while. Derek had intentionally put his chair between them.

“He probably feels safe in there,” Paige guessed with a shrug.

Derek snorted. “It’s not exactly healthy. And I can’t continue piling his and my laundry on the desk,” he complained, absentmindedly waving one hand at the stacks of neatly folded clothes sitting on his desk, growing bigger with every piece Derek could get out of the occupied closet.

“Does he bother you?”

Derek shrugged. “I don’t mind him here.” He ignored how Paige's eyes narrowed suspiciously. The werewolf suddenly felt the need to defend himself. “It’s not like he makes a lot of noise. I just wished he would sleep on the couch or the bed, so I can use my desk for work again. And not laundry storage.”

The dark-haired woman laughed in reply. When the werewolf raised his eyebrow in question, she quickly motioned to the teenager, who turned his eyes away and continued to skim through his book the second Derek turned around to face him.

“What?”

“His face is very expressive, isn’t it?” his friend asked. “But I think he likes you. It’s why he wants to stay here.”

“I think he just likes the closet.”

“Julia said he was trying to protect you yesterday?”

“Not really.”

Paige just rolled her eyes.

“He was protecting himself the second he noticed I couldn’t,” Derek reasoned.

She just gave him an unimpressed look before changing the subject to her boyfriend. Derek tried to keep the scowl to a minimum when she started to tell him about their date the night before and how romantic it had been. Paige had never been a romantic, had always scoffed at chick flicks and candle light dinners and watching the sunrise together. Her current boyfriend changed all of that in less than a few months.

“I want all that with him,” she said earnestly, “I’m thinking about children, Derek.”

The werewolf didn’t like the man, refused to acknowledge even his name. It wasn't because Derek had any feelings for Paige beside brotherly love, or because he was treating her wrong. In fact, her boyfriend treated her like a goddess and didn’t feel intimidated at the fact that she was smarter, still going to college with a bright future ahead while he was working in constructions. He made her happy in a way Derek had never seen before.

Derek still firmly believed the guy wasn’t good enough for his best friend.

Paige thought it was amusing, whenever she noticed his unfounded displeasure.

Derek scowled some more.

Technically, Derek wasn’t allowed to work. As someone unable to shift out of his own free will, he was stigmatized as NSFP - Not Safe For Public. The abbreviation appearing inversed highlighted in bolt black next to his name on every official paper, on his passport and even his ID card. He wasn't allowed to attend college, too. In fact, entering a library or any other public place like a cinema or theater without supervision of another werewolf who was able to restrain him in case of spontaneous shifting was forbidden. However, Beacon County was a tight-knitted community and Derek Hale wasn’t known for shifting but for not shifting. Still, the only reason he had been allowed to go to public high-school was the right for basic education to everyone in a thriving environment.

Through Talia’s connections Derek was offered a sort-of job as ranger for the preserve, meaning he was usually just prowling the woods doing nothing. Mostly looking out for stupid kids in trouble.

Quasi what he had done ever since he found the the three puppies.

Derek knew it was just a front though. According to law he was as socially acceptable as a mental patient in Eichen House. Ironically, if he had been born human, he wouldn’t even be a problem. But as a werewolf he was a ticking time bomb for the greater part of the world.

The only good thing was people left him alone most of the time. And he didn’t mind being out in the woods. It was quiet, something their home barely was. As much as he loved his family, he needed some space and silence not all hauled up in his own room.

He earned most of his money at the side as an illustrator, sometimes even as a free-lance carpenter, building toys out of wood he collected during his strolls in the preserve.

Deaton did the PET scan. Somehow. Derek didn't know if the older man used hypnosis or narcotics or whatever magic on Stilinski to make him agree to the procedures, but he was done in under two hours with whatever he wanted to do, and didn't look like someone had tried to maul him with human teeth. Contrary to Derek, whose arms could have served as a reminder on how to approach wild animals with caution if you didn't want to get eaten.

The doctor compared the scans from the hospital with the new ones, hummed an ‘interesting’ at Derek and then dismissed them both with a wave of his hand.

Sometimes Derek disliked Deaton as much as he disliked Julia. He wondered if being irritating and cryptic were skills everyone had to learn in emissary school. He would have to ask Eric about that.

In the afternoon Deaton and Julia both appeared at their doorsteps and sat his parents down for a talk. Derek planned on shamelessly eavesdropping when his mother called him in with a heavy sigh.

“He’s becoming more human,” Julia summarized. There was a very brief moment Derek thought they wanted to tell him that the boy used to be an animal that was turned into a human, when he realized that no, the teenager had been human for at least nine years of his life. “We assume that whatever spell had been used turned him into an animal. The spell is slowly fading, so he’s becoming human again.”

Derek blinked. Twice.

“There is a chance that you didn’t know about his existence beforehand because he had lived as an animal until you picked him up,” Deaton explained. “He might have lived here for years without any of us noticing until he changed into a boy.”

“I, on the other hand, believe that the change was gradual, not immediate,” Julia interrupted. “Meaning he might have been in some sort of half-shift, like the usual werewolves. Maybe with a tail or animal ears or pointy sharp teeth.”

“Does it matter,” Derek asked with a shrug, suddenly the first day, when Stilinski had bitten him.

Julia opened his mouth, looking at him like he had just questioned her whole beliefs and prepared to argue him into dust, when his mother stepped in. “How long will the healing take?”

Both emissaries threw looks at each other, a whole conversation passing between them in the blink of an eye, before Deaton coughed: “Without knowing the spell? Considering his current state, although we don’t know when exactly he had been cursed—”

“Now it's a curse?” his dad muttered under his breath, shaking his head, which earned him a silencing slap against the thigh.

“—it could take months. Or years.”

“If we knew the spell, we could speed up the process. I’ll try to come up with something,” Julia supplied.

Derek looked at his mother, who just shrugged.

It was better than nothing.

No one really knew why Derek couldn’t shift. There was nothing wrong with his brain or his body. If it weren’t for the heightened senses—some even better developed than an Alpha's—they would have never assumed he was a werewolf.

His mother kept telling him that he used to shift when he still had been a toddler, during breast-feeding especially, which Derek really didn’t need to know, thank you very much.

It simply stopped at one point in time.

Derek couldn’t remember ever having changed.

It took another two weeks for the boy to finally leave the closet and sleep on the couch. Derek almost toppled over when he left his bed in the morning to use the toilet and spotted the figure curled together in the dozens of blankets and pillows.

After keeping track of it for a few days, he eventually concluded it was a long-term thing.

Derek told his mother.

She tried to give the boy the guest room again, but he still stubbornly refused.

Derek was just glad he could finally use his closet again for what it was intended. Most of all because his desk was beginning to look like a mountain of fabric, with his pile surprisingly dwindling. Derek suspected the brunette kept on stealing more of his clothes for nesting reasons.

When Stilinski was in the library, Derek pulled the couch out, covered it with a bed sheet and then emptied the shelve next to it to store the children’s books, flashlight and whatever learning toys and other belongings the hoarder had collected over the last few weeks.

The teenager didn’t even look at the closet once when he returned, just flung himself into the soft blankets, stretching and writhing like a cat until he finally noticed his toys in the cupboard. He sat up promptly and Derek assumed he had done something wrong by putting them there but the boy just threw himself back again after a moment, rolling on his stomach to look up at Derek, who was trying to finally get reacquainted with his desk and work again.

It was the first smile he had seen on the brunette.

Derek felt his lips return it involuntarily.

Maybe it was time to introduce him to the rest of the pack, he decided then. The Hale famile had held them off for weeks now. Something that was usually impossible with the little monsters. Therefore after Paige, Isaac was the next one to meet Stilinski. The werewolf hadn’t told him where he could find the newest pack member, but Isaac headed straight up the stairs and into his room for the closet. When the curly haired teenager didn’t find what he was looking for, he spun on his heels and went downstairs to the library.

The second he entered the two-story room and spotted part of the boy through the bookshelves, Isaac skidded to a halt, almost tip-toeing when he continued to advance.

Derek chose Isaac because even though he could be kind of a sassy asshole if triggered, he was still not as scary as Erica or as mono-syllable and, most of all, as disinterested as Boyd. And because Cora forced him, considering that she wanted to bring her boyfriend over again.

“Come here, kitty, kitty,” the blond chuckled, rubbing the tips of his fingers in a luring gesture. Derek slapped his hand and Isaac pulled a moue of disapproval before he returned his attention back to the brunette who was, at closer inspection, playing around with Lego bricks.

“So that’s him,” Isaac voiced unnecessarily, slowly inching closer, palms facing the boy who looked him up and down. He stopped a few feet from him and knelt down. “I’m Isaac,” he introduced himself, pointing to himself. “Isaac,” he repeated slowly, mouth exaggeratedly shaping the syllables.

Stilinski looked at Derek first, before he focused on Isaac.

“Not a werewolf. Hu-man.”

The teenager huffed, shrugged and then returned to building a house with the bricks.

“Does he understand words?” Isaac asked, getting up again and taking a few steps back.

Derek shrugged in reply. “He keeps learning words. I think.”

“But he hasn’t spoken?”

“Grunts, groans, whimpers.”

“So he speaks your language,” Isaac chuckled then suddenly flinched away from something. Derek raised his eyebrows at the green Lego brick falling to the ground, while Isaac rubbed his temple, glaring at the boy who innocently looked at the house like nothing happened. “Okay, I think he understands us pretty well.”

“I believe he’s good at reading facial expressions,” Derek disagreed.

Boyd was next.

As expected, he didn’t care much for the boy. He blankly stared at him, then extended his hand. The other teenager stared at it for a while and Derek realized they had never shook hands. They had never really touched him anymore after Derek had stopped dragging him around. In fact, everyone was utterly careful to keep a distance to avoid accidental touches.

Stilinski continued to quizzically stare at the offered hand.

Back to Derek.

Helplessly, the older man interlaced both his hands in a simulated handshake. Very slowly, eyes squinted in suspicion, the boy reached his hand out, tentatively brushing fingertips against Boyd’s palm. When Boyd closed his hand around the other and shook it lightly, a smile spread over Stilinski’s lips

“Boyd,” the dark-skinned boy introduced, with a hint of amusement.

After that, Stilinski started to hold his hand out to everyone he came by. Whenever he passed someone in the hall, even if it had been the fifth time that day, he would extend his hand in the new-learned gesture, waiting for them to react.

His family thought it was cute.

Derek thought it had something to do with touch-deprivation.

Werewolves in particular were usually tactile. The same applied to the Hale family. As much fun as they made about scent marking, even Frederick and Eric had adapted to the constant need for touch and would bump shoulders or put hands over the forearm when talking with someone. Talia brushed fingertips over whatever skin she could reach when she passed, not even stopping on her way. Laura was all for the hugging, throwing arms over shoulders or crushing the pack in bear hugs. Cora was usually clinging around the waist. They were only little affirmative touches, silent acknowledgments, but already enough to soothe the pack.

Derek was the only who wasn’t as tactile, actively keeping away from too much contact.

They had always been careful to avoid touching the human though, considering how he had refused to let anyone close at the beginning.

They would all gladly take his hand now and shake it, but as Boyd had taught him, Stilinski dropped it almost instantly. There was always a flicker of something crossing his face. His siblings didn’t notice, so maybe Derek was just imagining things.

Strangely for Derek, the handshake wasn't enough, his fingers always lingered longer than normal.

And if he read the boy right, they weren’t enough for him either.

Liam was dragged in by Malia. He had a pained expression on his face and looked like he’d rather be at the dentist than in the girl’s clutches.

The usual, Derek noted dryly.

“I don’t want to meet him,” Liam whined.

“You want to,” Malia decided, stopping abruptly and brutally pushing the teen in Stilinkis’ general direction. The boy yelped in surprise at the sudden intrusion, body tense. Liam just stared at him reluctantly as soon as he stumbled to a halt, looking like he was about to make a run for it the first chance he got.

“Stilinski, Liam, Liam, Stilinski,” Malia introduced, then proudly turned to Derek, looking at him like she wanted praise for a job well done. Derek just nodded at her and she took his hand in hers, patting her own head with it.

“So he’s like, what? A retard?” Liam asked carefully.

Malia growled at the last word but before the girl could launch herself at him, Derek caught her wrist to stop the attack.

“He has been cursed,” Derek explained calmly. “He’s relearning.”

“Okay,” Liam said, accepting the explanation easily. “The whole town is talking about him, do you know?” he then continued conversationally. Derek didn’t know. His family barely spoke to him about what was going on in Beacon Hills as long as it wasn't important. “They say the Whittemores want to claim him, so you better be careful.”

“They can’t claim him,” the dark-haired man stated.

Liam just shrugged. “Just giving you a warning. We’ll kick their asses though, if they try any funny business,” the younger boy asserted with an over-confident smirk.

Malia next to him huffed in amusement. The teenager narrowed his eyes at her.

They had a strange relationship, Liam and Malia. Derek was never sure whether they were friends, enemies, rivals or in some switching mentor/student relationship. More often than not, they hated each other’s guts; kept fighting and wrestling and snarling at each other. Liam had some anger-management issues to deal with where Malia had some pent-up feral energy issues. She was quick to shift and threaten and even though Liam couldn’t take her on for the life of him—considering he was human—he did more than defiantly standing up to her, and sometimes just for the thrill of it.

Derek suspected that one day they were either going to kill each other or become the most destructive couple in the history of Beacon Hills.

Derek decided to let Erica and Greenberg meet Stilinski together.

Just to get it over with.

They were both freaking scary on different levels even for Derek who had known them for quite some time now.

As expected, Erica almost jumped the boy as soon as she found him in the library and Derek had to tackle her into the wall to stop her from actually pouncing on the teenager, who immediately jumped up in alarm, getting into a defensive stance and giving steady tiny threatening growls.

Derek felt mildly concerned for the boy’s heart. Not that Derek could trace a beat but the man had a feeling it must hammer all the way to his throat, considering the Hale pack consisted of complete weirdos.

“So cute,” Erica cooed, pushing at Derek’s grip. “Go away, Derek, I get it. No bro hugs for, what did Cora call him?”

“Bambi,” Malia offered, appearing from somewhere. Derek suspected from the top of one of the shelves.

“Thanks,” the older blonde replied, then slapped Derek on the shoulder. The man slowly retreated, but kept watching her idly.

Greenberg wasn’t as enthusiastic and playful as Erica, however, he lacked a certain sense for personal space. Meaning the concept didn’t exist for him. He ignored the warning hissing and snarling and growling and simply pushed right into the boy’s space.

Derek didn’t feel all that angry with Stilinski when he rammed his teeth in Greenberg’s hand.

The pushy teenager jumped back in surprise then stared at the visible bite mark, lamenting on the pain. Derek internally called him a big baby. There wasn’t even any blood and the brunette didn’t try to follow for another bite. Nevertheless, the behavior was unacceptable so Derek stormed forward, taking Greenberg’s hand and bringing it back to the younger boy’s face. “No,” he scolded, “do not bite.” The werewolf felt like sixteen again, when he was trying to teach an eight year old Malia that it was not okay to munch on family, friends or, for that matter, on pets. Like she had—possibly—done with ‘Goldie’, ‘Goldie the Second’ and ‘Yummy Yummy Goldie’.

“Fish are friends, not food,” Malia citied proudly, looking like she expected Derek to praise her for the words.

“No Malia, humans,” Derek corrected slightly alarmed.

“But you said fish.”

“Malia. ‘Yummy Yummy Goldie’.” He said the name of the last fish she had ever possessed like it was answer enough. The girl curled her lips in a pout and out of the corner of his eyes Derek noticed Erica and Stilinski giving each other meaningful glances before the blond smirked and the boy scoffed.

Derek was tempted to get out the water gun.

It had worked on Malia.

Greenberg winced and Derek noticed he still had the other’s wrist in a vice-like grip. The werewolf let him go, but reinforced his point with another growly “No!” at Stilinski, before he turned to the sandy-blond teenager. “And you, don’t get too close to him.”

“I gathered that,” Greenberg stated apologetic. “Sorry,” he directed towards Stilinski who relaxed his facial muscles into something that might have been, supposed to be, regret before he gave up and simply smirked.

Defiant little bugger.

“So where is that toddler I heard so much about?” Coach Finstock yelled, slamming the car door shut. Derek had been busy with one of his drafts when he heard the man’s car from a mile away, blasting a Hip Hop song at a volume that shouldn’t be healthy to anyone.

Derek had the door already open for him, when the tires screeched to a halt on the gravel.

“Coach,” Derek greeted dryly.

“Coach Cupcake!” Cora called from upstairs, running down the stairs at the speed of light, flinging herself at the man in a definitely inappropriate manner for a student/teacher relationship. Not so much for a pack member.

Because yes, Bobby Finstock was in the Hale Pack.

No one knew why.

Derek groaned at the familiar nickname and tried to forget that it was his own damn fault.

There wasn’t much Derek regretted in life.

Giving Coach Finstock a Lacrosse trophy on the last day of his high school life, simply reading ‘#1 Coach Cupcake’?

Definitely one of his regrets.

It wasn’t even supposed to stick. It was intended as a bad joke. It was meant in a completely sarcastic way and supposed to annoy the Coach. Instead the man was weirdly touched by the gesture and started to recite the speech from Independence Day. Finstock had been so proud about the trophy he yelled at everyone in the assembly hall and showed it around like it was a freaking Nobel prize and then called up Derek’s family, told them about the present and the pack thought it was the cutest and sweetest thing ever.

Thus the nickname was adapted by everyone in the Hale pack, including by but not limited to, his parents, grandparents, the Shrew and the respective families of the puppy trio.

And then some more.

According to Cora, the trophy was still proudly displayed on Coach Finstock's desk in his office. Apparently the coach did not tire telling the story about how he got one Derek Hale to join the lacrosse team, and respectively made them win the championships two years in a row.

“Are you finally considering joining the lacrosse team, Cora?” the coach asked.

His sister rolled her eyes. “I’m not playing pretending to be a boy.”

“Then get away from me, I’m here for important business. I’ve thought about it Derek, and we could enroll you in school again under a different—”

Derek held his hand up, to stop the man and his crazy ideas. Not that a mere gesture would stop him. Instead he added walking away, and lead the still talking man into the library.

“Doesn’t look like he can play, but he seems old enough,” Coach Finstock concluded as soon as he spotted Stilinski, who had moved on from simple Lego bricks to Lego Technic by now. The brunette ignored the older man completely. “Hey, kid, you can call me Coach Cupcake!” Derek slapped his hand in his face. “Come to school. I’ll be in charge of you and teach you lacrosse.”

Derek refrained from rolling his eyes, but he knew he wasn’t half as aggravated as he acted. It would probably be good, as soon as Stilinski was healed enough to go back to school—whenever that was going to be—to have someone like the Coach by his side.

Derek knew from experience.

Because there was actually a reason Bobby Finstock was part of the pack.

And everyone knew it.

Derek wasn’t going to introduce Braeden. Ever. If she wanted to meet Stilinski she was allowed to come as she pleased, but he was going to hide somewhere until the woman was gone.

And he did.

No, he did not.

When he heard her expensive Italian boots on the porch, jiggling her car keys while waiting for someone to open the door, he grudgingly went down the stairs but was beaten by Peter. Braeden twisted around, a wide confident smile on her face as she pushed her black designer sunglasses up.

“Peter,” she purred and Derek felt his hackles rising. “And Derek,” the woman continued her greeting as she spotted him. Derek made a pained expression, waving in the general direction of the library. She let her hand trace down Peter’s shoulder and arm as she strolled past him. Derek stayed a good five feet behind her, sparing odd looks at his uncle, who simply shrugged.

Braeden was… intimidating. And sort of infamous in town. She was a young female human, yet unofficial training advisor for SA. She knew what she wanted and how to get it and wasn’t above using dirty tricks.

And right now she wanted Peter.

Everyone knew it. Except for Peter of course. Paige had told Derek how no woman in town was even brave enough to approach his uncle anymore, when he went out with friends—which reminded Derek of that one time he caught Peter angsting about an apparent lack of sex appeal after the divorce. And when someone did try to approach him and Braeden was somewhere in the vicinity, she would do absolutely nothing but glare at them to scare them off. The woman had been into the older man since the first time they threw insults at each other and the attraction had remained throughout marriage and divorce but flared up again as soon as Peter let everyone knew he was ready to move on.

Derek had the slight feeling the attraction was mutual.

Peter always had a thing for forceful, pushy, scary, probably sadistic and strong-headed women.

Human as she was, Braeden could kick Derek’s ass into next week, as she had proven several times. The werewolf was surprised he still had an ounce of pride left after the beatings he had received from her during training back when his parents had forced him to relieve his pent-up aggravation and introduced a skinny, cocky girl, hiding an athletic body underneath loose-fitted shirts.

“He looks like work,” Braeden offered offhandedly, when Peter stopped next to her. “Kind of useless, isn’t he?”

“Pets aren’t supposed to be useful,” Derek's uncle replied, smirking. “You’re supposed to love them. And they have to look cute.”

“Not much to look at, though,” the woman stated. Yet the sudden softness in her voice and her eyes, which she tried to hide behind the thick sunglasses ever since she had caught sight of the teenager, proofed her words a lie.

Braeden had grown up on the streets, fighting her way to the top of a group of child thieves, drifting from one place to the next until Talia picked her up outside a hotel after one of their many unimportant Alpha conventions. Talia brought her back to Beacon Hills and Fredrick, a little confused at his wife’s choice of keepsake, welcomed her with instant fondness.

“Can I train—”

“No, you can’t,” Derek interrupted her before she could even finish her sentence.

“I will anyway,” she decided, taking a step forward until she crouched down right in front of the boy. “I’ll teach you everything you need to know to defend yourself. You won't ever get hurt again.” Derek caught her eyes scanning the boy’s body, lingering on a particularly nasty scar on the collarbone that according to Deaton originated from a bullet wound that hadn’t been treated right, or even at all.

Derek was surprised the teenager didn’t flinch away but defiantly met her eyes head on. She smirked, reaching her hand out to ruffle his hair but he slapped it away, standing up and walking around her towards Derek and Peter.

“They are going to love each other,” Peter predicted with a chuckle.

Derek suppressed a groan when the brunette bumped his shoulder against the werewolf's to get his attention and as soon as he had it, made some elaborate gestures that probably meant he was supposed to kick Breaden out.

He wasn’t suicidal just yet and ignored the flailing teenager. If Stilinski wanted the woman desperately gone, he would have had to do it himself. But something told him Stilinski, as courageous as he acted, was scared shitless of her predatory look.

High school wasn’t easy for Derek.

To be fair, high school wasn’t easy for anyone.

Students couldn’t be bothered to talk to him and avoided him altogether, and spending his lunch break with Laura made things even worse. Laura had her friends. They tried to make polite conversation with him but it was apparent that they didn’t feel comfortable with an NSFP around.

Derek didn’t want to subject them to his presence if it made their hearts beat like a rabbit’s. Mostly because it annoyed him.

After a week he ate alone.

Laura was partially glad and felt partially guilty.

Teachers didn’t bother to grade his papers and tests, considering that he wasn’t able to go to college or take on a job anyway. He was going to survive on the social welfare and his parents money. There was nothing good a NSFP could become.

Derek still tried.

When he noticed it was in vain, he stopped.

His marks stayed the same, a constant C, no matter if he answered all the questions right or if he handed in a blank sheet. No one cared and Derek never showed his parents. Instead he just quietly doodled in class all over his notes. The ones he had taken before he had stopped, filling the lined paper with drawings of animals for lack of anything better to do. Derek never knew why he even bothered coming to school.

Which was a lie.

Whenever he thought about dropping out he would see his parent’s faces, proudly smiling at him the first day he left, encouraging him whenever he brought home a C, barely holding in the miserable wince.

Over time, his aggravation built up to a full blown internal warpath against everything. He was on edge, irritable and snappish.

Derek once stormed out of the class room, after a particularly bad lesson with Harris’ interrupting him every time he tried to open his mouth to ask a question, telling him he was barely willing to educate the smart-asses in his lectures, so he couldn’t even be bothered with someone who wouldn’t even be able to pass class if it wasn’t for the teacher’s casually generous rating system established on his convenient behalf to please his parents.

He had to listen to Harris’ muttering about his inability to shift even under anger until he found himself in the sound-proof music/exam room. Derek threw a fit, throwing chairs against the wall, breaking tables in blind rage.

He only stopped when he heard someone sucking in a sharp breath.

Derek spun around facing the intruder, a girl with long black hair, pale skin. She was vaguely familiar.

Before Derek knew what was happening, her face changed from bewilderment and fear into blatant anger. She crossed the few steps, taking a chair with her on her way over and held it up between them.

“That’s mine,” she snarled. “Give it back.”

The dark-haired boy blinked in confusion, looking between the chair and then the girl, before he realized what he had been about to smash. He lowered the music instrument and she set the chair down, hastily took the cello out of his hands.

“Have your werewolf freak-out somewhere else,” she snapped, bringing a safe distance between them, then pointed at the door.

Thus Paige and Derek met.

The excitement about Stilinski died down relatively quickly and everyone returned to their usual lives. The Hale residence was livelier, now that the pack members were free to come and go as they pleased again. But most didn’t really interact with the new addition, it was as fun to hang around him as it was watching Derek reading a book.

The only one who attempted to get the human’s attention was Malia, who was almost always shifting to her coyote form, keeping a few feet distance and then laid low. Peter said it was a sight to behold, when she slowly yet steadily, and carefully, inched forward on her paws, shifting her weight like she was lying in wait but just trying to get closer without the boy noticing.

He noticed of course.

Nevertheless, Malia’s persistence was beginning to pay off, letting her get closer and closer with every passing day until Derek one day entered the library after hearing a whined howl, and found both teenagers playfully wrestling on the ground.

Apart from that, it was fairly quiet around the boy. Laura kept her distance, but Stilinski was avoiding her anyway. Cora was home more often now. Derek wasn’t really sure why, considering that his whole family had decided to let him march into this mess alone and screw everything up on his own.

Derek wasn’t proud to say that he had no idea what he was doing and just hoped it would turn out for the best.

He was sure his parents had felt the same way when Eric had been born.

The only times there was an audience around both of them was when Derek tried to teach the boy several things.

Like washing dishes.

As soon as Derek assumed the teenager had developed enough fine motor skills to use his opposable thumbs properly, instead of making him sit around all day, he could help out with chores.

Usually the brunette just made it worse, though, and more time-consuming. He was a klutz. A clumsy, awkward, ham-fisted klutz. There was no other way to say it. It had nothing to do with him maybe having been an animal for a while. No, he was just a klutz, stumbling over his own feet when taking simply one step to the side, fiddling with something just to drop it a second later.

Good thing Derek was semi-patient and had all the time in the world.

The first time washing dishes ended in a sort-of water fight when the teenager played with the bubbles, then tried to swap them out for whatever reasons, then chased them in the air and when Derek tried to put his hands back in the sink to show him again how it was done, the boy wriggled free, splashed the dishwater and soaked Derek’s shirt.

And then had the audacity to smirk.

Annoyed, Derek took the shirt off which apparently the brat took as an invitation to splash all over him.

It was stupid but Derek retaliated and the whole kitchen was wet when his family one after another stormed in to see what the fuss was all about.

Stilinski was beaming, Derek was drenched from top to bottom and most of the dishwater from the sink was either on the floor or in his clothes, his hair clinging annoyingly to his forehead. Cora wouldn’t stop laughing for long minutes straight and started anew whenever she walked into the kitchen watching Derek cleaning the floor with Stilinski sulking in the far corner of the kitchen where Derek had exiled him to be out of the way.

Their second attempt ended with three smashed plates and one broken cup.

Derek could live with that.

It wasn’t like it was the good porcelain or anything.

When Derek was fifteen he thought he had been in love with Paige.

It took them months from calling each other names to becoming close friends, considering Derek was Derek and Paige a snotty brat who irritated and confused the hell out of him. The irritation originating mostly from the fact that she never told on him. When students were asked about who had destroyed the furniture in the music room, Paige had claimed that they both had been together. Lying by not lying. Her mother was a werewolf. She had apparently learned early on how to evade.

The werewolf sort of respected her for that, but at the same time suspected she was simply waiting for the right moment to blackmail him which was why he was already prepared to fess up if she so much as approached him.

He watched her suspiciously whenever she came close and he learned that they did share some classes. Eventually Paige cornered him when he came out of the boy’s restroom.

She told him to stop being a weird creeper and just say what his problem was instead of lurking around. Though in less flattery words. Derek remained stubbornly silent. She frowned, cursed, and them stormed away, which left him mildly confused. As karma would have it, they later had to work on a group project together with three other students. Paige and Derek were the only ones, who showed up in the library for the agreed meeting.

They eventually bonded over their mutual dislike for 90% of the student body and thus started to spent some tentatively bantering time together, Paige confessing the only reasons she never tattled on him was that they finally got new furniture for the music room, which they had desperately needed. In fact, the choir and other music club members had already been tempted to resolve that problem by using force themselves. And then there might have been the tiny fact that she had been a little scared of him. He was a Hale after all. His parents had influence and Derek’s stoic attitude was difficult to figure out.

After that, Derek and Paige were gravitating around each other in a semi-acknowledge something until they both got over themselves and openly admitted that yes, they maybe were buddies; considering they were spending more and more time together, sticking up for each other, harassing Harris together in an elaborate scheme and altogether being a dynamic trouble maker duo by simply being cheeky shitheads.

When Derek asked Paige out, she said ‘no’.

The werewolf accepted it without any hard feelings, hadn’t even been heart broken about it, though the girl still kept her distance for a while. Derek assumed to give him space, to deal with the rejection. It wasn’t until a few years later, when they were both in a bar, Paige drunken to the core after a bad break up with her first boyfriend that she told him how very much in love she had used to be with Derek back in high school.

“I should have said yes. Should have been an asshole. You, you would have been loyal. Not like that cheating scumbag.” The man was confused, but Paige barreled on in a slur, heavily draped over his shoulder in a half-sleep and drooling in the crook of his neck, wetly mouthing against his skin as she talked. It was totally gross. For sake of friendship, Derek endured anyway as she, weirdly coherent for her level of intoxication, continued to explain, what Derek had only realized shortly after the rejection. That he had never been in love with Paige, that he had only tried to be like everyone else: normal. How he had liked her like a sister, how he had respected her and felt gratitude for her and how he had adored her.

But never loved.

Not like that.

Not the way she wanted.

And that she would have said yes if he had asked a second time. If he had cared enough to chase her just a little.

Which he would have never done.

“I have always, always been aware of that,” she muttered, barely awake. “Long before you asked me out.”

Living with Stilinski was like living with a six year old.

The more comfortable he became with Derek, the messier their room got. Derek was about to throw him out. He did throw him out once. But instead of sleeping in the guestroom as Derek had expected, the boy had curled up in front of Derek’s door and spent the night on the floor.

Eric had stepped on him when he had to go to the bathroom that night.

The next day at breakfast everyone looked at the brunette teenager, who had dark circles under his eyes, rug imprints on his cheek and could barely lift his head, nodding off every once in a while over his cereals—and then glared at Derek.

When Derek grudgingly let him back into his room, he studiously ignored the smug expression Stilinski had on his face as he strutted past him and then jump on the couch, pointedly lolling around on the sheets and giving up tiny purrs, fake yawning for good measure and generally behaving like an obnoxious cat. Maybe he used to be a cat. The Hales still weren’t sure what he had been during his animal years.

Derek knew for a fact that bets were going on.

In exchange for the asylum Stilinski had to put his toys back where he had gotten them as he usually only used them until he had figured out their mechanism.

The werewolf was all about parenting with the teenager and started to hit a book over his head whenever he carelessly discarded something on the floor again, turning it into a minefield.

Stilinski glared at him. And then pointedly went to pick whatever up and drop it in the box Derek had provided for him, ostentatiously sighing and rolling his eyes. A habit he had definitely picked up from the Hale family.

Bobby Finstock had always been unique.

When Derek got him as econ and home room teacher in his sophomore year, the boy had decided that he was definitely cursed. The man hadn’t only stalked him through his freshman year to join the lacrosse team but was now out to destroy his none-existent normal high school life.

By forcing him to do homework.

No one had ever cared about Derek doing homework. Sometimes when it was collected they didn’t even accept his, just putting it back on his table with a benevolent smile before sauntering on.

When everyone but Derek handed their essays in, the teenager was more than surprised when the econ teacher asked where his was.

The boy only opened his mouth, closed it again without saying anything and then Finstock started a rant about how he wouldn’t give anyone a free passing grade, not even his own mother, unless it would help them play in the final games of the Lacrosse season, and how did that sound, Derek?

It sounded like work.

When he left a test paper blank he received an F and a lecture after class about putting in effort and some strange and abstracts metaphors Derek sometimes had trouble to catch. Something about how lacrosse was shaping a young person’s spirit and whatever. As obtuse as the speech had been, there was one thing the werewolf understood.

He had to actually work in econ, now.

So Derek studied.

Derek studied a lot.

The next paper had been a B- and Finstock proudly patted his shoulder and told him that if he kept the mark he was finally able to join the lacrosse team and wasn't that fantastic news?

Derek rolled his eyes.

But the next day he sighed up for lacrosse practice anyway.

Derek barely touched the couch. It used to be his favorite reading spot, along the tall windows for perfect lighting and next to the desk so he could use his lamp for when it got dark and close enough to his shelves for easy access.

Now that Stilinski was occupying it he refrained from spending time there.

He knew the boy wasn’t a real werewolf, even if he acted like a feral animal at times, but Derek’s senses told him to keep his scent away for the time being. In fact it wasn’t only his scent. Whenever someone wanted to drop down on the couch Derek would push them to the bean bag chair in the corner or at the desk chair or more often than not let them drop down on the floor.

Paige was mildly irritated at having to give up her favorite spot and trizillions of pillows and blankets, but couldn’t hide a smirk whenever she saw the boy provokingly draping himself all over the couch and claim it as his new and very comfortable den while watching her with a haughty expression, almost daring her to reclaim her lost cushion kingdom.

“I think he’s marking his territory,” Paige assessed.

“As long as he’s not pissing on the sheets,” Derek offered, not even looking up from where he was hunched over a new pencil draft he was sure he was going to throw away as soon as he had finished it.

“Is that something you do?”

It took Derek a moment to realize that her question was genuine. “Yes, Paige,” Derek replied dryly, looking up from his work with an exasperated sigh. “That’s what I do whenever I leave for the woods. Didn’t you ever wonder why I was drinking gallons of water before leaving the house?”

“Disgusting.” The woman wrinkled her brow, before turning her attention back to the boy. “I’m glad Jacob is human. He doesn’t have urges like that.”

“Neither do I,” the man muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Speaking of Jacob—” Derek wondered if it was too late to jump out of the window to avoid whatever was coming next. Maybe he could teach Stilinski how to fake an asthma attack on command or something? Maybe he could teach him code words, like ‘family dinner’, ‘Jacob’ or ‘Derek clean the kitchen’ and whenever those were dropped in conversation Stilinski would play dead or do something that gave Derek an excuse to leave without further explanation.

The werewolf tried eye contact, but the boy was still busy with showing Paige who was the boss of the couch by stretching and writhing between the blankets. It looked a lot like spasms. Maybe he could make Paige believe it were spasms. “—I think he is going to propose.” She held her hand up, wiggling her ring finger at him. Derek’s eyes followed the line from the tip of her finger down to her wrist. Neatly in the center on pale skin was the Hale mark, a negative space tattoo in subtle black dot-work style. Paige caught his eyes immediately. “He’s a claimed. I’ll talk to your mother about him joining.”

“‘A Hale’s mark comes with a ring attached’,” Derek quoted wryly, grabbing the paper and tearing it out of his sketch book. Seriously, he couldn’t draw anything decent if his life depended on it. He couldn’t fathom why some writers personally requested him. Annoyed, Derek crumbled the paper up and threw it at the trash can, where it hit the border and bounced to the ground. Stilinski jumped up immediately and followed the paper ball until it reached the end of the couch, stopping and then squinting his eyes at Paige suspiciously. He continued to the trash can but kept the tip of his toe touching the couch.

Derek rolled his eyes and Paige chuckled quietly.

“I never saw you putting a ring on this, though,” the woman pointed out after the brunette boy had snatched the paper ball and hurried back to the center of the couch. “And I still got the mark.” Paige was puffing her chest out. Derek wasn’t sure whether this was really something to be proud of. Before Derek could reply, the boy pushed himself in his view, holding the unwrapped paper up, pointing back and forth between the man and the drawing. When Derek nodded in reply to his silent question the boy let out a gleeful shriek that could have destroyed Derek's eardrums if he hadn't been already used to it.

“You’re part of the family,” Derek simply replied to Paige’s statement. The woman's cheeky smirk made way for a soft gentle smile which lasted barely a second before she bumped her fist into his shoulder.

“Oh you,” she cooed, took the pencil out of Derek’s hand and drew a stick-man on the empty paper in front of him. “Do something with him,” she said, putting a dot on the stick-man’s face and it took Derek a while to realize that this was supposed to be Stilinski. “I promise you, he’ll be a great inspiration.”

She left with a kiss on Derek's cheek and a stolen pillow from the pile on the couch, laughing when the boy growled at her. A second later Stilinski was suddenly next to Derek, rubbing furiously at the stubbled cheek with the end of his shirt.

Bewildered, the werewolf waited until the teenager was satisfied and dropped back on the couch, back leaned against the armrest bordering the desk as he continued to stare at the sketch.

Some days Derek forgot the couch didn’t belong to him anymore.

After his tour of the preserve or after worrying about another working proposal or after finishing a particularly tricky piece of wooden toy, he would drop down on the settee, sometimes even fall asleep. Usually Stilinski woke him up with a kick and then proceed to throw him out, disdainfully looking at him and making a show of getting rid of Derek’s everything from the sheets.

The last time he fell asleep on the couch, he wasn’t woken by someone attempting to sit or stand on his stomach. When he blinked his eyes open it was dark outside, his door was closed and when he turned his head he spotted the figure of the boy curled up next to him. They weren’t touching, the brunette keeping some distance between them. It wasn’t the first time Derek wondered why Stilinski wouldn’t let anyone touch him when it was obvious to Derek that he craved it.

Hesitantly, he reached his hand out, poking the round cheek. It wasn’t hollow anymore, like it had been the first time they had seen him, or even the second in hospital. His body wasn’t unhealthily skinny anymore. It wasn’t a surprise, considering he ate like a horse. Not a surprise, but a relief. Derek tensed when the boy suddenly moved into the touch as his eyes flew open. He looked at Stilinski like a deer caught in headlights, before the guilt kicked in and he moved to remove his hand. The brunette was faster, though, grabbing it and pressing the whole palm to his cheek, eyes meeting Derek’s in a silent request.

Derek’s whole body was tense, he shifted uncomfortably under the intense attention focused on him, before he sighed once and tried to relax. A slow, sleepy smile crossed the brunette’s lips, then he scooted a few inches closer—still not touching with the rest of his body—and closed his eyes again before drifting back to sleep.

After that Derek tried to make an effort, tried to touch him more than just the handshake the boy hadn’t gotten tired of before.

Touching Stilinski was strange. Like something was missing, something that should come with touch but didn’t. Derek still tried by imitating what his parents and siblings usually did. A pat on the shoulder to make him acknowledge his presence, using his hand to whack him over the head instead of a book, petting his hair when he put his toys back in the box, brushing his fingertips over his arm when they passed each other in the hallways.

The almost blinding smile was probably worth the strange looks Derek received from his family whenever they saw them interact now. Especially when the boy freely returned the touches with less gentleness and more skin-skin and whole palm contact.

Incidentally, the teenager stopped shaking everyone’s hand.

Cora and Eric were particularly offended and sulked for three days straight. And Cora continued sulking another couple of days, when she tried to touch his arm, yet Stilinski simply danced around her to avoid the contact, but didn’t show any hostile behavior otherwise.

“I think he likes you,” Laura concluded from her position on the couch after Cora plopped down next to her, arms crossed in front of her.

“I don’t think so,” the youngest Hale pouted.

“Was talking to Derek,” Laura explained.

Derek watched Stilinski rush to the front door where Malia’s voice was shouting a greeting, then turned to his sisters. “He has to. I let him sleep on my couch.” He paused for a moment, mulling on whether or not to ask the question, before deciding to just go with it. “What about you?”

Laura chuckled, leaning her head back over the backrest of the couch. “I like you, too.”

“Do you like him?”

Cora went silent next to her sister.

“I guess,” she replied, before snatching the control from the table and turning the volume up.

Laura used to have severe burns on both sides of her body; blistering open wounds from her left ankle up to calf and thigh, and from waist to chest and inner side of her lower arm. Even with her werewolf healing ability, it took several months until the last scar was finally gone.

Fire had always been one of the few certain methods to kill werewolves, and one of the methods inflicting long term wounds, too.

The scars long gone, had made her bitter and angry.

Whenever she was forced to look at them in the mirror she would remember the day their parents almost lost all their children at once.

Derek knew she thought it was her fault for letting Kate in, but Derek was certain her parents would have done the same. It was a Hale quirk to wallow in self-pity and misery and blaming themselves for everything. After the fire, Laura stopped trusting people, unless they were family, pack. She wouldn’t let strangers close to her, getting rid of them with gut-slashing words, even dropped some long-term friends by avoiding to talk with them.

Whenever Derek came home from his tours of the preserve, smelling of a stranger she would snarl and hiss at him and made sure that no one had followed him home.

Laura used to make friends easily, used to connect with other people quickly. Now it took her a long time to adapt to strangers, to get used to new people at work. That was, if she didn’t send them running in tears after their first day at the station.

It took a certain type of person to stand up to her.

Someone like Deputy Parrish.

Laura was still pretending he never charmed her.

Derek decided it was time to let Stilinski outside again.

It had been weeks and the confinement wasn’t only beginning to drive the boy up the wall, but Derek as well. Restlessness settled deep in his bones whenever he had to leave the teenager back home with the rest of his family during his trip through the preserve.

It would be a trial run. To see if the boy was going to run away.

So Derek put Stilinki's feet into Eric's sneakers and opened the door wide.

He regretted his decision not even a second later. The werewolf resisted the urge to rub his temple as the boy tripped over his own feet, balancing himself just to trip on the stairs in his haste to get outside, and landing flat in the mud. Instead of lamenting and wailing though, Stilinski just started to roll around, happily caoting his whole body in filth. Derek should have listened to the weather forecast. Cloudy with a chance of stupid boy joyfully rolling in dirt.

Stilinski made Malia almost look civil.

The werewolf didn’t have much time to focus on the pain it was going to be to get Stilinski cleaned up, when something strange interrupted his thoughts.

Derek almost choked on air when he heard the noise. The boy was making guttural chattering sounds with occasional yelps and howls thrown in as he enjoyed the mud bath. It didn’t take long for most of the family to react to the strange squeal and gather on the porch within seconds.

“Holy crap,” Cora breathed, looking in awe at the playing teenager. “Is that gekkering?”

“He’s a fox?” his dad concluded doubtfully.

Derek opened his mouth, before it closed again. Then: “That fits.”

“Hey, anyone here had fox?” Laura called through the house.

Derek was ashamed to admit that his mother made a victorious whooping sound in reply.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t known about the bets.

He had been in the same room when Cora, always the instigator and money holder, told everyone she was convinced Stilinski was the raccoon that had lived under their house for a few months last year. Laura nay’ed her assumption and contributed ostrich instead. After that the Hale family fell into a heated discussion before Cora slammed her hand and a twenty dollar bill on the table, a ‘let’s get serious’ expression on her face.

Laura switched immediately to rat, completely earnest this time, which was the point Eric offered llama with a twisted chuckle. Their father actually wanted to second it but Cora impatiently tapped a pen on the paper she jotted the suggestions down until Frederic eventually gave in and decided on mole. Unsurprisingly, Malia was for coyote and after a long time Peter settled on opossum.

Derek had slowly backed out of the room before they thought about dragging him into the betting.

And now his mother had apparently won over a hundred bucks.

For betting on ‘fox’.

Stilinski didn't run away that day. Or any day after. He stuck close to Derek, unless something attracted his attention and even then he didn't go far, always kept in sight. Derek started taking him along on his walks through the preserve, sometimes joined by Malia. The first time he did it, Laura good-naturally offered him a leash and, knowing the boy's temper, the werewolf might have been a little tempted to fasten it on one of the belt loops but brushed the idea off almost instantly.

Laura didn’t expect anything else.

Julia taught at the Emissary School of Beacon County and was a leading personality in the field of spells. With her appearance on the school board, students from all over the country were suddenly applying.

Usually most of the students were lacking a certain spark, but still able to perform simple tasks as assistants to a real emissary. Eric was one of those completely void of any magical affinity, but he liked studying charms and runes and wanted to follow Peter's steps into research.

With Julia Baccari as a teacher, the applicants with a spark promptly sky-rocketed.

The Hale emissary tried not to be all smug about it.

She failed.

The first time Stilinski tried to talk to Derek, it landed both of them almost in the hospital. Derek had lounged on his back on the bed, reading a book, when the brunette appeared in front of him. He tilted his head back to get a better look at the reason for the shadow blotting out the light, when the lips of the boy twitched and he started to screech. And shriek. His hands flailing in every direction possible while he walked up and down.

Derek assumed something was wrong.

He was used to low growls and snarls, some squeaking maybe, not to this alarmingly fast and shrilling noise that almost made his ears bleed. He was instantly on his phone to call Deaton, but was forwarded to voice mail. The werewolf hauled Stilinski into his father’s Mansory 6x6, neglecting the fact that technically, he wasn’t allowed to drive but figuring that if someone caught him, Laura would bail him out. It was an emergency after all.

The boy’s arms kept waving and flailing in a private sign language, accompanied by yips and whelps. The second they arrived at the hospital Stilinski suddenly fell silent. He frowned then turned around to glare at Derek who kept his hand on the gear stick, eyebrows raised.

The boy huffed, crossed his arms in front of his chest and Derek finally realized what the strange behavior had been about.

Stilinski had tried to communicate.

Leave it to Derek to botch that up.

To make up for the misunderstanding Derek stopped at a drive in and ordered curly fries and vanilla ice with smarties. Stilinski, ever the glutton, forgave him immediately and continued his onslaught of strange words in-between wolfing down the junk food in a completely unappetizing manner. Derek would have to clean the car as soon as they got home or his dad would kill him.

It was the first time the boy talked to him.

But certainly not the last.

Another time was when Derek innocently entered his room, the boy manhandled him on the couch and started running up and down in front of him, hands threading through his already slightly longer hair, complaining about something. Or maybe telling him something. Derek stared at the teenager in something like awe and horror in face of the yipping. The high-pitched sounds hurt his ears and Cora ran up to his room and slammed the door shut barely a minute after the boy had started his diatribe.

He was waving a book in front of his body, pushing it so far in Derek’s face his eyes crossed in order to see the title. With a cry that sounded like someone was torturing a cat, Stilinski threw the book on the couch.

Derek didn’t really know what was going on.

He was legitimately confused.

Frustrated, the teenager growled, before plopping down next to Derek, expectantly looking at him, before he slumped his body against Derek’s side, forehead pressed against the other man's shoulder. There was a moment of awkward silence, before the younger one huffed in annoyance, then arranged Derek into a lying position before curling close into his side, nosing against his neck and contentedly smacking his lips a few times before finally settling down, a constant shallow breath tickling Derek’s neck.

The werewolf simply laid there, body rigid and tense, staring wide eyed at the ceiling and wondering what the hell he was supposed to do now. Furthermore, there was a sharp edge of something poking into his waist. Slowly, as not to wake the boy, he moved his hand to get the offending object. It was the book the boy had waved around and Derek finally got a good look at it. His fingers gently moved over the black wolf underneath the cheerful letter font reading ‘The Adventure of Amaruq and Tikaani’, before he thumbed through it until he found the picture of wolf cubs curled into each other in a fluffy pile. It was a children’s book, one among Malia’s favorites, about two gray wolves confronting the world outside their den, meeting different kind of animals, making friends, making rivals, and in the evening returning home, exhausted but happy and at night falling asleep surrounded by their pack’s warmth.

Derek looked at the boy next to him, his sleeping expression pure bliss as he pressed in even closer.

The man let the book drop to the other side, shifted a little to get into a more comfortable position, earning himself a frown and a quiet growl. He simply patted the boy’s head until the crinkle between his eyebrows was gone, face relaxed and happy.

And then Derek fell asleep.

It wasn’t the last time they slept together.

Two nights later, after the fifth time the boy had walked up to his bed, nervously hovering in front of it for a few seconds before padding back to his couch, Derek shifted to the side in a silent invitation.

It didn’t take long for Stilinski to understand and he jumped unto the mattress almost immediately with a squealing yelp and then curled into a fetus position, their backs pressed warm against each other.

After that, it became a nightly thing.

One of the most common misconceptions about werewolves was that they mated for life.

People forgot that werewolves were as much human as they were wolf and that some might be more influenced by their wolf part than their human part and vice versa.

There were as many werewolves who mated for life as there were that changed mates within a certain cycle. Some even had several mates at the same time. Derek wouldn’t even call them ‘mates’ if it wasn’t regulated by law to give unmarried ones special rights in different situations.

‘Mate’ had long lost its initial meaning, back in the old days everyone was meant to find that one single person belonging to them. In modern times it was almost impossible with the way the world was moving. No one really knew what it meant to have a mate, what it was supposed to be like or feel like.

There were rumors, yes.

A lot of rumors.

That one would be able to tell by scent, that the world had seemed unnaturally dull until you met that one person and suddenly everything was in high-res and Technicolor. And then there was the thing about the knots, something Derek actually avoided to hear about because the thought of a lump growing at the base of his dick sort of scared him.

Truth was, no one knew, really.

Some claimed they had met their mate and strange stuff happened; that they were suddenly faster, stronger, more intelligent. Some developed a nesting instinct, or a heightened desire to provide safety.

Whether true or not, mates were officially acknowledged and held a special standing in society.

It didn’t mean werewolves mated for life, though.

Derek wasn’t sure whether to be surprised or not that Stilinski got along so well with Malia. Besides Derek, she was the only one allowed to touch him—in a playful wrestling sort of way at least.

At the beginning she was intrigued with the boy, sought him out whenever she came over, even ignoring her dad in favor of the brunette. Now it seemed she was getting envious.

Derek really didn’t know what happened. He was petting the brunette’s head because he had finally managed to clean dishes without smashing at least one piece and learned that using the vacuum cleaner to mop up the puddles of water, as inventive as it had been, was not a good idea, when Malia walked in, froze on the spot but then threw herself bodily at them, pushing the older teen forcefully away, while she clung to Derek’s arm.

The werewolf just stood there, his hand still in the air where it had previously touched the other’s head.

The shutter of a camera pulled him out of his stupor and when he turned around he spotted Eric with his phone.

A second later the boy snarled in irritation at Malia, clinging to Derek’s other arm and pulling him away, but she just stubbornly pressed her face into the crook of Derek’s elbow.

The shutter went off again, followed by a choked laugh and a “Sorry, but not sorry.”

Derek rolled his eyes at all three of them, shook the leeches off and left for a walk in the preserve.

They followed him. Not really stealthily.

The teenagers were shoving each other, tripping over their own feet, kicking up foliage, snarling and growling as if they were actually communicating in that language. For all Derek was aware of, they were.

When Derek picked up the sound of four light feet on the ground, he knew Malia changed into her coyote form, which didn't help with the fighting at all. It made it worse and if Derek was right, it was because Malia was tripping Stilinski by running between his feet.

Derek ignored them.

He only turned around when he couldn’t hear their footsteps anymore, but instead vicious gekkering and howling. Rolling his eyes he turned around and found Malia completely human and naked struggling with the boy on the ground, pinning him down with a victorious smile.

The werewolf messaged his temple, feeling absolutely old, about to go in-between them, when the boy hooked one leg around the girl’s and twisted her around. They continued to roll in the foliage, leaves and small sticks stuck in Malia’s long blond hair and on the boy’s clothes. Derek went to collect Malia’s discarded clothes. When the teenagers finally stopped struggling with each other, breathless and panting heavily, Derek crouched down in front of them.

“You done?” he asked, throwing the clothes at the girl who was nodding with a brilliant smile. The boy smirked and both bumped each other with their shoulders, the nudges turning into painful shoves. Derek already expected them to start wrestling again, when Malia simply cuddled herself against the boy, who gave a short growl, but was too exhausted to do anything else.

Stilinski had developed some vicious bruises and scratch marks from stones in the ground and Malia’s long fingernails, more holes than usual in his clothes but he didn’t seem to care. Derek sighed in exasperation, heaved him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and ignored his pathetic struggles, while Malia walked next to them, one hand holding the brunette's.

The boy only scoffed at her, when she took it but something told Derek that he really didn’t mind that much.

“You have to be more careful,” the older werewolf told Malia as they all three sat on the tiles in the bathroom, Derek treating the human's wounds, ignoring his squirming and hissing every time he put ointment on the open scratch marks, but careful to avoid the bruises. “He doesn’t heal.”

Malia nodded.

“Okay,” she acknowledged, leaning her body sideways against Derek’s shoulder.

The man stopped in his treatment to pet her hair. Her head immediately snapped up, eyes and mouth wide open in wonder and admiration and confusion. “Go on, go,” she urged, when Derek stopped, lowering her head again and bumping it against Derek’s shoulder.

The boy snarled without any heat and then joined in petting the naturally curly now chaotically ruffled hair, picking branches, leaves and the occasional insect out of it.

Derek hoped this didn’t count as grooming.

He wouldn’t have felt comfortable explaining that to his parents.

Derek had published eight books. They were all illustrated short stories.

The first one was drawn for Malia. So were the next four.

The last three coped with his High School life.

It wasn’t Stilinski’s fault.

Not really.

Derek was sure he was trying to help.

In the months they had lived together with him he had changed remarkably, slowly re-learning everything he used to know. His natural curiosity and intelligence helping a lot.

The boy was smart, no doubt. He was a little manipulative bastard who used the Hales to guilt Derek into things he didn’t want to do. It was a pretty effective strategy, he had to admit. It didn't make it better. Whenever Derek was berating him for something he had done wrong—several times—he would let out pathetic yips, looking at him with big brown Bambi eyes and hunching his shoulders, the metaphorical tail between his legs.

There was always someone walking in on them in those moments, and Derek was about 99% sure they came in, because they could hear the yips. Whoever it was would look between them and tell Derek to stop grumbling and leave the poor kid alone, it wasn’t like he had been doing it on purpose. Which he had. He knew when someone tried to get out of cleaning duty by acting as inept as possible. Derek had perfected that art.

However, under the protection of the spell, no one could pick up Stilinski's emotions and the boy was pretty incredibly aware of that. He would smirk as soon as whoever Hale had walked in was gone, almost broadcasting smug pride with his expression.

Not that Derek or anyone else for that matter could feel or smell it.

So yes, the teenager had learned his way around the kitchen, had helped with dinner more than once and knew how to operate most of the machines by then, including the oven.

Derek had slept in that day, his family out of the house for work or school, when he woke up to the smell of burning fabrics. He was on alert immediately, sprinting down the stairs, following the stench into the kitchen. There were oven gloves on the hotplates, trapped under a frying pan. The boy was standing in front of the oven, panicking and screeching, holding his hand.

For a few brief seconds Derek saw Kate in front of his eyes, saw the living room in flames, his siblings coughing and unable to leave the house, saw Paige fighting her way through the fire to the front door, permanent scars on her body silent reminders of that hellish night, crazy laughter ringing in his ears and a constant chant of ‘burn, burn, burn’.

It took him longer than it should to get his bearings together but when he did, he pushed the boy out of the way, fetching the fire extinguisher from the sink.

Stilinski yelped, then jumped back.

Derek was working on auto-pilot, systematically putting the flames out. As soon as he was done, he promptly faced the boy, shouting and yelling and snarling. It wasn’t even that he was angry. Yet having that twisted flashback triggered something in him, something that felt suspiciously like panic, that needed an outlet. The brunette’s eyes were wide in fear and he clawed at Derek’s arms to pull away but the werewolf didn’t stop as he shook Stilinski at his shoulders, ignoring the other fighting against his grip. “What the hell were you thinking? You could have burned the whole damn house down! I don’t care what you were trying to do, don’t ever do that again!”

He was out of breath like he had just run a marathon, his hands cold and sweaty. As soon as Derek noticed, he let Stilinski go. The human stumbled to his feet and stormed off, leaving Derek to stare at the white stuff over the stove and on the floor.

He rubbed his temple, before he opened the window and then started to vacuum the dry powder, stopping when he looked at the contents of the frying pan, burned eggs and bacon. Sighing, he wondered if he could bribe Stilinski with curly fries again.

It took him nearly an hour. Mostly because he started to scrub the inside of the oven as well. He only did it in an attempt to stall the confrontation with the brunette boy, fully aware that he had been overreacting.

When he eventually returned to his room the closet door was closed.

Derek dropped down beside it.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, but the boy remained mute and Derek was wondering if he even heard him. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “Really am.” It took him a long time of quiet constant coaxing for the boy to open the door, but only his hand moved out, beckoning Derek inside. Which was when he saw the red angry marks against the pale skin. “Shit,” he cursed and bolted into the bathroom, rummaging through the cabinet under the sink for cold packs, running back as soon as he had found one. The door was closed again when he arrived but disregarding the silent rule they had established over the past few weeks, he yanked the door open, ignoring the surprised screech as he activated and then pushed the cooling devise into the boy's hand. He didn't wait for another reaction and just quickly closed the door with a belated “sorry”.

It wasn't even noon and he had already fucked the day up. Yet, before he could dive further into self-loathing the closet opened a few seconds later, the hand, now cooled, waving him in again. Derek furrowed his brow, but then followed the silent invitation. It was cramped, obviously, too small for two grown men. Their knees were touching when Derek crouched down, and he wondered how the boy had endured staying inside there for so long. Stilinski must have noticed his uncomfortable shifting, suddenly standing up and bending his head to avoid a collision with a hanger, then nudging Derek’s legs until the man got the hint and stretched them out.

The silence was even more uncomfortable and thanks to his night vision he could at least make out the frowning face of the boy, not even looking at him but just to the side, corners of his mouth pulled down, lips pressed together in obvious anger. Derek wasn't even sure what he was supposed to do here, but he knew the position must be uncomfortable, so he reached for the boy’s hand, tugging a little until Stilinski understood and settled down in his lap, leaning his back against Derek’s chest. After another second he wrapped Derek’s arms around his waist, overlapping and clasping their hands in front his stomach as his head rolled back on Derek’s shoulder, catching his eyes even though he shouldn’t see anything.

“There was a woman,” Derek started quietly in the darkness, and the boy blinked once, his brow furrowed in concentration, “who tried to burn down our house.” There was a sharp intact of breath but Derek wasn't sure if the boy really reacted to his words or simply to something else. Maybe he did understand most of the things they said. Derek opened his mouth, closed it again. Stilinski made a soft sound, caressing his fingers, like he was urging Derek to go on, the coldness of the ice pack settling down against his. “I found her in the preserve during Full Moon. She wasn’t supposed to be there. Unclaimed. Crying.” He spoke slowly, carefully, but the boy stayed patient in his arms, listening, rubbing his thumb over his hands and Derek leaned his chin on the teenager's shoulder

Derek had never known touch could be soothing.

“I knew something was wrong with her,” Derek admitted quietly. “I still brought her home.”

He went on, told him about how accepting his family had been, how everyone Derek had brought home had always turned out to be a perfect addition to the pack, how beautiful Kate had been, how innocent she had seemed. It wasn’t until after the fire that they found out her name was Kate Argent. After hearing her last name it suddenly made sense she hadn’t been claimed by any pack. That she had gone mental after her partner had been killed by a feral werewolf. Kate hadn’t sought out the Hale Pack. Derek had found her by accident and she had just used her opportunity for revenge even if Derek’s family had nothing to do with the accident.

For Kate, it could have been anyone.

Derek had never been much for talking, usually stayed quiet. Bur he felt safe in the closet, together with Stilinski and only surrounded by darkness and quiet breathing.

Maybe Derek could understand why Stilinski had spent his first weeks in this cramped place.

Usually, werewolves declared Not Safe For Public had to wear a pin with the abbreviation in three different colors, arranged in traffic light labeling system, Red for the cases that weren’t even allowed outside without an escort of at least two werewolves, usually for newly bitten ones and their first few months; Yellow for those that reacted only when provoked in some form, mostly by their trigger. They had to be in the company of at least one werewolf in open public places if they intended to stay longer and had to be shackled up at full moon and Green for those that were declared safe for public but still in the six month trial period. They only needed to be under supervision in highly emotionally stressful situations and needed to be with the pack at full moon.

Erica had swayed between red and yellow for a long time, until she finally mastered her shift.

Derek was a code black.

After the oven incident, Derek taught the boy how to cook.

He wasn’t the best teacher, and could only prepare simple dishes like spaghetti with meat balls, heating up instant soup, boiling potatoes. The basics. But even those didn’t taste well. They were good enough for Derek, but apparently insulting Stilinski’s fine taste buds if the exaggerated retching was any hint.

The man simply shoved him on the shoulder and the boy playfully boxed him in the upper arm, before he proceeded to devour the food that was not at all to his liking.

Derek had learned better manners and politely excused himself to the bathroom the first time he tasted something self-made by Stilinski. He didn’t know someone could mess up French toast, but there he was. Upon returning the brunette hung over the sink, coughing suspiciously and trying to scrape his tongue off with a spoon.

“Good?” Derek asked, his smugness not lost on the boy who glared daggers at him.

It ended in a food fight.

Derek wasn’t sure why everything always went down and resulted in a fight of some sort. The first time in the bathtub, it had been a bubble fight; they had the water fight when cleaning dishes, a pretty rough pillow fight Derek will never ever talk about, a rather gross dirty laundry fight, the unbelievably sticky silly string fight—and the alliteration was completely accidental—Derek still hadn’t figured out how Stilinski had gotten his hands on silly string but if Cora’s innocent face had been any hint he could make an educated guess.

They were still throwing food at each other when Eric walked in. He stopped abruptly the moment Derek froze mid-throw and a piece of burned toast hit him square in the face, courtesy of one gleefully laughing brat. Eric stared at them with huge eyes, then took a look around the room and backed out immediately. “This is the right house, isn’t it?” Derek could hear his brother ask out loud from the porch, before he returned to the kitchen, looking a little lost.

“Are you...,” the older brother started, pointing limply at Derek who finally took his arm down. “You know, you should clean this up. I’ll just,” his hand waved in the general direction of the fridge and without elaborating further he grabbed a cooled bottle of water and hurried out of the kitchen. Approximately ten seconds later he burst into gales of laughter.

Derek glanced at his partner in crime, who returned his glare and then they both looked around themselves, noticing the edible—or at least theoretically edible-chaos—and cringing at the mess they had made. When Stilinski tried to stealth his way out of cleaning duty, Derek stopped him by the hem of his shirt and pulled him in the direction of the mop.

Minutes later they were on their knees, both scrubbing sticky stuff from the tiles. Derek wasn’t sure what it was and how it had even gotten there in the first place, somehow suspecting it had been there months before the fight had started, when the boy suddenly did a sound like a hiccup and then a snort before he started to chuckle. It was the first human sound Derek had heard him do and he looked up in surprise. Stilinski looked at him, wide amused smile on his face.

Derek shook his head and returned to scrubbing the floor.

He quietly laughed along anyway.

Chapter Text

Cora’s nineteenth birthday was in mid July. Derek knew she was planing a big party somewhere out of town with her friends on the weekend. The day itself, a Wednesday, she wanted to spend with her family.

Derek was glad he didn’t have to endure her friends en masse. He could deal with them visiting every once in a while, when she had the attention span to keep them flocked together and not wandering around the house, steering them completely away from wherever Stilinski was residing. Cora had always been very sociable, much like her big sister in that regard. Contrary to Laura though, she kept her sociability even after the fire.

The Hales were used to visitors. But now with Stilinski around, they come by more often. Most of them only wanted to get a glance at the infamous ‘only’ survivor. Cora, being very aware of that, purposefully lead them away. Their visitors tried not to look all that disappointed when they left without seeing even a strand of his hair. Derek figured Cora’s friends were mostly alright, just a little loud and noisy. Among them, one girl named Danielle was the loudest Derek ever had the pleasure to deal with. And as it turned out, not at all to Derek’s surprise, the noisiest. She had been over more than once in the past, but she was suddenly getting lost strikingly frequent on her way to the kitchen or the bathroom.

It wasn’t that Derek was all that over-protective of Stilinski, but he was adamant to keep others from treating him like a freak show. The werewolf was certain that as soon as he got his complete humanity back, the brunette would have to deal with that kind of stuff more often, especially if he returned to town or school, where everyone would treat him like a weirdo.

As long as he could, Derek would protect Stilinski from that.

Therefore when Derek found the dark-skinned girl wandering the house in search of ‘the kitchen’ for the fourth time that day, he rudely kicked her out. Not literally, really. He just told her to leave. And maybe to never come back again. He may or may have not threatened her a little and Cora might have yelled at him.

Stilinski just watched from the library with big round eyes, confusion written all over his face, before he shrugged and went back to his nest.

In this regard, Derek was glad that Cora split her birthday and decided to throw the party somewhere else.

Very far away.

Wednesday morning started with the surprise of seeing his mom in the kitchen, baking a triple chocolate cheesecake and some cherry-vanilla muffins. For dinner she prepared Cora’s favorite dish - Beef Wellington. Derek never knew whether he liked it or not but it was there, therefore he would eat it.

Most of the day was spent keeping Stilinski’s curious and twitchy nose out of the kitchen, if Derek wasn’t busy with answering to his mother’s every beck and call. The brunette tried to camp out in front of the living room, but whenever the older man found him he brought him back to the library and sat him down in his nest. The pout wasn’t really lost on him, but Derek had other things to worry about.

The werewolf wasn’t sure if the boy knew what was going on, whether he could remember what a birthday was. Which sort of reminded him of Stilinski’s own birthday. Next year… Derek tried to push thoughts of next year out of his mind.

Their grandparents called from Madeira, Portugal an hour after Cora got home from school. Derek didn’t even know they were currently in Europe but Nonna and Nonno had always been the rather adventurous sort. After the mandatory pleasantries, congratulations and ‘Did you get our gift Cora? How did you like it?’ Nonna went straight over their heads and started to bug the assembled siblings with questions about potential mates. Nonno actually dragged a poor tentatively smiling man in front of their webcam and let him wink at Laura and Eric, while Derek just sort of hid behind the other two.

Cora of course was bathing in the safety of a ‘deep’ and ‘profound’ relationship with Isaac, enjoying the distress her older siblings had to suffer through. Derek tried not to hold it against her too much. He could still remember how smug Eric and Laura had used to be whenever Nonna and Nonno picked on Derek to finally find a cute wife for marriage and get lots of children’s whenever they had been in a relationship.

On the other hand, Derek had really gotten used to the diatribe, could even lip-sync it and, sometimes when Laura muted the tone to let them have three precious minutes of non-nagging silence, threw an ad-lib in. The three oldest Hales had all rather perfected the right timing for appropriate facial expression by just looking at Nonna’s wrinkles.

“What about that Paige girl?” the old man suddenly asked, “I always liked her.”

“She’s in a relationship,” Derek sighed for what felt like the millionth time.

“You can get out of a relationship. It’s not like they are married, is it?” Nonna argued, looking like it was a completely sane argument.

“They are engaged,” Derek elaborated.

“Break the engagement. Just tell her you love her and threaten to disembowel her fiancé. It worked for me,” Nonno said proudly, wrapping one arm around his wife to pull her into a tender hug, pressing a short kiss against her temple. Nonna blushed and giggled like a sixteen year old. It was disgustingly sweet.

Derek simply rolled his eyes, falling back against the backrest of the couch. He seriously couldn’t remember how many times they had this discussion and how often he had to explain that he did not have any feelings for Paige besides those of a sister. He was just about to start another explanation, because of course Laura and Eric were blissfully content with just letting Derek be the person of interest for once, when Stilinski decided to approach the TV and wave his hand into the camera above; leaning back in and out and smirking when he saw himself in the tiny corner on the lower left side, pointing his fingertip at the camera while simultaneously glancing at the tip in the caller window.

Cora laughed quietly at the display, when Derek got up from the couch to pull the brunette boy away from the camera. His grandparents and the unknown Madeiran watched curiously how Stilinski continued to wave at the device until the werewolf manhandled him down between his legs, arms wrapped around the middle to keep him locked.

“Who’s that?” Nonna asked pryingly, correcting her old glasses with a frown.

“Tony, our new pack member,” Cora replied easily, getting a growl when she tried to pull their heads together in an affectionate gesture. Instead she aborted the movement and acted like nothing happened.

Nonna pursed her lips.

“Awfully cuddly with Derek, isn’t he?” Nonno noted, leaning forward to squint at the boy.

“It’s more like the other way around,” Nonna assessed herself, putting a hand on her husband’s colorful tattooed shoulder to get a better look.

Both hummed in unison.

Derek just blinked in response, while his siblings hid their chuckles behind hands.

“His name’s Stilinski. He’s a pet,” Laura replied dryly, moved to pat the boy’s head, but stopped. “A little fierce, but that’s how Derek likes them.”

Derek glared at his sister.

There were situations when the man hoped calling his mother would help. Sadly, reality was that his grandparents had a tendency to undermine Talia’s maternal authority. A lot. Considering she wasn’t only their Alpha, but also their daughter. And anyway, Derek was pretty sure she would pretend to be dead just to avoid talking with her parents.

“Well then,” Nonna started, leaning back away from the camera. “I guess Derek’s finally on the right track.”

Derek didn’t know what it meant and he decided that he didn’t care, because his grandparents left him alone after that and only nagged on Eric and Laura for another few minutes until the conversation was steered away from the topic of potential mates and to the safer territory that was Cora’s party planning. The Madeiran, who Derek slightly suspected didn’t understand a single word that was spoken but was simply too scared to walk away, still stood next to them, completely forgotten.

Ada and Eugene Hale, respectively known as Nonna and Nonno to their grandchildren and, if it was any of their say, to their great-grandchildren, were a lovely old couple, with a dangerous love for extreme sports and traveling around the world on their faithful Ural motorcycle.

Eugene Hale, the previous Alpha, had taken over the pack at the age of twenty, after his parents died on a werewolf plague spreading in Beacon Hills at that time. He had spent forty years in Beacon Hills as the Alpha of the Hale pack. He met Ada during an Alpha convention in Missouri. She was the third daughter of a very influential Alpha from Washington. Ada was stunningly gorgeous, kind, shy but strong willed.

Both said it was love at first sight.

They spent the weekend talking late into the night, taking walks along the shore and at the end of the convention, Eugene asked Ada’s father for her hand in marriage. The man simply replied that he wouldn’t have to ask him, but Ada’s fiancé. Very manly growling, snarling, profiling and empty threats ensued. The engagement was broken, Ada moved to Beacon Hills and a year later Talia was born, followed by Peter.

They never talked about the child that didn’t make it to his first birthday.

The first thing Eugene Hale did as soon as he had given the Alpha status to his daughter was a dance in the nude that Derek still tried to bleach out of his memories. After that he grabbed his wife and they disappeared to whatever continent their motorcycle would bring them. They usually came back regularly, stayed for a few months, used the time to find partners for their grandchildren before the wanderlust got a hold of them again.

Ada and Eugene enjoyed their life to the fullest, something they weren’t able to do as long as they had been the Alpha pair, obligated to stay in their territory to watch over it. Before that, it had always been meetings, paper work and watching the pack.

Now they could do whatever they wanted.

So they did.

Derek tried to teach Stilinski the Alphabet after he found him using the mat puzzle Malia had stolen from her baby sister. They sat in the library under the bemused eyes of Peter while Derek pointed to the letters and formed the sounds.

“Let’s call it irony that you teach someone how to speak,” his uncle remarked with a smirk. “Though it’s better than his high screeching sounds.”

As if on cue the boy let out a scream-y something howl. Peter pulled a face in discomfort, too proud to clasp his hands over his ears, though. Derek was already used to the screechy noises, barely glanced at the boy who preened at him at Peter’s discomfort.

Derek chuckled.

His uncle raised an eyebrow. “Now that’s something I haven’t heard in a long time.” Derek ignored the words, but the older man petted his hair affectionately, quickly pulling his hand away when the boy snarled at him and tried to grab it.

“I think you have been claimed, nephew,” Peter chuckled in the light of the protective fierceness. “I always thought he was your pet. I guess it’s the other way around.” The man was still laughing when he left the library.

Derek looked at the boy in confusion, but Stilinski just eagerly smiled at him, pushing the ‘m’ puzzle part into his hand and impatiently waited for the pronunciation.

There were probably worse things than being owned by Stilinski, Derek assumed, ignoring the twitch of his lips as he looked down to pick up the ‘j’ and replaced it with the ‘m’.

“Jay,” Derek pronounced slowly.

The boy’s lips moved with the sound but he didn’t let out any noises. Like he was trying to get a feeling for the letters in his mouth.

“I don’t think he’ll be able to learn the Alphabet just yet. Many areas of his brain are still underdeveloped,” Deaton said on Friday after their bi-monthly inspections when Derek told him about Stilinski’s effort. The doctor switched a flip and the wide screen display on his wall came to life, showing several pictures, some full body, other’s just brain scans with different colors, some zoomed in to certain body parts.

“His temporal lobe,” Deaton continued, pointing the beam of a laser pointer to a green colored area in the brain, “is still in a rather primal state, which leads to several language malfunctions. Furthermore, his vocal cords are in the same position as an infant’s. Before a human can produce clear sounds, they have to migrate down.” Deaton pointed at a picture, zooming in to the boy’s throat, like Derek could actually see anything on there. “The hyoid is realigning itself to give better support to the tongue, henceforth allow a wider variety of sounds. He won’t be able to pronounce the letters correctly until he is physically ‘set’. And even then he has to wait until the brain has caught up with the healing process, meaning he also isn’t able to understand complex sentences just yet. If he understands anything at all.”

“Dinner, food, book. Simple words.”

Deaton nodded once. “He learns by associating sounds with objects or ideas. It doesn’t mean he understands what you tell him.”

Derek looked confused. “His reactions are spot on.”

Deaton smiled almost benevolently at him. “I believe he learned to read and interpret body language and facial expressions to communicate with you. His dorsolateral prefrontal and lateral orbifrontal are fully functional. They are responsible for planning and social behavior, even though,” the doctor watched Stilinski play around with pencils, two of them stuffed up his nose, “his current behavior doesn’t suggest as much.” Deaton returned his attention back to Derek with a shrug. “He might seem like he understands you, but his brain isn’t healed enough to make it possible.”

“So he doesn’t understand anything.”

The older man looked up from the scans before he opened three other’s files. “It’s healing,” he repeated, pointing at a blue and lilac blur of something that seemed to get smaller from left to right. “Have you ever heard of Aphasia? Or Dysarthria?” Before Derek could shake his head in negation, the man continued. “Dysarthria results from an injury of the motor-speech system. It makes articulation of phonemes difficult. In his case impossible. Aphasia impairs both expression and understanding of language as well as reading and writing. His brain heals faster than his body does. He will be able to fully understand and comprehend what you tell him at some point, but articulation might still be a problem for a while. Or maybe the other way around. I advice you to stop teaching him further. It will only lead to frustration and he doesn’t need the added stress. You may however try to teach him writing. He won’t be able to use the letters correctly however, his motor memory will memorize the movement, which will hopefully help later on.”

Derek watched Stilinski doodling with the pencils now on the white paper towels, ripping holes into them when he used too much pressure. “So how long will this take?”

“We can’t make an educated estimation. In terms of complexity, his brain should heal slower, but we believe the spell puts more energy into restoring the brain than the body. Of course, it simultaneously works on restoring the body as well, which in change heals faster. But those aren’t the only areas still healing. The occiptal lobe is still under further development, meaning he is color blind, maybe night blind, maybe he can only see in blurs, or maybe he has an exceptionally good night vision. It’s difficult to tell without being able to verify. We had several neurologist try to talk to him, but he ignored all of them. You said you think he was a fox?”

Derek nodded once.

“It’s possible. After a few tests we found out that his retinas are dominated by rods. Humans have the fovea with 100% cones, which he lacks. Rods cannot detect color or produce images as sharp as the cone cells but they are much more sensitive and function better in low light. Furthermore, he has a reflective layer behind the retina. Maybe you have noticed his eyes sometimes glowing in the dark? That’s the tapetum lucidum. It reflects light back onto the retina, doubling the chance for night active animals to see something. It’s the reason why pictures of werewolves tend to get blurry around the eyes, too. His pupils are exceptionally large as well, compared to a human’s. And distinctly elliptical, which is common for foxes. The reflective layer however is thinning and we noticed an increase of cones.”

Derek listened to Deaton seemingly lost in explanation and hoped he didn’t have to retell any of this to his family. Maybe he should have taken notes.

“Additionally the entorhinal cortex and hippocampus exhibit some deficiency which affects his long-term-memory. Physically, some of his bones are narrower than usual, limb bones are much lighter. We found an astounding level of osteoblasts, which are usually only found in children. Furthermore his stomach is proportionately half as large as a humans, which is why he has to eat more frequently but in smaller portions.”

“He used to overeat at the beginning,” Derek remembered, looking at the boy.

Deaton hummed in understanding.

“Does that mean we starved him,” the werewolf asked because Deaton didn’t seem to catch the implication.

“Derek, I don’t think he even had three meals a day before you found him.” The doctor shook his head before Derek could start to argue, short of putting a hand on the werewolf’s shoulder, but instead returned his attention back to the screens. “There are further indications that your assumption that he used to be a fox is right. But just like everything else, they are changing and shifting and he’s returning to a human body.”

“So how long?” Derek asked again.

“Estimated from the speed he has been healing in the past fifteen weeks, body and brain, about a year.”

Derek clenched his jaw.

“He’s healing, Derek. That’s good news.”

“Yeah, it is,” he replied with a wry smile.

Most humans were only claimed, because all they wanted was protection from werewolves during the days of the full moon.

Being a marked human or a werewolf, in the latter case no matter whether marked or not, was a little tricky. They held more power in a pack, had rights to vote against an Alpha’s decision, had a better standing in society, easier to make careers, get into prestigious colleges. Chances got better the more influential, exceptional or reputable a pack was.

As big as the Whittemore pack was, they were known to accept many. The Mahealanis were too placid. The Martins were rather elite and picky, but quite popular and everybody knew that Lydia was going to be be a great Alpha—werewolf or not—and bring the pack even further to the top.

Actually, the Hales were a little too eccentric to be considered reputable. There were three reasons they still were. First, the Hales were an outstanding family fighting for human and werewolf equality rights since the first Risings, were even said to have instigated the human riots against werewolf tyranny in 1726 in Ireland and thus were forced to flee to France, then Germany and lastly America, where they continued to inspire the sense to fight for equal rights. Which was what made the humans respect them.

Second, the family line could be traced back for centuries and was said to originate from one of the first True Alphas known to man, therefore one of the first werewolf packs, which lead to reason three: they were one of the few bloodlines who could still shift into real wolves. An ability washed out in many clans due to several different factors. Earlier in the day, when Alpha Challenges still lead to death, bitten started to overpower born ones, bloodlines began to wash out, and True Alphas had been hunted.

It used to be a wide spread rumor—kill a True Alpha and you will receive their power. Eat a True Alpha’s heart and you will live a long life. Drink a True Alpha’s blood and you will be indestructible. Being from an old line and having full shifting abilities made the Hales powerful, valuable, a treasure to be protected, made their opinion matter.

Being marked by such a clan, or be born into the Hale family, no matter human or wolf, made them desirable to other people, human and werewolf alike. A marked Hale pack member was said to lead an easy life with no social boundaries. Fact was, being marked by Talia Hale came with giving your life to the Hales and their Alpha’s wishes. It meant leading a life bounded to a pack, that wouldn’t accept anyone who wasn’t to their liking.

It restricted your social life more than many might believe.

Paige was the first to learn what it meant, when she had been nineteen and dating a werewolf from the Whittemore pack. Talia said she couldn’t stand the scent on her, couldn’t accept him into her house or into Paige’s life. With the scent of another Alpha clinging so strongly to someone who belonged to her pack, Talia was fighting the urge to bit the girl's head off. The couple didn’t even last a week.

Marked ones from different clans, or werewolves from different clans dating never ended well.

It wasn’t Stilinski’s fault. Technically, it was Malia’s.

But after just a few months the shirts and trackies Derek had bought for the brunette were all ruined, with large holes in sleeves and pants, and on some more memorable occasions, completely torn apart—thanks to Malia’s sharp coyote teeth and claws.

“You need to go shopping,” Laura stated, leaning against the door frame of the bathroom while Derek stared incredulous at the scraps in his hands. He suspected some had been purposefully destroyed because they weren’t to the boy’s liking, but this, this was utterly ridiculous. Not even Malia’s clothes looked like that when she was done with them.

“I guess,” Derek replied, rubbing his temple.

“Take him with you.”

The werewolf froze in his movement, before he slowly and deliberately turned to stare at his sister. “What?”

“You heard me. Take him with you,” she repeated. “You can take your entourage with you if you think he is going to run away.”

“Why?”

“He needs to get outside, Derek.” He opened his mouth. “And no,” Laura soldiered on, “the preserve doesn’t count. You know he has adapted well. I sometimes even see him sparring with Braeden and if that’s not some kind of miracle I don’t know what is. Now it’s time to get him used to sane people.”

Derek knew he couldn’t lock Stilinski up all day, couldn’t keep him away from town for forever and maybe it really was worth a trial run. With a defeated sigh, he nodded once and threw the torn shirts into the bin.

“I’ll come with you,” Cora offered from her room. “I have to buy… stuff anyway.”

Derek wasn’t surprised. His little sister always had to buy something.

Rolling his eyes, Derek agreed and haggled the Mansory from his dad to fit everyone inside, because of course Malia and Eric wanted to tag along. He was surprised Laura didn’t offer but then again, Stilinski still didn’t feel comfortable around her so she was probably being considerate.

Derek threw the car key at Eric before settling down in the passenger seat, with the younger three in the backseat. Stilinski was excited, eyes wide and glassy in wonder and awe as they finally left the preserve for what felt like the first time in years, neglecting that one time he had brought the boy to the hospital in a frenzy.

Malia and Cora had the brunette between them in the middle, thankfully keeping him from squeezing through the gap to the front seats and on Derek’s lap.

When they reached the mall he wasn’t really surprised to spot the puppy trio, waving cheerfully at them. Derek had seen Cora typing text messages faster than light speed, probably telling them to come as well.

“Shirts, pants, underwear, shoes, nothing more,” Derek said when they all left the car, Malia holding the brunette’s wrist in a tight grip, while he let his eyes dart around curiously, walking left, then right before getting pulled back by the girl. “Maybe a book.”

“What about socks?” Cora asked just to be a pain.

Derek rolled his eyes. “That’s underwear.”

“It’s really not.”

“I want ice cream,” Malia interrupted the pointless argument. “Oh, do you think he has ever eaten ice cream before? Can we get ice cream?”

“Yes,” Eric fueled the fire dryly, “can we get ice cream, pretty, pretty please with a cherry on top?”

Derek squinted his eyes at his older brother and tried to figure out whether he really wanted a cherry on top of his ice, while simultaneously not looking like he had any deeper thoughts about that matter.

A few minutes into the mall, Derek already sincerely regretted not keeping a leash on Stilinski. He was just glad that Malia was better than any hound dog in tracking the boy down whenever he suddenly stopped walking and henceforth got lost—four times already. Eventually his cousin had enough. She draped herself around the older boy’s left arm, shoving him against Derek’s side and successfully sandwiching him between them.

“This is uncomfortable,” Derek stated when the boy rolled his eyes, before latching himself on Derek’s arm. It didn’t make navigating through the crowd any easier. Erica and Cora walked in front of them, chatting quickly and quietly, while Eric, Boyd and Isaac stayed behind them. Derek tried to ignore that they were actively shielding them from some of the looks they received.

It was in vain. Derek would always notice them, would always hear the whispers no matter how loud someone suddenly started talking right into his ear. He didn’t tell them, accepting the gesture as what it was, a sign that they cared. Erica sometimes was snapping her fangs at someone, shaping her mouth into a wide grin whenever the person jumped back in fear.

When Erica was turned because of her seizures, the blond girl had suffered a lot. She had been unable to find an anchor and control her shift. Now she was better than many born werewolves, but her habit of shifting whenever she felt like it had earned her several instances of testing under the watchful eyes of the Argents. Derek should tell her to stop threatening people, just because they were badmouthing him.

Derek wanted to drag Stilinski into Macy’s considering that his clothes would only end up in shreds anyway, but Cora insisted on buying him at least one decent piece of clothing. She wanted to take pictures and she wanted the boy to look nice in them and not like a hoodlum. Just because that look worked for Derek, didn’t mean it did for everyone.

Derek wasn’t sure whether that was an insult or a compliment.

In the end, they still ended up at Macy’s and Derek seriously had some difficulties keeping his comments at bay. The sulky glare Cora was giving him and the fact that most of the more expensive stores had kicked them out because Stilinski felt the need to touch everything stopped him effectively, though.

“Let him choose,” Cora ordered as soon as they entered. “Cas probably still has better taste than you.”

“You have been naming him after TV shows?” Derek asked. He might have missed Dean, Sam, Jack, Tony, Sheldon or any of the other dozen names she had come up with, but not even Derek could miss Castiel.

“I can’t believe the trackies you bought him,” his sister ignored the questions.

“They were comfortable,” Derek argued back. “He would have dropped his pants after ten minutes if they had been jeans.”

“And it’s difficult to get grass stains out of denim,” Malia added helpfully, obviously speaking out of experience.

Derek waved at her in a what-she-said gesture.

“Fine,” Cora caved, throwing her hands in the air. “But he at least gets one piece he chooses, okay?”

Derek tried to remember how far he could over-check his account.

After Cora tried to teach Stilinski how to shop—while constantly earning herself condescending glares as if he was trying to convey that he did know how to do that—though prior experience showed that no, he did not—the boy went on his merry way through the men’s department. Malia close on his heels to make sure he wasn’t going to trip and pull down whole displays, while Derek followed close on both their tails in the likely event that Malia got distracted by chewing on the authentic leather while the boy built nests out of shirts.

Watching them in the store was almost surreal. Apart from the sounds the boy made to communicate he was mostly completely human in his behavior. He walked tall on both legs—though stumbled would be more accurate—thought like a human, acted like a human, understood what they wanted and could react accordingly, while being a total brat about it. He was just unworldly, lacking a certain amount of common sense, though whether that was related to the curse or simply the boy, Derek didn’t know. But looking like this, strolling down the aisles, flipping through clothes, he looked perfectly normal.

The boy chose checkered gray shirts, one dark red hoody—Derek wasn’t sure but he thought he had caught the boy smirking devilishly at him when he decided on it—and two pairs of jeans. Derek shrugged, when the boy proudly presented his findings and wanted to usher him to the cashier, but Cora was faster, steering them towards the changing rooms.

“Derek, you have to see if it fits,” she lectured him.

“It fits,” Derek replied confidently.

His little sister rolled her eyes and then pushed Stilinski, who still had a tight grasp on Derek’s shirt, into the fitting room, dragging the werewolf along before unceremoniously closing the curtains behind them. The changing cabin was far too small for two and he didn’t know why the boy insisted they both cramped in there. After a few seconds of awkward staring on Derek’s part, Stilinski artlessly stripped down and Derek had to stop him from dropping his underwear, too.

“You done?” Cora asked from outside.

“Almost,” Derek replied, watching as the teenager fiddled with the buttons. He slapped the younger one’s hands away and buttoned the jeans, zipping up, figuring the teenager could learn that when they were not in a changing room. After that Derek pushed him out through the curtains.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” the girl stated and Derek followed Stiles out, noticing Cora eyeing the boy appreciatively, while Malia simply furrowed her brow. Erica tapped her pointer finger against her blazing red lips, before crossing her arms in front of her chest. “He doesn’t look as ratty as before, but I think we can do better.”

There was a sudden glimmer in Cora’s eyes and Derek felt his stomach drop.

He knew that look. This look didn’t bode well.

Derek instantly wished he was with the other three men. They had walked off to the arcade halfway through their clothing store marathon and even if Derek understood next to nothing about video games it would still be better than being trapped with the fashion police.

It was a matter of minutes until they had turned the boy into a living, breathing dressing doll, coming up with different styles. Derek dropped down on the chairs for disgruntled, waiting boyfriends and husbands, while Stilinski was forced to change into whatever the girls were throwing at him. Malia had chosen a cowboy outfit once, just for the laughs. Derek could admit the pictures they took were hilarious.

At least Derek would be able to tell, how long Stilinski would play along before he snapped, the deepening scowl and crinkle between his eyes a dead giveaway about the younger one’s level of irritation.

The moment came with a ridiculous witch Halloween costume.

Before Erica even had the chance to force the brunette into the frilly dress Derek stepped in and reminded them it was time for ice cream. The costume was thrown at a watchful clerk, Derek paid for the clothes—along with the black nondescript cheap shirts and brown trackies the boy could tear whenever he wanted—and Cora hauled Stilinski right back into the fitting room.

After a bit of shuffling and yelling and whining, he emerged clothed in tight jeans and a skin-fitted white button up shirt Cora had picked out and must have paid before they had started their little fashion show. She purposefully left a few buttons at the top open, the shirt untucked and his hair stylishly tousled.

“No,” Derek dead-panned.

“What do you mean no?” Cora asked perplexed.

Derek waved at the boy’s everything. The jeans that hung too low on his hips, far too tight to be comfortable, the tight-fitting shirt. Everything was just so … so formfitting.

“His jeans are uncomfortable.”

Malia nodded her agreement.

“What are—”

“And tight.”

“Have you seen yourself?” Erica asked from his side. “Your jeans are tight.”

Malia skeptically gave Derek a once over. And then nodded again.

“I’m used to them,” Derek reasoned pathetically.

“He will, too,” Cora countered, getting herself a dirty glare from Stilinski when she tried to hug his arm to her chest. Instead, the boy walked over to Malia and Derek and offered his arms to them, turning around to stick his tongue out in petulant retaliation. Malia attached herself immediately to the biceps. Derek rolled his eyes, about to stalk away but was caught by the brunette, who slung his arm around his waist.

“Out. All of you,” Derek finally growled.

They fetched the other three men from the arcade, where Isaac and Eric were dancing to Mambo No. 5 on Dance Evolution with a precision that suggested it wasn’t the first time, while Boyd was busy shooting zombies. The noise from the arcade was a little too much for the suddenly twitchy brunette, so Derek and Malia waited outside with him until Cora and Erica emerged with their respective others, Eric in tow, and they sat down in the far corner of the only ice-cream parlor.

The pack decided on their choice of sin faster than Derek could open the menu to even see what they offered. He frowned at them, but they ignored him, engaging in lively discussions about clothes and school and hidden caves and running tracks. Derek was always surprised to see how well Malia and Boyd got along, how well Eric, albeit quite a few years older, fitted into the group consisting of teenagers. And Derek. Though he didn’t really count.

“What do you want?” he asked Stilinski, who vibrated like he was on too much caffeine, eyes flicking around, curious, attentive. At his words, they stopped on Derek’s face, then his fingers where the man held the menu open for him to see.

Wordlessly, Stilinski tapped on the biggest sundae on the page.

“You sure?”

The boy simply glowered at him, which sort of wasn’t doing that much for him in terms of annoyance. After terrorizing the waitress with unique and confusing orders until Eric eventually quieted everyone down and then took it upon himself to calmly state their order, Stilinski stopped shifting around, watching each of the faces on the table tentatively, before pressing closer to Derek’s side. If someone noticed, they thankfully kept it to themselves. Derek hesitated a moment before he took the hand pressing against his thigh into his own, squeezing it once before letting it go again.

It was enough though.

The brunette finally started to relax.

Derek didn’t join the conversation, wasn’t expected to. He was content with simply listening to them happily chatting, sometimes fighting over whatever topic, mostly music. For whatever reason, none of them shared the same taste. One going for dubstep, another for classic rock or twentieth-century pop. Derek couldn’t be bothered. But when he glanced at Stilinski next to him, he noticed the teenager worrying his lips, like he was keeping himself actively quiet. There was something in his eyes that told Derek he wanted to join in, that there were things he wanted to say but then the brunette pressed his lips together, pulling the corner of his lips down before he slumped back against the bench.

Derek nudged him with his elbow once, jerking his chin in the direction of the group.

The boy just shrugged.

Derek softly kicked his foot under the table.

Stilinski returned the kick. And then laughed tonelessly.

The waitress arrived with the big sundae first, eyeing the huge portion and then the lanky brunette boy, before she mumbled something about freaking werewolves and their freaking metabolism. No one tried to correct her as she marched off, grumbling how she couldn’t even eat one scoop without gaining five pounds.

The boy was blessedly oblivious to the self-conscious fit of the poor girl he had just sent into a complex as he shoveled one big spoon into his mouth before anyone could stop him. The teenager suddenly froze, grimacing and rubbed his temple.

“It’s cold,” Derek pointed out, got a glare for his effort in response. “Eat slowly.”

Stilinski brandished his spoon around in front of Derek, opening his mouth before closing it again. Derek realized that the brunette hadn’t so much as let out a playful snarl. Maybe he was aware that the snarling and growling wasn’t usual, that he would attract attention that way, that people would look at him like he wasn’t normal.

Malia, who was sitting to Stilinski’s other side bumped their shoulders together then frowned at him. He replied with a smile she mirrored. It was probably enough to soothe Malia, as she immediately fell back into conversation with Boyd about the best ways to disembowel fish with only their claws.

Derek didn’t even want to know.

The boy continued to eat—slowly now—enjoying the dessert if his beaming face was anything to go by. When the rest of the order arrived they all dug in, Cora spitting halfway across the table when Isaac made her laugh and Stilinski protectively shielded his sundae. Which just made Cora laugh even more. It was quiet and fun and the most comfortable Derek had ever felt in public for a while. Which of course was the reason something had to come up.

“Oh fuck,” Isaac hissed and Derek looked up. “Douche-bag alarm at three o’clock.”

Derek followed his eyes, barely suppressing a groan when he spotted Danny Mahealani, Lydia Martin and, the biggest douche of all time, Jackson Whittemore heading their way. Their steps were purposeful, so they knew the Hale Pack was there. Considering how loud everyone around the table had been, it probably wasn’t such a big surprise.

It wasn’t a secret that the three teenagers were good friends. Which would please most of the werewolves, if it wasn’t for the fact that Lydia and Jackson were dating, everyone either feared a messy break up tearing a deep rift between the families or, worst according to many, a collaboration.

Derek doubted Lydia was stupid enough to ever bring the two families together though.

“Hey,” Danny greeted, all smiles and dimples as he stole a chair from a random table and dropped down between Cora and Isaac. “Haven’t seen you in a while, Derek,” he addressed him then waved at the rest of the table. “And you bunch I have seen more often than I’d like.”

“That’s my line,” Cora replied, slapping him lightly on the shoulder before greeting Lydia with a nod.

“So that’s him?” Jackson asked without addendum, glaring directly at Stilinski. “The cursed freak or whatever?”

Derek narrowed his eyes at the Alpha, while the boy tensed beside him, then stared defiantly back at Jackson.

“Still has better manners than you,” Eric replied carelessly.

As an Alpha, Jackson was supposed to be a role model, should be above petty fights and insults. But whenever Derek was concerned, he wasn’t. The man knew it was a personal thing, that it had nothing to do with the Hale Pack in general or with Stilinski but simply with Derek. If Derek thought it would help, he would have offered fake apologies years ago.

There were times Derek wondered why there wasn’t a law constituting that dickheads shouldn’t be allowed into roles of responsibility. Hadn’t history shown what a bad idea it was to let someone like Jackson lead a pack? Derek in all honesty didn’t know how the prick had even become the Alpha, apart from the fact that he was obviously competent enough in fighting to win against his father.

Derek could only come up with two reasons why the Whittemore werewolves and marked ones had chosen not to vote against Jackson as soon as the winner had been announced: firstly, birds of a feather flock together and secondly, considering that the young Alpha did keep the pack stable he must do something right which lead most of the Whittemore pack to overlook his degeneration into petulant teenager when confronted with Derek Hale. Probably. How exactly Jackson kept control over the amount of werewolves and humans, Derek didn’t know but he strongly suspected dark magic.

“He’s cute,” Danny continued, ignoring the cold war going on around him. “Wakes the puppy sense in you, right?”

Stilinski opened his mouth, but before any sound could come over his lips, Derek nudged him against the side. Confused, the boy glared at him but he simply shrugged and when the brunette was about to return his attention back to the unwanted table guests, Derek unceremoniously pushed a spoon with strawberry ice-cream between his lips. For a split second, the teenager looked affronted but after he swallowed, his whole face lit up and he practically tore the spoon out of the werewolf’s hand and continued to eat Derek’s ice cream.

The man rolled his eyes in annoyance, but then pushed his bowl closer to the brunette, fighting the quirk of his lips at the content sounds from the younger one.

It took him a moment to notice the sudden lack of bickering as background noise, and when he turned to see what the silence was about, the three intruder’s eyes were on him, while his pack looked anywhere but to them. “What?” Derek growled, squinting at everyone in confusion.

“Who would have known. Derek Hale is a human,” Jackson sneered. “What a surprise. Well, we all know you weren’t a werewolf, but I always suspected something along the line of robot instead.”

There was the sound of wood scraping on the floor when the pack got up at the same time, giving tiny threatening growls, which were answered with Alpha red. And then Stilinski lunged over the table before Derek could even stop him. They all watched in stunned silence when the gangly teenager threw himself against Jackson and pushed him to the ground, hissing and snarling into his face. However before the Alpha got his bearings back together, Derek rushed over to pull Stilinski off.

The boy turned his head around, to snarl or growl or screech at Derek, but the man simply clamped a hand over his mouth.

“That little—”

“Jackson,” Lydia interrupted her boyfriend, smiling sweetly and in a completely terrifying way. “You better get prepared for a lot of challenges after this.” With that said, she gave a curt nod at the rest of the table and then spun around, walking off in high heels even Laura would be too scared to wear.

Danny reached out, offering to lift his friend up, but Jackson just growled at him before he pushed himself into standing again and stormed off.

“This is getting annoying,” Danny offered, still a ray of sunshine despite his words.

Derek didn’t react, was more concentrated on Stilinski then anything else going on. He could feel the boy’s heartbeat hammering against his palm splayed over the chest, could feel the harsh breaths against his hand.

“Calm down,” Derek whispered.

After a moment, the brunette did. And in all his bratty glory, Stilinski started to lick his palm. Derek could barely contain the disgusted expression when he removed the hand, whipping it on his jeans.

“You set us up,” Derek said, when he entered the house and marched right into Laura’s room.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, flipping through a magazine.

“You know they would be there.”

“Define ‘they’,” she said, closing the Us Weekly to throw it at a pile on the floor, spinning around in her chair to face her brother.

“Danny Mahealani, Jackson Whittemore and Lydia Martin.”

“Oh, I think there was some sort of meet and greet or something like that,” Laura said with wide innocent eyes. Derek wasn’t buying any of this.

“Just tell me why.”

Laura sighed. “They made an appeal to Deucalion,” she explained, spinning on her chair once before stopping a frustrated sigh.

“Who did?”

“The Whittemores. They want him in their pack. They went so far as to claim we were mistreating Stilinski by locking him in our house. I got a call at work. Can you believe that? So I thought it would be best if they see you together. Was he well behaved?”

“He attacked Jackson.”

Laura’s eyes widened in surprise and then her face did something like she wasn’t sure whether to be proud, appalled or amused. It was the most he had seen her make in the split of a second. “How come?”

“Jackson was an asshole.”

The dark-haired woman snapped her head up, a smirk on her lips. “Nothing new than really. I guess he’s still pissy about the kanima incident?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “That’s just a story.”

Laura dropped her mouth open. “Derek. You were the one who caught him. You know it’s not just a ‘story’.” The man replied by shrugging. “Anyway, the only reason he’s giving you a hard time is because of that. You are one out of, what? Three people who saw him like that? He just wants to make your life difficult because of that.”

“I know,” Derek replied.

“But we won’t let him. And we won’t let him put a hand on Stilinski, too.”

Derek nodded, and went to his room on the other side of hall. When he entered the boy was nowhere in sight, but the jeans Cora had bought him was discarded on the floor, so was the shirt. Derek sighed, picked up the clothes and threw them in the laundry basket at his door. He was ready to pass out and he wasn’t even sure why. It wasn’t like they had done anything exhausting.

Walking around to his bed he finally spotted Stilinski, who was busy spreading his new bought clothes on the sheets, draping some of Derek’s shirts over them.

“No,” Derek stated immediately.

The boy looked up proudly, gesturing for Derek to get into bed.

The thing was, Derek wouldn’t mind getting his scent all over the other boy’s clothes. Especially considering that his scent clung to the brunette anyway seeing how close they were. But this was like the boy was asking Derek to mark him as his own. And that was not going to happen. With another heavy sigh and a why-me-expression, Derek collected all the clothes, including his own, and left for the bathroom. Stilinski followed close to his heels, confusion written all over his face. Derek put the clothes into the washing machine, ignoring the brunette’s pout, then took his hand and lead him back to the bed.

Jackson Whittemore was bitten when he had been seven or eight. Reasons unknown, but speculations had been running wild. Especially when he apparently didn’t take to the bite. Derek had been close to fourteen back then.

It was purely accidental that Derek stumbled over a reptilian something that started to hiss and tried to attack him. It wasn’t fast and still uncomfortable in its own body which was probably the only reason Derek could avoid the following attack and pin it down, growling until help arrived.

His mother showed up five minutes later, knew exactly what the reptile was and that it could answer to an Alpha’s demand in the beginning stages. She challenged the weird thing, her eyes burning red, growling and snarling until the creature shrieked.

Turned out underneath all the scales and vicious hissing was a little boy.

Ever since then, Jackson sort of had an one-sided feud with Derek.

Not that Derek really cared.

The werewolf wasn’t even sure what had been so bad about the whole thing. Of course it was swept under the rug, that Jackson was some kind of weird reptilian creature with a poison that could apparently paralyze prey.

There were rumors going around, as always, but Derek kept quiet and Jackson, previously avoiding Derek like the plague just became nastier with every year. His mother explained that he had a lot to deal with, that Derek shouldn’t take it personally.

He never really did.

Because Jackson was simply an asshole.

Derek had been waiting patiently for the knock on the door for a couple of minutes now. So far, it had taken the girl so long, he had time to boil water for some tea, prepare said tea and spill half the herbs on the ground, sweep them up and dump them in the trash and then drink it absentmindedly, deliberately not listening to the loud monologue the stranger was having with herself.

When she finally did knock, Derek was almost surprised. He had been in the kitchen, cleaning his cup, already given up on her taking action. When he opened the door, the girl was already half way back to her car, visibly cringing and then stopping before turning around to face him.

“Oh, hey,” she greeted, raising her hand in a shallow wave.

Derek stared blankly back at her, tilting his head slowly to the side. “Yes?”

She stuttered for a few seconds, before she finally took a deep breath, balling her hands into fists. “My name’s Heather. Heather... Custer and I... is... anyone home?”

“Anyone who is not me?” Derek asked, raising his eyebrows.

The girl blushed furiously as she stared to the ground. “I... I’m not all that involved with pack business.”

“I can tell.”

Derek didn’t know the girl, couldn’t even remember seeing her even once in his life and though she only smelled faintly of other werewolves it was certainly not his mother’s scent.

“I... I don’t know. You’re the only one like, you know, that here.”

“NSFP,” Derek supplied in case she had forgotten the abbreviation.

“Yeah, that. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do or avoid... what, you know, so, sorry. I’ll just come back... later.”

Derek watched her shifting on her feet, eyes stubbornly to the ground. He sighed quietly in annoyance. The blonde must have heard him anyway, because she abruptly spun around to rush back to her car. The door was halfway open and Derek already back in the house, when she suddenly came around.

“Actually, maybe you can tell me.”

Derek stopped and walked back out to the porch, hands stuck in his pockets as he expectantly raised his eyebrows. “I heard... I heard he’s here. Stiles is here.”

Derek furrowed his brow.

“I grew up with him. We know each other from nursery school. We… used to be friends before... before they suddenly disappeared.”

It felt like something hit Derek in the face, when he finally realized who the girl was talking about. A little like time was stopping while the name tried to fester in his brain. “Stiles,” he repeated, the sound unfamiliar on his tongue.

“Stiles Stilinski,” the girl repeated again, taking one hesitant step forward. “Back then he used to call himself Stiles. I’m not sure if he still goes by that name?"

Style. Stiles.

His mom almost got it right.

“What was your name again?” Derek asked, jutting his chin.

“Heather Custer,” the girl replied, obviously surprised about the question.

Derek watched her for a moment. He couldn’t spot a lie on her, he was fairly sure she was telling the truth. “Yes. He’s here,” he finally acknowledge.

The girl slammed the door of her car shut immediately. “I want to see him,” she said, determinedly now, nervousness gone in the blink of an eye. “Take me to him.”

Derek squinted at her, before he turned around and headed into the house, leaving the door open. The girl followed tentatively, before her steps grew firmer as she stepped into the house after a short moment of hesitation. Derek lead her into the library, where Stilinski was standing in front of one of the shelves, staring up at them like he was contemplating climbing up to get at whatever book he wanted. Derek would have to show him the ladder sooner or later. It was an accident waiting to happen.

Heather next to him choked quietly on something, and suddenly moved to hurry over but Derek held her back. She looked up at him in confusion but didn’t fight his hold.

“Stiles,” Derek called out slowly.

The boy froze, before he slowly and deliberately turned to look at Derek. The girl’s heart next to him was hammering in her chest as she cupped her hands over her mouth. Stilinski looked at her once, before his eyes glanced back to Derek, an emotion in his eyes the werewolf couldn’t decipher.

“Stiles?” Derek tried again, not sure if it really was his name. Until the trapped look on the boy’s face was wiped by a wide dazzling smile. Suddenly everything went into movement. Heather broke away from his hold the same moment Stilinski suddenly rushed towards them.

Instead of falling into each other’s arms though the brunette bypassed the girl and before Derek could blink, he had a bundle of Stilinski in his arms, legs wrapped tightly around his waist, arms almost suffocatingly tight around his neck.

“Okay,” Derek breathed after he got his bearings back, huffing out a surprised breath. “Stiles.” And the name was still strange and unfamiliar on his lips, but it made the boy’s face practically glow. There was a tactful cough after a moment of silence and Derek’s shoulders tensed, before he finally put the complaining boy down to face the girl in front of them.

“He doesn’t recognize me,” she stated without emotion.

Derek shrugged in reply.

Stiles loved when they said his name.

So the Hales made sure to tag it at the end or the beginning of every sentence they directed at him, even when the teenager knew he was being talked to. They stopped eventually after they noticed how ridiculous the conversations became.

“We should have gone and talked to the Martin pack directly,” Laura established at the dinner table after Derek had told everyone what had happened. “Why didn’t we?”

“Yeah. It would have spared us weeks of putting up fliers and months of giving him whatever random name popped up in our heads.”

“You were the only one who did that, Cora,” Derek replied dryly.

“It’s been almost nine years,” their mother started. “I don’t think Natalie even knows any of her underlings.”

“Pack members,” Eric corrected her with a frown.

“Minions,” Talia amended.

Eric rolled his eyes. “You know we are the only ones not in their little circle? Danny Mahealani is Jackson Whittemore’s best fried, Lydia Martin is Jackson Whittemore’s girlfriend—”

“And I’m good friend’s with Lydia Martin,” Cora replied, poking her beans. “And Danny Mahealani. Mostly because we are all in one year. It’s like you planed it. Did you make breeding dates or something in the counsel?”

Eric pulled a face at that. Laura was still waiting for a reply to her question. Derek decided to bleach this conversation completely out of his brain and turned his attention towards Stilinski, who was stuffing fries in his mouth like there was no tomorrow.

“Slowly, Stiles,” Derek calmly berated him, one hand to the other’s.

As human as the boy had become, apart from the fact that he was reacting like a pressed animal under stress and that he still was unable to speak, it apparently only took curly fries to reduce him to a more animalistic behavior as he more breathed than ate the junk food Cora could convince their mother to make at least once every two weeks.

Stiles beamed at him, but shook his hand off before he continued to eat in a completely unappetizing manner.

Sometimes Derek wondered what was a remnant from his fox days and what was simply a character trait. In this case, Derek was sure it was a Stilinski thing.

Derek involuntarily let the name roll over his tongue again, mulling it over in his head. Just as much as Stiles liked to hear his name, Derek found himself enjoying saying it as well.

Which was just stupid.

Derek thought it had been the first and last time they would hear from Heather. As so often, he had been wrong. She came back a week later. With photo albums determinedly held up in her hands in greeting. The werewolf let her in and they sat Stilinski down at the living room table, as the girl went ahead and opened them, flipping until she found what she was looking for.

“This is—” she began, pointing at a middle aged man standing close to a grill. Before she could continue the boy grabbed for the album, practically tearing it out of her hands as he let out a low wail.

“—your father,” she finished quietly then helplessly looked at Derek, who was occupied with staring wide-eyed at Stilinski. Derek had never seen him like this. He had been angry, or happy, or pissed, or annoyed. Never sad. Never like this. Derek had kept on wondering if Stiles remembered enough to show remorse but now, as he was tracing the face of the man—his father—with soft, almost delicate touches of his fingertips, like he was afraid to break the photo if he pressed too hard, like it would make him lose his father again, Derek knew Stiles had just kept it in. The brunette knew about his parents. Maybe even knew what had happened to them, where they were, whether they were still alive.

“We asked around,” Laura interrupted the moment, arms crossed in front of her chest. “No one came forth when we asked if anyone knew him.”

“I,” Heather stopped, fidgeting nervously. “I was told not to... associate with him again. That it’s dangerous.”

“Because of what happened to his family?”

She nodded once, hanging her head.

“But?” Laura pressed on, and Derek frowned at his sister and the ongoing interrogation.

Heather gritted her teeth. “But then I heard about him, in school. That he was seen at the mall. That he had kicked Jackson’s ass. And I could just picture him, picking a fight with someone who is stronger and I remembered,” she waved a hand at the albums on the table. “And I told my parents to screw it, we used to be friends for six years and I’m the only one he knows in this town ever since Scott and then...” She shrugged once. “Whatever happened to them.”

Laura opened her mouth, but before she could say anything Derek intercepted her, pointing at the pictures. “Can he have that?”

Heather hesitated, then shook her head. Laura growled lowly in her throat, but the girl ignored her, flipping through one of the albums and stopped at a large photo showing the same man—Stiles’ father—and a beautiful blond woman, a little boy, unmistakably Stiles, between them. “This. I want him to have this one.”

Derek nudged Stilinski’s shoulder, but the boy didn’t look up, just continued to trace the face. “Stiles,” Derek said and the brunette snapped out of his apathy. Derek motioned to the photo Heather was holding up now. The boy all but flung himself over the table to get to it. If Heather had let go of it a second later, it would have probably torn.

“Fine,” Laura bit out. “You can visit him. But don’t expect anything from us.” With that she stalked out of the room, Derek following her with his eyes before he returned his attention to the boy.

“What’s with her?” Heather muttered, yet hardly interested in an answer as she kept on smiling shyly at Stilinski. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m not sure if he even wants me around. He can’t even remember me,” she added then, looking at Derek for advice. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat under her intense glare.

“Maybe he will,” he offered.

She looked hopefully at Derek and that had never happened to him. But then her eyes hardened in determination and she gave a curt nod.

“Yes, I’ll help. Talk to him. Tell him some stories. I bet that will help.”

“Not today,” Derek decided, his gaze fixed on the boy. Stiles’ eyes were red in unshed tears, his lips and fingers trembling, the photo tight in his grip, crinkling at the edges. He looked gutted and sad and miserable.

Heather left quietly after that, leaving the albums with the Hales. It took some coaxing to get Stiles to stand up, to leave for the bedroom but when they did, the boy directed Derek with a firm hand to the closet and pushed him on the ground, sitting down between his legs before he closed the door.

Derek was confused for a few seconds, before he felt Stiles’ back against his chest and he rested his chin on the other’s shoulders, locking his arms around the the boy’s waist. They were silent for a long time, something wet slowly dripping onto his hands, aborted breaths and the rustling of clothes when Stiles’ moved to brush the back of his palm over his eyes.

And after a while, the boy started to talk in yips and yelps.

“How come no one replied to our fliers?” Cora asked from the kitchen where she was preparing dinner.

Laura, who was doing something for a sheriff’s department charity project—it sort of looked like it was supposed to become a poster—looked up from where she was writing a letter in bold with pencil. “Too scared?”

“They probably didn’t know them,” Heather replied from where she was sitting on the couch, legs crossed, flipping through a magazine. “Because the Stilinkis were a little antisocial? They were, like, really tight with the McCalls, because Scott and Stiles were like brothers. Our mother’s used to be good friends, though.” She tried to keep her voice light, but the sadness was palpable whenever she talked about the past.

“What are you even doing here?” Laura asked, moving on to the next letter. There wasn’t much heat behind her words, which Derek figured meant she had acknowledged the other teen as some kind of ally to help return Stiles’ humanity and memories.

“I’m here for Stiles.”

“You are not even with him,” Laura pointed out. Derek ignored them and continued to cut the vegetables for dinner, while Cora took care of the meat.

“Yeah, because that blond vixen bit me, when I got too close to him,” Heather answered, lifting her arm to show the biting wound on her wrist. “So I’m supporting him. Morally. From afar.”

“Malia bit you?” Cora choked from the kitchen.

“Malia!” Derek roared through the house as he dropped his knife.

He received a tiny whimper in reply.

They weren’t really sure if Heather telling Stilinski stories really helped. He listened to her, to her voice, but according to Deaton he couldn’t understand anything. They hoped that showing pictures and letting him hear a familiar voice would do the trick.

Heather was surprisingly diligent.

She came by Mondays and Thursdays after school without fail, never stayed for dinner, avoided a lot of interaction with the Hale pack and whenever Malia got jealous, she would silently sit on the couch in the living room and do her homework or read in a magazine until Stilinski was available again.

Derek eventually offered her to use the library, if she wanted to study and took it upon himself to bring her something to drink. Mostly water. Because she never voiced a preference, but she also didn’t tell him not to do it as well.

Unless she was talked to, she didn’t start up a conversation of her own which was most likely Laura’s fault but Derek wasn’t sociable enough to tell her that she was allowed to speak. When Cora was home, she would sometimes join her and strike up a conversation.

Even if showing pictures and telling stories didn’t help Stiles, it sure helped the man to get an image of what the boy used to be like. Derek liked to hear the stories, but it didn’t come as a big surprise to find out that Stilinski used to be a brat. A stupid brat that made Derek sort of wonder how he had survived without being a werewolf.

For example, that time he threw a brick up to see how high up in the air he could throw it. It came down on his back and it was probably sheer luck that it didn’t hit any vital parts and only left him gasping for air.

Or that time he had overheard some older kids talking about weed, referring to it as ‘grass’, which Stiles took a little too literal when he convinced Heather and Scott to smoke it.

Then there was the day he broke his arm, jumping off a swing believing he was some superhero.

When he was four, Heather told them while looking grossed out but a little fond, that Stiles used to lick the top of a cup when fetching his sick friends a glass of water, believing his healthy saliva would heal any sickness the same way saliva from a sick person could make one sick.

Heather was still awkward around Derek. Her heartbeat stopped skyrocketing whenever they were left alone, but she avoided a room he was in like the plague. Which was why Derek was a little confused when the girl suddenly made a beeline for him after she left her car.

“I’m sorry,” the blonde offered before she had even reached him.

Derek blinked at her.

“You see,” she began to elaborate, rubbing the back of her neck, nervously chewing on her lip. “All we learn in school is how to detect someone slowly turning feral. How we have to learn to defend ourselves with wolfsbane spray and how to keep away from the NSFP. They teach the codes, but that’s about it. Everything else is the same old shit. Most werewolves are good blablabla but stay away during full moon blablablabla.”

Derek shortly glanced at the doll house he was building, hopefully signaling her that he was busy, but she just jumped on the working bench, letting her legs swing. “What I meant to say, you are not scary. And I’m sorry for the way I behaved.”

“Alright?” Derek asked.

“I’ve learned a lot from you. Most of all, that you aren’t—” she stopped herself, shaking her head, before she continued. “That you’re not how people say you are.”

“No, I’m not,” Derek agreed, unable to figure out what else he was supposed to say. But Heather simply gave a wide smile, jumped from the working bench and stretched once.

“You’re a good guy, Derek Hale,” she said, then excused herself with a small nod before she left for the house. Apparently he had said the right things. At least Heather seemed happy, so Derek simply shrugged and continued his work. It wasn’t like he gave a damn what most people thought about him.

Derek was sort of lucky living in Beacon Hills. It wasn’t the bigoted, narrow-minded town most passing through suspected or one might believe. If it were, Derek wouldn’t be allowed to work as a ranger, wouldn’t be allowed to go shopping alone in the mall, wouldn’t be allowed to walk around without his pin.

Not only was he the only NSFP in town right now, he was also the only long term NFSP. Erica had been a code red for a while, Jackson Whittemore, too and a couple others. But they had only been temporary, right after the bite.

Some people looked at him strangely when he appeared, but Derek wasn’t sure whether that had to do with his status or with the fact that he barely left the preserve. He knew some citizen didn’t like him running around without someone to watch him, could hear them talk wherever he went. Derek had met cashiers who refused to serve him, and were lawfully allowed to do so. They usually walked away from him and put someone else at the cash register until he paid for his purchases. Derek knew people stayed away and felt uncomfortable around him and he knew that some couldn’t care less as long as they were far away; others whispered behind his back with less than flattering words.

He knew the most common phrase related to his name was, “look, but don’t touch”.

High school time had been bad. Really bad. But some teachers, not all and most of all not Harris, thought they did him a favor by not grading his papers. And teenage kids usually were scared monsters behind make-up and hair gel and self-esteem issues. It was bad enough to survive High School as a perfectly functioning member of society with decent looks and a decent score and decent behavior so of course it was worse for those that stuck out like a beacon.

Like Derek.

Who was a code black.

A victim of poor wording, for having something no doctor could figure out. When the law stated the terms of NSFP they used the phrase ‘whoever can’t control their shift’ in an older more pseudo sophisticated manner. They never thought about werewolves who couldn’t shift.

Fact was, Derek couldn’t control it. Couldn’t force it. It simply didn’t happen. He never went feral, not even in human form, but that didn’t matter to the court.

So Beacon Hills knew something was wrong with him, but no one knew what. And some dealt better with those circumstances than others. And that was simply ‘human nature’.

Derek was used to it.

So why bother.

Stiles was gone.

And no one knew for how long.

Derek had left the house around noon for his trip through the preserve, Stilinski absorbed in some book he had gotten from the library so the werewolf had left him alone. When he returned home in the evening, Cora eyed him strangely, before furrowing her brows.

“What?”

“He’s not with you?” his sister asked perplexed.

"Stiles?" Derek asked, and when she replied with a nod, he tilted his head in confusion. “He was in the library with Peter when I left. Why?”

“He left immediately after you,” Peter explained as he walked into the room. “I assumed he was going to follow you.”

The three Hales looked at each other, time slowing down before it slammed harshly back into them. They promptly broke apart and divided, Derek searching high and low in the upper story, while Cora scoured the ground-floor for any signs of the boy, Peter taking charge of other odd places. He wasn’t in the attic, neither was he in the cellar nor in the garage/workshop. They fanned out after that. Peter called Malia, Derek called Erica and as soon as every Hale werewolf was assembled they searched the woods, while Eric messaged Heather, Isaac and Boyd to ask around and search the town.

Tracking the boy in the woods was nearly impossible. They couldn’t trace his unique scent and he was smelling more like Derek than anyone else anyway. And Derek’s scent was all over the preserve. They had to rely on eyesight alone.

The frustration grew with every passing hour.

At the break of nightfall Laura called her colleagues from the deputy department. Deputy Haige was on dispatch and he scoffed into the speaker, reminding her of the 24 hour rule if there was no indication of violence or unusual evidence. Considering that Stilinski was a feral stray who apparently was crazy enough to attack an Alpha in public, there wasn’t much he was willing to report.

Laura verbally tore him a new one before she hung up.

Parrish called back a few seconds later, informing her that he had grabbed a few volunteers and that they were spreading out in town, while the Hales should resume looking in the preserve. The boy was human after all. He couldn’t have gone that far.

Shortly before midnight, they got another call.

Laura hauled Derek into her cruiser and drove with sirens on, hitting the gas pedal like there was no tomorrow. And if his sister continued to drive like a crazy escapee on an attempt of flight, maybe there wasn’t.

Derek didn’t know where they were going, just that Parrish had found Stilinski on a hunch and that the deputies couldn’t get him without freaking him out.

They parked in front of a run-down two-story colonial house. The varnish was in tatters, the lawn and porch overgrown with unkempt vines and weeds. There was an old battered ‘To Be Sold’ sign at the fence that surrounded the backyard.

Derek knew the second he saw the building what it used to be.

“When you called we checked here first,” Parrish explained as he walked up to them. “But there had been no sight of him. We drove by again on our last round and there he was.” The deputy waved his hand at the curled figure on the front porch, right next to the entrance. “You think you can get him,” Parrish asked, curiosity and anxiety mixed in his question. “We couldn’t get close, but we made sure he didn’t go running again. I think he remembers us from last time. When we brought him to the hospital. That probably stuck.” The brunette deputy grimaced, probably remembering something unflattering that might have happened back then.

“Derek will get him,” Laura replied with confidence, pushing her brother on the shoulder forward.

Derek blinked at her, before he threw a look around. Some residents of the neighborhood had started to gather, trying to figure out what was going on. The werewolf tried to ignore them and their voices and questions as he slowly approached the boy. Stiles had his arms wrapped around his legs, head pressed against the knees.

“Are you alright?” Derek asked, still a few feet from the porch just to be sure.

Stiles’ head snapped up at his voice and then the boy stumbled into a stand, almost tripping over his own feet and the stairs before he flung himself against Derek’s chest. A low whine escaped the brunette’s lips, and something wet was trickling down on Derek’s skin as he wrapped his arms around the shaking shoulders of the boy, chin tucked on the other’s head.

They stood there for a long moment, Stiles just silently crying, damping his shirt. But Derek only pressed him closer like he wanted to wrap himself around the boy in a protective cocoon. He vaguely noticed that Laura was sending the deputies back after thanking them and then tried to disperse the crowd. When the last onlooker finally left the scene she climbed back into the car, giving them more privacy.

It was late July and smothering hot, but Stiles’ skin was cold and stark white in the dark night. Derek tried to rub some warmth into the brunette’s arms, but the boy didn’t even seem to notice. Derek didn’t know how long he let the boy cling to him before he eventually nudged him in the shoulder.

“Stiles,” Derek tried after the tears had dried and when he received an affirmative whine, he continued to whisper. “Are they alive? Will they come back for you?” The grip around his waist only tightened in reply. “Do you want to go home?” Derek asked instead.

Stiles looked up with red eyes, then turned his head to look at the building behind them, dark, empty and abandoned, lacking any warmth and light and familiarity it must have once possessed. Derek waited patiently until Stiles gently probed him in the direction of the car.

That night they fell asleep in the closet.

The next day, Stiles stood at the entrance with the keys to Eric’s Toyota in one hand and a picture of younger Heather in the other. Derek drove him to her house. The girl had looked at them in surprise when she opened the door. From inside someone yelled her name with barely contained panic. When Derek looked in the direction, the silhouette of a woman was standing at the kitchen window, staring directly at Derek.

Heather told her to relax and followed Stiles to the car. The boy shoved a picture of another family of three at her. A dark-haired woman, dark eyes, pretty smile. Next to her a tall man with brown hair, arm relaxed around her waist. In between a little boy, curly hair, wide grin, big eyes.

Now they were standing in front of the empty McCall house.

Heather’s grip around Stiles’ hand must be bruising but he didn’t complain. His lips were tightly pressed together in a thin pale line, a harsh cold determination in his eyes Derek had never seen before. His hands were shaking, his whole body trembling. He took a step forward, another, and another, until he was held back by the girl who was rooted to the spot.

“Do you really want to go in there?”

In reply, the boy tugged on her arm. Heather looked at Derek.

“You can’t,” Derek said. “We need permission.”

Stiles snarled at him, walking up right into his face like he was trying to intimidate him. Derek just raised his eyebrows and after a few seconds of growls and snarls and high-pitched howls the boy suddenly deflated and dropped down on the lawn with the head in his hands.

After a moment Heather hesitantly sat down next to him pressing their shoulders together. Stilinski let her.

Derek sighed. “Give me your phone,” he said to the girl, who looked up in surprise, a wide grin suddenly on her face before she pulled her mobile out of a jacket pocket and handed it to the werewolf.

It must have taken Eric some coaxing—probably a lot of coaxing—but after an hour of waiting, a car eventually pulled up in front of the house. Derek made a mental memo to buy his brother something nice. Maybe a voucher for a bookstore. Or maybe arrange a date with Julia.

To Derek’s surprise David Whittemore himself stepped out of the sleek, expensive car.

“I bought and renovated the place a year after the fire,” then man explained as he unlocked the door and lead them inside. The house came to life as he hit the switch beside the door, lights illuminating the dark hallway.

The blinds were all drawn, the house still smelled mildly of fresh paint and dust.

“I had to remove all the furniture. They were unusable after the fire and water from the extinguishing attempt,” David continued, eyes attentively trained on the younger human.

The rooms were bare, there was probably nothing that remained of whatever used to be here, whatever Stiles might have been looking for. The brunette’s face was hard, not showing any kind of emotion, his fingers clenching and unchlenching at the side as he looked around.

“Why did you buy it?” Heather asked.

“In case the family returned. Rafael McCall used to be a friend,” David replied firmly. Derek nodded, not sure if he really believed the man. Even a former Alpha was still powerful enough to lie successfully to other werewolves.

Stiles slowly walked through every room, letting his fingers trace the walls. There was a room in the upper story where he stayed the longest. “Scott’s room,” Heather muttered in explanation when the brunette hunched down and traced a spot on the wall, painted white just like everything else in the house. Where something had probably used to be.

There were cutting marks on the door frame from a knife. Derek assumed they had measured and compared their heights there. Stiles stopped to touch them as well, a small smile on his lips as his fingertips silently traced every single cut.

“Do you think they are still alive?” Heather asked quietly, watching Stilinski.

“I honestly don’t know,” Derek replied.

It seemed like Stiles was beginning to remember. It was slowly at the beginning and there was no way to tell, until he started to share these little insiders only Heather knew about. The first time he did it was when he jumped out of the cloak closet when Heather entered the house.

There was a moment of stunned silence before she started to cry.

Derek stood helplessly in the entrance hall, watching the two teenagers, when Heather hugged Stiles close and Stiles returned the gesture. It might have been childish but it was the only way the brunette could let her know that he remembered her and the time they used to spend together.

Maybe it had been the pictures Heather had shown him, maybe it had only been his natural healing process, whatever it was, he forced Derek to drive them to different places all over town.

Stiles couldn’t tell the stories behind them but Derek caught the gist of it simply watching him roam the elementary school or the playground. Sometimes they picked up Heather along the way and she would tell Derek the significance of what they were visiting. Sometimes they went with Malia. Mostly because the younger girl felt left behind. She wasn’t much of a distraction, old and understanding enough to keep silent whenever Stiles’ face froze into a guarded mask.

Stiles never once returned to his house.

There were quite a few rumors about the incident that led to the two families completely vanishing, leaving everything they owned.

Neighbors reported gun-shots at both residences at exactly the same time.

There were signs of a fight, the house of the McCall catching fire and burning down the upper floor. No one saw the families leave, nor did anyone spot someone else entering.

They were just gone.

What they left were deserted houses.

A turned on TV playing a foot ball match from the weekend, laid out table for dinner, a burned soup on the oven, a radio softly playing music in one of the boy’s room, a bathtub filled with water and discarded clothes on the ground, doors thrown wide open, smashed in windows, tipped over couch.

They left with only the clothes on their back.

And never returned.

The town’s gossip was running wild, from serial killers hired by David Whittemore to an elaborate plan from both families to flee. Derek even had heard rumors about alien abduction. In the end, the incident was stored as a cold case in the department’s archive. Never forgotten but neither further investigated.

Two or three years ago, both families had been declared dead in absentia and the town had held a brief ceremony initiated by the Martin Pack in regard to the Stilinkis, joined by the Whittemore Pack for the McCalls.

Not many people had attended and those that had, went on their merry way right after.

It had been seven years after all.

Derek should have known that something was going to happen on Eric’s birthday. Something always happened when Julia came by and maybe got a little too drunk, which mostly resulted in her trying to avoid confessing to and puking all over Derek’s older brother.

Just that she didn’t get drunk that day.

No, she flaunted into the house, harshly greeted Eric by throwing a gift at his head and then sauntered further into the library where she decided it would be a great idea to prove that she was indeed an emissary, and an expert in the field of spells. Derek knew he should have stopped her. Not that he actually had the means to, if he wanted but he would have at least tried. Maybe bribing her with a gift basket full of rare ingredients. Or with a promise of chasing away all of Eric’s girl friends. That Eric didn’t have a girl friend, or really any interest in dating anyone beside the dark-haired emissary herself, yeah, Derek didn’t need to let her know. To be honest they were both so obvious in their infatuation that Derek kept wondering why they weren’t dating already. It was a little painful to watch.

Anyway, Derek didn’t stop her.

Because he had the tiny spark of hope that she would actually be able to do something, to speed the process along maybe.

Her attempt ended in a shouting match, with Derek yelling at her, planting himself in front of the dark-haired woman, while he had a creature with too big ears and too big eyes and too big paws and a fluffy tail tickling his neck sitting on his shoulder. The fox was also screeching and growling at the woman in blind fury.

According to his family, who watched them from way out of the room, it was a sight to behold.

“Shut up,” Julia finally yelled right back after enduring a good minute of their combined very vocal protests. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“But it did happen,” Derek snapped and the fox vigorously nodded his head next to him.

“Undo it,” he growled, followed by—Derek assumed—an agreeing yelp.

“No,” Julia replied, firmly. “It’s fine. This is only temporarily. He will return to his prior form. I only did a trial run.”

“Did you even test it?” the werewolf asked incredulous.

“Of course I tested it,” Julia said, giving him a disappointed and equally pitying once-over. “It worked perfectly fine. And no, I will not undo it. It is dangerous to mix too many spells. We have to wait until he changes back. The magic will wear off in three weeks, after that I can start my second attempt.”

“He will be like this—” Derek waved his hand at the animal on his shoulder, tail coiling around his neck—“for three weeks?”

“Of course not,” the emissary huffed. “He will change back in a day or two. It’s the trace of magic that will stay longer until it completely fades off.”

Derek clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding against each other as he tried to keep his anger in check. He took a deep breath in and moved out of her face.

“For what it’s worth,” Julia said as he turned around to walk away, Stiles’ claws digging deeper into his shoulder to keep balance. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he sighed, the fight leaving his body as rubbed his temple. “You only tried to help.”

“I know,” the woman replied firmly. “I wasn’t sure you did.” With that she marched past him, giving him one long lingering look before she stormed into the kitchen where she tried to rip off some muffins from Talia, while she explained what had happened. Barely a second later Cora stormed into the library.

“Oh. My. God,” she let out when she spotted Stiles sitting on Derek’s shoulder, before she swooped right in and picked the fox up.

“Oh God, it’s true! He’s so cute. Look at his ears. Look at those paws. Look—” With an indignant huff, Derek pulled the fox right out of her hands and put him down on the floor. Cora simply looked at him with wide eyes.

“He’s still Stiles,” the dark-haired man explained in a gruff voice. The fox snarled at Cora once as if to emphasize Derek’s point.

“Oh,” she realized, looked once at her older brother, then back to Stiles before she knelt in front of the fox. “I’m sorry, Stiles,” she said earnestly. Derek wasn’t entirely sure what she was apologizing for, but she looked like someone had kicked her puppy and Stiles seemed to take patronizing pity on her as he extended his paw.

Cora smiled at him, took the paw and shook it.

The fox nodded at her once as if to show his agreement and then patted her knee a few times with his paw.

Derek rolled his eyes and declared them both stupid.

Eric was turning twenty seven that day.

He squealed like a six year old when he saw Stiles in his fox form and told Julia it was the best present ever, completely ignoring the vicious looks he received from amber brown eyes. Or from Derek for that matter. But after over twenty years his family had grown accustomed to Derek’s constant scowl. And Stiles looked more like a derranged smiling fox in his attempt to show some teeth.

In the afternoon, Nonna and Nonno called from Marrakesh, Morocco, excited that the handmade Almonds Moroccan cake they had sent from Patisserie Amandine Marrakesh had arrived cooled and edible and was now proudly on display on the couch table.

Derek looked at the monstrosity with a mixture of varying degrees of interest. He didn’t really like sweets, and he had learned from the Sadaharu Aoki éclairs incident last year that some cultures liked their sweets especially… sweet.

After greetings and congratulations were traded and a poor Moroccan waitress was pushed into the webcam, which heralded the start of yet another litany about mates, Laura muted the television.

Stiles had jumped on Derek’s lap between ‘Glad you like the cake’ and ‘When are you going to ask that emissary girl out, Eric?’ and the werewolf continued to absentmindedly ruffle his fur, the fox’s eyes half lid and looking ridiculously stupid, while he tried to school his face into expressions from deep apology to offended to annoyed according to the wrinkles on Nonna’s temple. Luckily, his assortment of expressions was usually limited to frowning or rolling his eyes in annoyance, therefore his grandparents didn’t expect to read much from his face.

Nonno was just in the middle of what the Hale siblings assumed was another retelling of how their grandparents met, when Stiles suddenly leapt up and dove, all fours and nose forward, directly into the cake.

Everyone stared in silent terror at the small red animal rolling and tossing before Derek finally jumped up and lifted Stiles out of the cake, fur completely soaked in baked pastry case, marzipan and creme, long pink tongue lavishing at his muzzle.

Cora was the first to break the silence. In her completely charming way, she started to laugh, but stopped almost immediately, when Nonna leaned forward into the camera, adjusting her glasses and squinted at Stiles.

Laura hurried to unmute the TV.

“What’s that?” Nonna asked.

“That’s Stiles,” Laura introduced. “The new pack member we talked about last time?”

“The brunette boy?” Nonno asked, pushing his head next to his wife’s to get a closer look at the display. “He’s a werefox? With complete shift?”

“It’s difficult,” Eric replied. “And I’m sorry about the cake.”

“No worries,” their grandmother replied, waving the incident off. “If it’s Derek’s mate, he can do whatever he wants. We need great-grandchildren and apparently so far he’s the best candidate for that.”

“Nonna,” Derek sighed, rolling his eyes. “He’s a boy.”

“Haven’t you heard of adoption?” Nonno asked in an exasperated tone of voice the same moment, Nonna said: “What about surrogacy? Ask Laura to carry your child.” Their grandparents smirked at each other before they high-fived in front of the camera at having the same thought process.

“If he lasts another month, ask him to marry you,” Nonno advised.

Derek was at a loss of words and decided to ignore them. He just turned on his heels and left the room. “We sent you some macaroons with the cake. Give him some, too!” Nonna called after him but he just waved them off.

Stiles was like wax in his hands, relaxed and hanging from his grip in contentment, emitted tiny purrs. As soon as Derek reached the bathroom, he threw Stiles into the bathtub for clean up, ignoring the surprised squeal at the suddenly harsh treatment.

“You know what that was for,” Derek accused, turned on the cold water and unceremoniously directed the jet of water at the complaining fox.

When Malia came over for dinner, she spotted Stiles almost immediately and forgot to congratulate Eric. Instead she shifted to her coyote from, sat on her hind-legs across the fox, who mirrored her posture. The larger animal wobbled impatiently forward, giving up a short howl before she reeled back.

The fox lifted his paw once, yelping.

Malia tilted her head and gave a short growl, followed by a few barks and a howl at the end.

Stiles replied with what sounded like a screechy mixture of purrs and cries.

Derek watched the exchange for a long time, was actually tempted to ask his mother if it might be possible that Malia was really communicating with Stiles in his fox form. He had a feeling she would laugh at him and never let it down if he did, so he decided against it.

They were probably just messing with him, if the looks they sent him sometimes meant anything. That, or they were talking about him.

Maybe Derek was getting paranoid.

Stiles insisted on sitting at the table for dinner, regardless of his fox situation and lack of opposable thumbs.

So his father sent Derek to the library to collect a couple of books they could put on the chair so that the fox was able to look over the surface. By now, Stiles was freely walking all over Derek’s broad shoulders, sometimes even his back when the werewolf was leaning forward to arrange the books. His family was thankfully hesitant with any comments, even when Stiles walked from shoulder over arm to the books and then set down, looking over the table and jerking his head in the reaction of whatever he wanted to eat.

His family hurried to promptly accommodate Stiles’ wishes.

Derek watched them in utter bewilderment.

Eric couldn’t pour sauce fast enough over Stiles’ potatoes, actually mashed them with the fork the way Stiles preferred when he usually looked at the brunette with disdain. Cora left him the last chicken nugget and Laura ate beans to leave more cauliflower even though she loved the vegetable.

Derek noticed all those small things with raised eyebrows.

Stiles noticed all those small things with satisfied smugness.

Derek decided to take no notice, especially when Stiles’ white tipped tail flapped in his face.

Fox Stiles demanded belly rubs. All the time. He would nudge his muzzle against one of Derek’s hands, whine pathetically, rub his head against the werewolf’s legs, roll over and throw himself from left to right while showing his white furred belly, whip his tail under Derek’s chin and nose and tickle his face until Derek was finally annoyed enough to give in.

It wasn’t cute.

It wasn’t.

Derek was reading a book on the couch when Stiles stalked in from whatever he had been doing to traumatize Cora into next week. Derek had only heard the shrieks, the clatter of thrown objects and the ringing yell of ’STILES’ before a door was slammed shut.

Stiles jumped on the couch and landed with a soft purring sound. Derek felt the couch shift beneath him a few times before paws were put on his stomach. When he looked up from his book, the fox started to turn several times around his own axis before he laid down curled together in an orange ball, yawing once, pointy teeth glimmering in the warm light of the desk lamp.

“What did you do?” Derek asked. Stiles ears twitched in reply.

“He hid in my drawer!” Cora yelled from somewhere in the house. “Don’t laugh Eric, it was freaking scary when he jumped out!”

“What were you doing?” the werewolf asked, furrowing his brow. The fox lifted his head at the voice, tilting it from left to right before he got up and thrust his nose against Derek’s cheek. The man sighed, before he glanced at the door and put the book away to ruffle the red fur. “Change back soon.” It sounded more like a command than a request even to his own ears. “You have come too far to stay like this again,” Derek continued in a quiet voice. “And don’t act like it doesn’t affect you.”

Because it should. And if it didn’t, Derek wasn’t sure how much the boy had lost from his human side again due to the change. Then again there was so much human inside that fox, so much snark and bite and bullshit, so much Stiles that the werewolf was almost a 100% sure he had only swapped bodies, not brains. Which should probably make it nearly impossible for Stiles to repress what he had gone through when he had been a real fox.

Considering his reaction to gun shots, loud noises, the badly healed wounds and ragged scars all over his body, Derek was convinced they weren’t fond memories, even if Stiles never acted like anything bothered him, was always smiling and smirking and carefree. Even now when faced with this monumental step back. Derek assumed it was all simple acting, but he couldn’t tell.

Stiles put a paw to Derek’s mouth, happily yipping and barking, before he dropped down again, his muzzle nuzzled into the crock of the werewolf’s neck.

Derek sighed.

Maybe he was just over-thinking.

When Derek woke up the next day, he had a naked boy draped over his body, long limbs sprawled to either side and drool sticking to his neck. The werewolf affectionately ran his fingers through the brunette’s hair. It had grown far too long during the short time he had stayed with the Hales, he noted en passant.

“Thank God,” he muttered under his breath.

Stiles shifted slightly, smacked his lips together and purred as he re-positioned his head on Derek’s shoulder, lips pressing lightly against the skin behind his ear, tiny gusts of breath tickling him. And then there was something fairly obvious poking him in the thigh.

Derek stiffened under the body as soon as he noticed, then let out a desperate groan.

That… he really didn’t need.

Malia was a were-coyote.

The only one in Beacon Hills and as far as the Hale family knew, the only one in the whole US. It was a surprise, but nothing the Hale pack worried about. It was unusual, for a born werewolf to turn into something not-wolf. Usually it were bitten ones who took on a shape that fitted their character.

Malia mastered her shift early on. Her father had spent a lot of time training her properly. When she voluntarily shifted for the first time at the age of three, and could hold her shift back at age four she ran up to Derek, tugged on his legs until he lifted her up. She beamed proudly at him and never tired of showing her change and her beloved coyote form.

Later in kindergarten and the first years of elementary school she was viciously bullied by other kids and classmates.

Malia started wetting the bed again at age eight.

She was afraid to go to school, was afraid to sleep at night, afraid to shift, to let anyone see her coyote form which she used to be so proud of. She went to school with an uneasy smile, went to bed early without allowing her parents to read her a story.

Everyone simply assumed that Malia thought she was too old to get tucked into bed.

She tried everything to hide the smell of urine, keeping her window open, emptying bottles of air freshener, wouldn’t let anyone in her room anymore.

Every eight year old had a strange phase, right?

After waking up drenched in sweat Malia tried to hide the signs of her misconduct, salty tears mixing with water as she cleaned her sheets, not even daring to switch the lights on.

Derek saw her one night. He helped her with the bedding, threw the pajamas into the hamper, dressed her in one of his shirts and brought the crying girl back to his room, where she fell asleep on his lap.

The next day he told Peter.

Everyone blamed everyone for not noticing her odd behavior early on. Derek knew why he hadn’t. He had been busy with his own melodramatic High school life at that time, dealt with his anger issues, ignorant to everything else going on around him.

The whole family spent a lot of time with Malia after they found out the reason behind her bed wetting, reassuring her that everything was fine, that she was beautiful and special and the other kids only jealous.

Derek drew his first illustrated story because of Malia and gave it to her as a present.

She kept reading and re-reading the book, grew more confident in herself and embraced her coyote form with everything she got. She wasn’t embarrassed anymore, wasn’t afraid to let her coyote out.

Malia started to grow up proud and childish and maybe a little too comfortable with her animal side.

The Hales got used to it, and everyone else simply had to deal with her shifting in class just for fun, sometimes growling in reply instead of saying ‘no’, using her claws to cut something instead of scissors simply because it was faster.

Parents said something had to be wrong with her, being so open about everything. The principle sent her to a psychiatrist, who after several sessions told him calmly that everything was fine with the girl and that there was absolutely no reason for concern. She was simply healthily resonating with her coyote, which was a very good thing.

The principle didn’t believe Ms. Morrell and told Malia’s parents to have their daughter tested with the Argents. He wouldn’t accept her back unless she passed the test and was declared safe for public.

The Argents had voiced qualms for making a child endure the stress. Verifying usually took place once at the age of fourteen. Malia insisted that it was fine. Victoria Argent explained the procedure several times to her, tried to make sure she understood what it meant, that it would be painful and that if she failed, even at her age, she would be marked as a NSFP until she had complete control.

Malia didn’t back down.

She passed the tests with flying colors and was praised left and right from the Argents, considering how unlikely perfect control was at such a young age. Especially over a complete shift, which was rare and exceptional on its own.

Peter had never been prouder.

“Derek, could you come down for a moment,” Laura asked after she had knocked on the door once. Derek looked up from where he sat on the couch, cross-legged, with the boy’s head in his lap, Stiles thumbing through Malia’s kindergarten books.

Stiles growled in warning when Derek nudged the head off his lap. The werewolf simply chopped him over the temple and deposited the human to the side before following his sister down. He noticed immediately that something was wrong, when he picked up the scents.

His parents were assembled in the living room, together with Jackson and David Whittemore, and Natalie and Lydia Martin.

“What’s he doing here?” Jackson asked, curling his lips in a disgusted frown as he pointed with his thumb at Derek, the second he entered the room.

“I live here,” Derek replied dryly, before he expectantly glared at his mother to tell him why they had called him. Talia however, wasn’t even looking at him. Or at anyone for that matter. She simply continued to shake her head in a disapproving manner, looking completely fed up. His dad on the other hand watched the visitors as he poured himself a cup of coffee. Laura sat down next to her father, rudely glaring at the Alphas. “What’s going on?” Derek asked at the room at large, when no one offered an explanation.

“We want to take the Stilinski kid into our pack,” David Whittemore started bluntly.

“So do I,” Natalie added.

“No,” Derek replied equally blunt. “This is not up for discussion.”

“It’s not your call to make,” Jackson growled, flashing his eyes Alpha red. Derek just sighed in annoyance at the display of authority, which did absolutely nothing. Not even his own Alpha had any power over him, why would Jackson even for one second believe he did?

“But it’s mine,” Talia replied.

“Why now?” Derek asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest, well aware what this was about.

“Scott McCall’s birthday is next month,” Laura threw into the room without beating around the bush or letting the others sprout their nonsense. “If he comes back—”

“When he comes back,” Natalie Martin corrected.

“There is no proof that they are still alive. They were declared dead years ago.”

“Well, one person is back,” Jackson interrupted her, acting like his words were an argument in his favor. “And whether alive or not, this boy should belong to the Whittemore Pack as his Alpha—”

“To the Martin Pack,” Natalie chipped in. “His mother’s family had been part of our pack for generations.”

“Yet she was never marked,” David argued.

“It still gives us a legitimate right to him.”

“Considering my mother was the one to give her the bite,” Laura threw in, just to piss everyone of, “we have a right to him as well.”

“It was as a favor to my family—”

“I’m not talking about this,” Derek growled out. Talia rubbed her temple, while her husband thoughtfully stirred his coffee. “And it’s Stiles’ decision anyway.”

Natalie frowned. “He is not qualified to make that decision. Neither are you for a fact, if I may add.”

“No, you may not,” Talia interrupted coldly.

The blonde Alpha ignored her. “According to law his parents’ Alpha is responsible until he his legally of age to chose. Considering his unstable state of mind and the inability to form sensible decisions under the current circumstances, he falls under my responsibility.”

“According to law,” Derek snapped, ignoring his mother rolling her eyes at him, “my mother is his Alpha as decreed by Deucalion and the board of Alphas months ago.”

“Which we have a right to litigate,” the former Whittemore Alpha supplied. “You made your appeal before his existence had been known to the public and most importantly us, which never gave us a chance to make a plea ourselves.”

“Furthermore, you didn’t even feel the need to discuss those decisions with his parents’ previous Alpha. We only learned of his existences when Deucalion approached us with your request,” Natalie amended.

“And you had your chance to object. Which you didn’t,” David reminded with a hint of cynicism. It wasn’t lost to anyone in the room. “You forfeited your right.” Derek could feel the temperature drop with every second the two Alphas glared at each other.

“Your protest would take weeks to reach court,” Derek’s father interrupted the icy silence. “They would put Stiles into Eichen House until the case was through.”

“It wouldn’t,” David replied blatantly, contemplating his nails in a fake gesture. “Not if the court finds out who you leave the boy with. What do we call this? Neglect of a person with special needs by unqualified supervision?”

Derek clenched his jaw, hands tightening into fists. Yet, before anyone could protest, there was a tiny whine coming from the door. Derek turned around to spot Stiles peeking around the open hallway into the living room with wide brown eyes, eyebrows almost up to his hair line. The other werewolves around the Hales grew restless at Stiles’ untraceable presence, though they tried to cover it up.

It had taken Derek a long time to get used to the fact that the human could easily sneak up on him. It must be unsettling for someone who wasn’t accustomed to have someone in their vicinity they couldn’t pin point.

“It’s you,” Jackson Whittemore growled.

Stiles squinted his eyes at him, before they widened in recognition. And then he gave a growl of his own.

“Lovely,” Lydia stated. It was the first word out of her mouth. Before she had simply watched them with cold, calculating eyes, probably assessing the situation. Stiles slowly crept closer until he was right next to Derek, throwing a last warning snarl at the visitors, before he wrapped both hands around Derek’s left fist. The werewolf hadn’t even noticed how tight his grip had been, almost drawing blood with fingernails dug into his palm.

Stiles looked at him with concern in his eyes, lifting one hand to trace the worry lines on Derek’s temple, soothingly rubbing a thumb over the back of his hand with the other until the man finally loosened the tight grip.

A subtle cough from Laura brought them back to the present and Derek snapped his eyes away from Stiles. “What would you even want with him?” he barked at the Alphas, but realized that whatever little credibility he still had as the retard in the town was lost with the boy now nuzzling his neck while he was still trying to comfort him.

Derek took a sudden step to the opposite side to get more space, ignoring the pout for the most part, but made sure their hands were still connected before he continued to speak. “We’re not letting you take him,” he reinforced. “Especially not for bargaining reasons.”

The Alpha’s of both packs turned to Talia, who only waved a hand at Derek. “What my son says. We have no interest in the True Alpha Pack. If they are even alive.”

“For which we have absolutely no proof,” Laura emphasized again.

“I’m not sure what you’re afraid of, David,” the Hale Alpha continued. “What sort of repercussion you fear from something you claim you have never done. For going so low as to threaten me and my family with untenable assertions, when my brother Peter is the one who is constantly around to take care of both of them.” The attorney opened his mouth to reply, but Talia brushed him off. “Whatever feud you have been nursing with the McCalls ever since Scott McCall’s Alpha Status was confirmed by Deucalion, I have no interest in it. If the True Alpha Pack returns, we’ll gladly hand the boy back over to his parents. As I have told you. Several times. Now leave, I really have no interest in talking with either of you about this ever again.”

Jackson looked at his father for confirmation. It was apparent that the young Alpha couldn’t care less about the True Alpha Pack and was only there on behalf of David. Natalie glanced at her daughter for a moment, waiting for a sign. Lydia simply lifted her chin, but it must have been information enough for the older woman.

“Frederick, escort them to the front door.”

Frederick nodded before he got up and ushered the unwanted guests out of the room. Talia followed them with watchful eyes as they walked past Derek and Stiles. Lydia was the only one who stopped for a moment, reaching her hand out while ignoring the alerting snarls she received from the brunette boy as her fingertips touched Stiles’ shoulder fleetingly.

Derek moved immediately to get her hand off, but the girl already retreated, glancing at the dark-haired werewolf and then back to the boy.

“September 26^th,” she said, flexing her fingers, “I wonder if they will return.” With a long pointed look at Derek, which made the man almost flinch self-consciously, she turned around and followed her waiting mother out of the house.

“What do they want with him,” Derek growled as soon as the cars had pulled out of the drive way and were out of ear shot. Stiles watched him worriedly, and Derek tried to school his expression into something less furious.

“The Whittemores want leverage,” his mother explained.

“The Martins want a sign of good faith, handing him over without a problem as proof that they had nothing to do with what happened,” Laura added thoughtfully.

“The only people who know what happened are the McCalls and Stilinskis,” his father continued as he entered the room again. “When—If they return and something fishy had been going on, this will create a scandal and maybe start a new investigation.”

“Don’t forget the fact that both John Stilinski as well as Rafael McCall used to be in law enforcement. We don’t take lightly to one of us getting hurt,” Laura emphasized, jerking her chin to the front door. “Their behavior is suspicious. They aren’t kosher. Both packs.”

“You don’t know that,” Talia chided, standing up from the chair and stretching once. “Maybe they are just nervous. If the True Alpha Pack returns, no one knows how. With how many people. And what their agenda is.”

“And they think Stiles does?” Derek asked.

“Maybe. Maybe they don’t,” Laura started philosophically. “Maybe he does, maybe he doesn’t. Lydia said it. Scott McCall’s birthday. That’s the day when we will find out. No need to worry our pretty heads.”

“It’s not the first time they approached me about this matter,” Talia confessed, “but it was the most antagonizing as of yet. They are getting cold feet.”

“But don’t worry, Derek. We will take care of this,” his sister supplied, smiling gently at him and Derek realized the creases between his own brows. The dark-haired man looked back and forth between the other three, before he sighed. “Why did you want me to come down for this?”

Laura ducked her head sheepishly. “It was important that they saw you interact.” She nodded at his arm, where the boy had latched himself onto again without Derek even noticing. “Seeing how attached he is, it would be nearly impossible to get him from us. So, don’t worry, Derek. We’ll protect him. He’s family, right?”

“Is he?” Derek asked.

“Yeah, he is,” Laura conceded with a tentative smile.

Claiming had to be repeated once a year, or was performed with every change of pack. It was probably the most boring procession of all, consisting of waiting in line, saying your little quotation about how fortunate and thankful one was to get claimed, some hissing when the claws dipped in, maybe even some fainting or yells. Bigger packs had several days scheduled throughout the year, whereas the Hales had one fixed date: the New Moon in March. Everyone in town knew that, which was why sometimes humans not belonging to their pack appeared on the door step, hoping to receive Talia Hale’s claim. She would always sent them away, rejected everyone no matter their words or promises or sometimes even bribes concealed as expensive gifts.

Until one day Coach Finstock suddenly stood on their porch, ready to get claimed.

The Alpha had let him in in bewilderment.

Everyone in his family knew what Derek thought of the Coach, that he respected the man even if he would never ever admit it, that he had helped the teenager through High School. When Paige stayed for dinner, she would retell stories from lacrosse practice and how attentive Derek was in econ. Furthermore, it wasn’t like his parents didn’t notice how balanced he was, how much calmer and happier he had become and how much fun Derek had playing in the games, together in a team that acknowledge him as part of their own, had even made him captain for the last year.

Going against her principles, Talia decided to claim the coach.

Hands down, it had been the weirdest Claiming Derek had ever been witness to until then. As usual, his dad was the first to say his Thanks of Acceptance, added a kiss at the end which the Hale children studiously ignored, followed by Eric, Paige, Erica—as she hadn’t been turned yet—Boyd, Isaac and Braeden. Coach Finstock was the last.

When it was time for the man to utter his gratitude, Derek was sure his mother regretted letting Bobby Finstock in.

“Now then,” the lacrosse trainer said, looking at Talia who was dipping her claws into cleansed water and then proceeded to dry them with a cotton cloth. “I graciously accept your claim.”

Derek almost choked on his own spit when he heard the words. “You’re supposed to thank her,” he whispered under his breath, leaning slightly forward. As the one who brought the new member into the pack, the teenager had to stand behind Finstock as confirmation and moral support for the first claiming. Truth was, Derek didn’t want to have anything to do with this.

At all.

The Coach ignored him. “On the condition of your youngest daughter joining the lacrosse team.”

Derek was mortified. He wanted the ground to open and swallow him whole. There was giggling, some badly suppressed laughter. His mother wasn’t amused. It was apparent she was confused and a little helpless and she looked at her youngest son like this was all his fault.

After the Alpha left the mark on Finstock’s neck, the man gave her a curt nod, then two thumbs up. “You’re welcome,” he began and continued in his familiar confusing way, “Now we are united in our common interests. And we are once again claimed to live in freedom... Not in tyranny, oppression, or persecution... save from annihilation. We are claimed for our right to live. To exist.”

Derek had his head buried in both hands, shaking it in denial. Eric erupted into full blown laughter and his dad pointed one finger at the coach. “Independence day!”

The first new moon of the year 2009 wasn’t only the day Bobby Finstock was claimed by the Hale pack for the first time, but also the day Frederick and Bobby sort of bounded over Independence Day while sitting on the porch and only communicating via movie quotes.

It was the first claim, but by far not the worst or most embarrassing.

Every year was sort of an adventure and everyone in the pack had gotten used to it.

Now Claiming wasn’t boring anymore. In fact it was the pack’s highlight in March.

When Malia barged into the house, stormed up the stairs and past Derek’s door to one of the main bedrooms, anger and anxiety followed her every step. She hammered on Peter’s door until he opened and before the man had a chance to react, he had his wailing daughter already in his arms.

It took them a long time to coax the problem out of her.

Apparently her mother wanted to join the Whittemore Pack. Which meant Malia would have to, too.

“We all know what this is about,” Talia growled. “This is about them not getting Stiles. Now they want Malia instead. You can’t let her do that,” she demanded from Peter, who simply shrugged as he looked at her with something like disappointment. “I knew you shouldn’t have given that Shrew custody over Malia,” Talia continued her rant, probably swallowing several colorful insults. “Now see where it has gotten her.”

Peter walked out of the room without replying.

The divorce had always been a touchy subject in the Hale house, with Derek’s parents being the model couple and Peter with his broken marriage and destructive ex-wife, who wasn’t satisfied until Peter’s life was shattered to the core. She had taken his dignity, his money and then his daughter. And she still wasn’t content. Derek couldn’t understand what must have gone wrong between them, that the woman had become so inexplicably bitter.

In the end neither Talia’s rant nor any attempt to talk to Peter’s ex-wife mattered.

The obnoxious woman was claimed by the Whittemore Pack.

And so was Malia.

Derek wasn’t the most sociable person.

He always needed some time to learn how to interact with new people, to talk to them in more than just mono-syllabic sentences. It had taken him four years to talk to his own siblings, that should have been some sort of hint. Talking to Braeden hadn’t taken all that long, considering how angry he had been at her for always kicking his ass. Insults came fairly easy when faced with humiliation. Julia had been the longest so far, but as soon as he did, he was constantly mouthing off.

Actually, Derek had gotten a little better over the years. Paige tried to widen his comfort zone by getting him outside, into clubs or the movies, sometimes just shopping, letting him meet her friends.

His social ineptitude was also the reason why Derek was rather shy when it came to nudity. Yes, he had grown up with a pack of werewolves, constantly shifting at whatever inappropriate situations, yes, he might have seen more of his parents and grandparents than he really necessarily ever had to see in his whole life but even now, he would avoid looking at certain parts when his siblings were running around in the nude.

It wasn’t that he was bothered that much.

He had gotten used to the nudity and by all means, if they had to run around naked who was he to stop them?

Still, there were things Derek considered private.

And Derek was a very, very private person.

“He has made a lot of progress, hasn’t he?” Deaton asked, standing in the doorway to the library with Derek watching the boy sitting at the table instead of in his usual corner. He was drawing letters, the grip around the pen a little too tight and a little too high to allow confident strokes.

“Yeah, he has,” Derek answered, not without a hint of pride. Deaton must have caught it, as he turned to look at him.

“You too,” the man decided. The werewolf furrowed his brow in confusion. “You have changed.”

“Have not.” Derek cringed at how he sounded like a six year old.

“Yes, you have,” Peter sing-songed from his desk, watching over Stiles’ progress as he was drawing the Alphabet. “You talk more than you used to. And I think I caught you smiling more than once. That, or I had too much wine.”

“It was the wine,” Derek dead-panned. But it wasn’t like he could really deny any of this.

“We always thought we should respect your boundaries,” Laura interrupted suddenly from the living room. “Clearly we should have just barreled right through them. Like Stiles did.”

“He didn’t—”

“Oh he did,” the woman interjected, “right through your comfort zone. Don’t even deny it.” Derek frowned and ignored Peter’s silent laughter or Deaton’s mildly annoyed expression. “The first few times you patted him on the head? You looked like you were biting a lemon. Now you’re all cuddly-cuddly.”

Derek opened his mouth, but decided that resistance was futile and simply shut it again.

“Don’t get too attached,” Deaton said with a pat to his shoulder, before he approached the boy and sat down next to him for their session. Derek watched them interact, noticed Stiles’ irritated scowl but how he didn’t shrink away from the new presence, nor snarl even once.

The advice, Derek realized grudgingly, was coming too late.

September went by in a flash. Stiles learned the Alphabet stunningly fast, but couldn’t put it together in any meaningful sense. Derek had given up on teaching Stiles the pronunciation at Deaton’s advice but that didn’t hinder the boy to try on his own by repeating sounds and words, gaping like a fish as he did. Yet, his vocal cords were still stuck on yips and yelps. It frustrated the brunette. In a fit of anger, he threw his books around, some even went flying out of the window. Stiles snarled and grunted and growled, getting even more upset about the noises leaving his mouth instead of whatever words he might have pictured in his mind.

Derek stood helplessly at the door he had closed so his family couldn’t pry, watching Stiles vent until he eventually sat down on the floor. After a long moment the teenager suddenly looked at the werewolf with wide, sad eyes. When he crawled towards him, Derek promptly set himself into motion to approach him. Stiles made his way over, pushing and shoving the werewolf towards the closet.

As soon as they sat down and Stiles crawled unto his lap, he began to quietly yip at Derek like he was telling him all his frustrations. Thanks to Heather, Derek knew the boy used to be a blabbermouth when he was still completely human, talking like a waterfall, filling silence and telling stories.

Derek wanted to hear it.

He wanted to hear his voice, take in his smell, listen to his heartbeat and breath.

Derek wanted it all.

Chapter Text

Everyone was anxious for the 26^th. Cora had marked it in Derek’s calender and he found himself slowly counting the days down. Usually there wasn’t much reason to track time for him; some deadlines for his illustrations or woodwork, birthdays mainly. Derek’s days weren’t planned or structured. Before Stiles, his routine had been the same for years, not in time but with activities. He got up somewhere between six and ten, depending on how long he had stayed awake, went for a run and then worked on whatever had more priority until it was time for prowling the preserve. The only things that changed with Stiles had been the morning runs he had dropped and the increased craziness that started to take up more space in his life.

His days were calm, and he liked them that way.

But in September every day had filled him with a growing restlessness he realized was a minor form of dread.

For what—he pretended he didn’t know.

They saw a lot more of the Whittemores and Martins until Deucalion personally had to show up, dispersing every argument by declaring that if the McCalls were not to show up, Stiles was to be marked by the Hales as a real pack member to forgo any ongoing fighting. At the end of all discussions the Alpha Superior looked as annoyed as Talia regarding that matter. Derek wasn’t pleased with the decision, but he didn’t possess the luxury to go against it.

But if Stiles chose to leave the pack, as soon as he was completely healed from whatever spell he was bound with, Talia would have to remove the mark.

It would be painful, most likely leaving scars and marking him forever as someone who abandoned his old pack.

It was still better than giving him up to the other’s.

The puppy trio showed up more often during the last month. Erica was especially handsy, even if her scent didn’t rub up on Stiles. The boy endured it approximately ten seconds before he snarled to let her know how displeased he was. The blond girl forced him to endure a minute of random touching anyway, hands brushing shoulder, hip and leg and Derek had to suppress the urge to bite her head off.

Boyd and Isaac weren’t as touchy. They bumped fists as greetings and then showed Stiles how to play Lacrosse. Watching Stiles learning the game, Derek had to admit, became soon one of his favorite past time activity.

At the beginning the teenager was clumsy. He would fall over his feet, hit himself with the stick trying to handle running and twirling it around. He didn’t understand the rules and snarled in frustration when someone tackled him to the ground. But with every training session he was becoming more confident, quicker, smarter; until he could outrun Isaac and get a ball past Boyd into the goal. When he did, Derek joined. It had been years since he had touched lacrosse gear and he had to reel in his werewolf strength, but it was actually fun.

Also, it was the first time he played with Isaac and Boyd, had never known how good they were. Playing Lacrosse with only four wasn’t as challenging, Boyd and Isaac in goal with Derek and Stiles as main runners competing against each other. Derek laughed, and Stiles screeched, with the other two teenage boys yelling playful insults at their respective team partners to get their asses moving.

When Malia found out, she insisted on joining and pulled Liam along.

A week later found the whole Hale pack in the backyard, cursing and screaming at each other. Julia was constantly cheating with her power and Braeden was plain terrifying with a stick. Derek would have never expected any of them joining in a sport, especially not the dark-haired emissary. For Braeden, it was sort of a love confession to the newest pack member. She usually only came to hunt Peter down and hit on him in the most flirtatious way Peter was completely oblivious to. Derek may or may not get a little kick out of the fact that he could still outrun her, which made the woman absolutely furious.

Heather sat out at the side lines, saying it was too dangerous for a mere human girl with no ability in sports whatsoever. Paige joined her, but as Derek’s personal cheerleader. Heather instead yelled encouragements at Stiles.

Malia constantly shifted and stole the ball mid air, which at one point would make Laura drop out because she refused to play with something drenched in drool. Eric left the field with bruises and dirt all over his body, but still smug when he pointed out how many goals he had made. Derek didn’t knew his older brother had such a good aim.

Their parents were always playing in opposing teams and their teasing sounded like foreplay. It was not a coincidence that everyone threw balls at them the second they started to open their mouths.

It was only a matter of time when Finstock found out about the games. He played insulted, wielded one of his confusing speeches even Talia couldn’t follow and then declared himself their coach and was only pacified when Cora called him Couch Cupcake and promised she would consider joining the team for her the last year. Apparently, it was more fun than she had assumed. Finstock also declared that he would recruit Stiles as soon as he was getting back into school.

No one knew how the teenager felt about that, but it looked like he was having fun, his face red from the exertion but eyes sparkling with glee.

Derek and Stiles never played on the same team either. Apparently Stiles was too competitive for that because Derek, even surrounded by supernatural creatures, was still the best player and apparently the brunette’s prey.

Neither Stiles’ human status nor his—compared to Derek’s—skinny body did anything to deter the teenager. The younger one tackled Derek so hard in the side that they both lost balance, and slipped on the rain-wet ground. The man barely avoided the puddle of mud, which Stiles fell into face first, wailing pathetically. Derek grunted before he heaved himself up and then offered the boy a hand. Stiles blinked furiously to get mud and water out of his eyes, avoided using his hands as they were as dirty as the rest. The werewolf lifted his hand, thumbing the dirt away with an exasperated sigh he was well aware was only fake.

Actually, Stiles looked sort of adorable with his dopey grin, hair sticking up to all sides, clothes filthy and in disarray.

He looked so incredibly satisfied and happy.

It was a good look on him.

It wasn’t a surprise that Stiles was as stubborn in playing a game as he was in everything else. But he was overzealous and driven to get the ball from the former High School team captain, which meant the bastard cheated a lot and didn’t even feel the need to hide it. Yet no one called him out on it, not even Finstock. The werewolf guessed they all wanted to see him getting his ass beaten at least once by the scrawny teenager, which was a real possibility.

He didn’t know how the human did it, but Stiles had extraordinary reflexes, always knew where the ball was and where to stand to catch impossible throws. He was brilliant, if still a little awkward, but given some more time and training he would be able to beat even Derek.

Not yet though.

Even though Malia had been claimed by the Whittemores she was practically living with the Hales now; spending more and more time with the pack, almost bathing in perfume to obliterate the scent of Jackson on her. The Hale pack couldn’t decided what was worse: the stench of another Alpha on someone who should belong to them or the nose-numbing odor of chemicals barely concealing said smell.

As a werewolf Malia had a different standing then a mere Claimed and she was well aware of that. With Talia she had instinctively accepted her as her Alpha. With Jackson she would have to force a bond, which she was unwilling to do. Therefore whenever the blonde girl came over—and if the yelling match that usually ensured over telephone was any hint, without permission by her mother—she was all over the Hales, trying to get scent-marked to a point that even the werewolves were a little crept out.

On the plus side, it must drive Jackson wild whenever he met Malia again and realized what she was doing to defy him, rubbing Hale and Talia under his nose with a smug grin.

It made Derek worry to what lengths the teenage Alpha was willing to go to make her behave. So far though he hadn’t acted on her obnoxious behavior and let her be. Which was why Malia tested her boundaries to a point that justified repercussions. Until The Shrew showed up in person, screaming at Peter that they couldn’t just kidnap her daughter and that Malia was supposed to live with her new family before dragging her away.

The games lessened after Malia stopped coming by, but she sent Liam to check on Stiles and report back to her, marking the other teenage boy and telling him to go and rub himself against Stiles.

Liam did passive-aggressively so, sour faced and with an expression like he stepped into something disgusting. Stiles let him. Probably only because he realized how much the other hated doing it. And Stiles was nothing if not a shit-head.

Heather came by almost daily until she suddenly stopped. Cora got a mail to let them know her parents forbade her contact for the time being.

“It’s like they expect an invasion,” Laura mumbled in disdain, after the youngest Hale let them know.

“It’s politics,” Eric replied with a shrug. “The Mahealani’s are like Switzerland and don’t want to get dragged into any of this.”

“Whatever any of this is,” Derek said, rolling his eyes.

Paige simply patted him on the knee in comfort and he let her.

Everyone else just shrugged.

The last week before the birthday was strange, almost melancholic.

Julia and Deaton kept away.

Heather called and asked for updates.

Stiles must have noticed the change in atmosphere, too.

During the day he was voluntarily playing with the rest of the pack, sparring with Braeden, playing Mau Mau, which Boyd had painstakingly taught him. Stiles even gave Laura more of a chance when she tried to interact with him. He had kept his distance from her, for obvious reasons, even when she had started to act less hostile towards him. But the first impression was still straining whatever relationship they were awkwardly trying to establish.

With the teenager being unable to talk and understand and Laura being too closed-off to try and explain, it wasn’t easy. Strangely, they both made an effort. Stiles letting her close, sit next to him, sometimes even letting her touch him lightly on the shoulder. He never return the gesture and Laura didn’t expect him to.

Cora and Stiles started to use each other as pillows, watching animated movies together whenever she was home. Which was when she wasn’t at school. Eric didn’t know what to do, so he simply sat down wherever Stiles was and learned for his exams or read his books there. Both Hale sons had probably inherited their mother’s social awkwardness, even though Derek’s was unrivaled by anyone in the family.

Talia served curly fries almost daily and no one complained… much.

At night the boy clutched more to Derek than usual. Maybe because Derek was holding Stiles tighter than before, too.

He tried not to think about what it meant.

Talia Hale was an extraordinarily good Alpha.

And an exceptionally over-challenged mother.

She swore on everything that was holy that she loved her children. She really did. But sometimes they were assholes and she wanted to exchange them. Ever since Laura had been born, the woman was brought to the brink of a nervous break down at least once a week because of whatever bullshit her kids used to pull. It was simple survival tactic when she took on the approach of ‘Lalala I don’t care’ and walked away.

Frederick Hale had been the only reason she had managed in the beginning. He had always been good with the kids, calm and collected with a playful side and nerves of steel. He probably was one of the most relaxed fathers on earth, contrary to Talia who wouldn’t stop worrying.

Fortunately the children mellowed out with age, but it didn’t mean that they were any easier to handle when they had stubbornly set their mind to something.

However as an Alpha, Talia was strong and determined.

It was a big difference when her children approached her as betas, and not as stubborn brats, when they asked her questions and wanted advice. Talia was willing to make decisions as an Alpha she wouldn’t have done as a mother, putting her foot down and get whatever she wanted from whoever she wanted.

If Deucalion and the Alpha counsel couldn’t stop her, then neither could her own betas.

Derek was woken by an unusual smell.

He blinked his eyes open in a daze, pushed himself up on the mattress. Confused, he noticed a second heartbeat, rhythmic and loud and clear and close to him, but there was only Stiles in his room.

And the smell was—

Derek almost fell out of bed in his haste to get away from the boy, while simultaneously wanting to get closer and closer and just—

Stiles whimpered quietly at the abruptly lost warmth of Derek’s body, his hand blindly searching the spot the werewolf had occupied before. When it reached nothing, his eyes fluttered open sleepily. The brunette yawned before a smile spread on his lips as he finally spotted who he was looking for. It faded the moment their eyes locked and the teenager noticed the other’s strange behavior.

Derek himself didn’t know what the hell was going on, why he was absolutely conflicted in what his mind was telling him and his body wanted to follow along.

It felt like his heart and lungs were constricting, breath only coming in short gasps. Whatever it was, it overwhelmed him, made his heart pound a mile a second. And something felt wrong and right and strange and this smell everywhere.

“I can—” Derek started, not even sure what he wanted to say.

Stiles yelped, and then suddenly lunged at Derek, toppling them both to the ground as the werewolf had only barely held on to the edge of the bed. Derek groaned when his back hit the floor, legs still half on the mattress, with the boy sitting on his stomach, pressing in as he stared with wide open eyes at Derek, who in all honesty had no idea what the hell was going on. But then he saw what had Stiles’ attention as the boy curiously leaned forward. Through the brown eyes he could see his own, glowing faintly blue.

Strangely, he couldn’t care less at that moment, because this new smell, unusual and unfamiliar but at the same time strangely comforting was engulfing him.

Without thinking twice he reached out and pulled Stiles further down, pressed his nose into the boys’ neck. “It’s you,” he realized. Stiles huffed out a laugh, pawing at the man’s chest, gently pushing him back so he could resume staring at Derek’s eyes in awe.

“I’m a werewolf,” he declared stupidly. Because he was; even if he couldn’t shift, even if he had no connection to the moon. Stiles cocked his head in bemused concentration. Derek in return touched familiar pale skin in fascination, trailing fingers over the boy’s arm, placing his hand to the rhythmically pounding heart and feeling the beats the same time they echoed loud and clear in his own ears.

For the first time in months, Derek could assign a smell to Stiles and his emotions, was almost drunk on the feelings radiating off the younger boy; contentment, happiness, pleasure, lingering tiredness, excitement, arousal and confusion.

Funny how Derek didn’t need to smell him for that. After watching Stiles for months, he could tell just from one glance.

It still intrigued Derek.

Stiles intrigued him.

The flicker of blue died in his own eyes and Stiles pouted, before he climbed off the man and tugged at his pajamas pants. Derek watched in confusion when the brunette left the niche before getting up and following the boy into the bigger part of the room, keeping close, very close, his hands flatly pressed against the boy’s shoulder.

Stiles manhandled Derek into a standing position in the middle of the room, then sat down on the couch, watching him expectantly.

Derek blinked in confusion, instinctively taking a step forward because there was Stiles. Smelling like Stiles. And he wanted to touch, to scent mark.

Stiles scrunched his nose, before he opened his mouth, forming a claw with one hand, while giving a short roar.

Derek shook his head. “I can’t.”

The brunette tilted his head to the side before he got down on all fours, doing what was probably his best impression of a prancing wolf. Derek laughed at his failed attempt, but the boy just prowled around his legs, shoving a shoulder into his knee in a silent demand.

Derek crouched down, placing his hands on the boy’s shoulder to stop him. “I can’t,” he repeated, shaking his head again. “I never have.”

Stiles pushed his lower lip forward, frowning deeply.

A knock interrupted them and Cora opened the door, sticking her head in. “Breakfast you two,” she called, already about to run down the stairs when she suddenly stopped in her retreat, turned around and flung the door completely open to tower in the doorway. “What’s that smell?”

“Stiles,” Derek answered.

“Stiles? We can’t smell—” the girl stopped herself, eyes and mouth going wide. “What? Oh my God,” she suddenly squealed, clapping her hands, jumping up once before she tackled the boy, pulling him in a bone crushing hug. “He smells good. So right. So already pack,” she said, nuzzling against Stiles’ chin. It took barely five minutes for the rest of the family to pick up the new scent from Derek’s room. Barefooted and shoed feet stormed up the stairs, there was some yelling to stop shoving and then everything came to a sudden quiet standstill when three other werewolves stood in front of them.

“Pack-scenting! Now!” Talia ordered.

Derek was pushed out of the way when his mother almost attacked the human, while Peter and Laura approached with more hesitance, but then dropped all pretense and pressed close, hugging the squirming boy. Peter looking a little bit pained, but also smug and content. Eric, only lured in by the commotion, stopped at the door, peaking in as he sleepily scratched his stomach. He looked down at the pile of werewolves, then to Derek who was a few feet away on his ass, blinking at the scene in annoyed confusion. “I’ve grown up with werewolves,” his brother began flatly. “And there are still things that freak me out.”

Their father, who had appeared behind him, dropped a hand to Eric’s shoulder and grumbled something like an agreement. He wasn’t the greatest morning person. “Freaks,” the older man declared fondly before moving on and down the stairs.

Derek returned his attention back to the shuffling werewolves, when Stiles let out an alarmed screech. Instinctively, the werewolf bared his teeth with a following growl. “Get off him,” he commanded, when another howl reached his ears. “Stop this! You’re scaring him!”

Panic and discomfort mingled with Stiles’ scent now, as the rest of Derek’s family either ignored or—in their euphoria—really didn’t hear them.

“Stop!” Derek roared this time and everyone paused immediately. Cora, Laura and Peter actually jumped back in surprise and turned to stare at him with wide eyes.

“Derek,” Laura said with a shaky breath. “Your eyes.”

“Again?” he asked, twisting around to face the mirror, but before he could, his mother was on him, face held between hands on his cheeks.

“Teeth,” she acknowledged in surprise.

“What do you mean—” he started, but his tongue already run over the row of elongated incisors—fangs, actually.

“Claws,” she further pointed out. Which Derek hadn’t even noticed until she took his hands in hers. “Do you know what you are doing right now?”

The dark-haired man shook his head, unable to back off, even though his mother’s eyes were glowing Alpha red. His eyes flitted to Stiles, who was quietly watching them, shoulders tense, eyes alert, pupils blown wide. He looked like he was ready to attack. Derek looked back to his mother.

“My advice?” Eric coughed into the moment. “One thing at a time?”

At first, no one reacted to the suggestion, but then their mother nodded and every werewolf in the room, with the exception of Derek, stood up simultaneously. Talia still had her eyes trained on him in an intense manner, before her gaze was drawn to Stiles, who suddenly hunched low, showing his teeth and growling in warning.

“Everyone out of the room,” Talia commanded. The rest of Derek’s family left without any complaint, leaving Stiles and Derek alone as the door fell shut behind them.

Both were silent for a short while. Stiles still a little shaken but mostly pissed by now, if his face was any indication.

His face.

And his scent.

Derek’s nose twitched when he detected what he had started to associate with Stiles. The usual shampoo, pure fragrance detergent and Derek’s body lotion. Now there was something distinctively Stiles among those. Something Derek felt he was addicted to. Maybe he simply was as freaky as the rest of his family, because he had never felt the need to soak in someone’s scent. The thought alone was creeping him out a little. Nevertheless, as soon as their eyes locked, Derek opened his arms in an inviting gesture.

It took only the blink of an eye until the boy was in his embrace, pleasure encircling them as he let out vibrating purrs, hugging around Derek’s nape and burying his face in the crook of his neck.

Derek sighed contentedly and for a while they were simply hugging until Stiles leaned back. He growled but the boy lightly slapped him on the nose in response, before he took one hand between his own and played with the claws, which were still surprisingly extracted. Stiles continued to touch them and as soon as he was bored, moved upwards to Derek’s teeth, poking at the fangs with a curious fascination, mouth open in wonder. The werewolf watched him, Stils’ eyes tracing every body part that had shifted without the werewolf noticing. He didn’t know what his face looked like, but Stiles was running his fingers over the brow, along the bridge and sides of the nose and around his cheeks in wrapped attention.

And something suddenly changed.

Like a missing puzzle piece that was finally back in place.

Something felt right somehow.

“So the spell wore off,” Julia concluded. “On the day that Scott McCall is supposed to become eighteen. But it’s only the concealment.” She pointedly looked to were Erica was pawing at the brunette who had his arms crossed in front of his chest, sulkily suffering through the harassment and, on Malia’s part, licking. “Scent-marking,” the emissary bit out in disdain. “Always hated that.”

Derek watched the girls cling to Stiles with slight unease.

It had taken them a long time to leave the room, what with Stiles slowly introducing himself anew to Derek’s changed werewolf body and after it had returned to his usual form, again to his human body, mapping all the places that had undergone a transformation. Derek had patiently endured the hands and fingers curiously wandering over his body, poking at the bridge of his nose several times, more often at his brows. For whatever reasons.

Derek had never been big on scenting.

But that was before he wanted to rub himself all over Stiles to make his own scent cling, making sure it would actually stick and everyone could tell.

He pulled a face at his own thoughts.

“Scent is important for pack,” Talia lectured impatiently. It wasn’t the first time they had that talk. Julia really hated scent-marking. “We know Stiles is pack, but we couldn’t smell it on him. Sometimes werewolves get confused about that. Now that he does and now that it mingles with ours, the brain can finally associate his place in the pack.”

So Derek wasn’t the only one going completely gaga over Stiles’ scent. Small mercies.

“Of course for some of us it’s different. Worse.” She snapped her fingers and everyone’s attention was immediately on her. If it had left in the first place. “For others,” Derek wondered if she was looking at him, “not being able to smell is like sensory deprivation.”

Laura snorted out a laugh. So did Cora.

Derek narrowed his eyes at his sisters and Eric left the room chuckling.

Julia, apparently, didn’t have time for their crap. “Whatever, I still feel a spell on him,” she changed the subject with a dismissive wave of her hands. “The concealment charm is completely gone, but there is an underlying current. It’s slowly getting weaker, fading. The concealment had been strong all the time and suddenly stopped. It was deliberately timed. The second one must have been a mistake. Our theory was right then. But it looks like the two spells are from different persons. And for all we know the boy did it to himself.”

“How would he do that,” Derek asked.

“He might have a magical affinity. I can’t tell with him in this state.”

When they turned to look back at Stiles, he was busy with fighting Erica and Malia off. Erica huffed out an amused laugh, licking his finger playfully, while Malia was about to work a bite mark into his shoulder.

A low growl made them stop straightaway. Derek was surprised to realize it came from him. Both girls stood up promptly, putting a respectful distance between them and the boy. Malia went so far as to mimic shooing him away, like it was Stiles’ fault they had been all over him. When Derek returned his attention back to the conversation his mother raised an eyebrow at him, while Laura studiously kept her eyes on something over his shoulder.

“It’s obvious they intended to come back today,” Talia decided.

“I have the day off but I told the department to give me a call as soon as they show up,” Laura piped up. “I suspect the station is the first place they will go to.”

“Evidently,” their mother confirmed.

Derek looked at his hands.

“All we can do is wait,” Julia agreed, “and see if they’ll show up.”

His mother gave him a few hours before she addressed the sudden shift.

Derek had spent the 26^th in bed, with Stiles cuddled to his side or chest under the covers. He wasn’t sure if Stiles knew what day it was. Whether he knew that the True Alpha Pack was maybe supposed to return. Or if he knew they wouldn’t.

After all it had just been a wild guess on all parties based on some loose facts anyway.

Stiles was strangely subdued, though, almost melancholic and not his energetic self, clutching his family picture to his chest, holding Derek’s hand like it was a life line; touching each digit independently, like he was counting them again and again and again.

“Derek,” his mother whispered from the door. The man was mildly grateful that she didn’t come around to his bed. “We need to talk.”

Derek looked at Stiles’ long eye-lashes, at the fingers of the left hand linked with his own, legs tangled between the other’s, the brunette’s hand tracing patters in his skin. The werewolf suspected the teenager was writing the Alphabet in an eternal inter-loop.

“Later,” he replied and Stiles looked up at the sound of his voice, smiling faintly.

The door closed and Derek managed to stall the conversation until dinner time, when Laura and Eric forcefully dragged them out of their hiding for something plebeian like food.

Stiles went to eat.

Derek was ushered into his mother’s study.

“I don’t know what happened,” he started when he walked in.

“That’s fine, because I do,” Talia said, brandishing her hand and gesturing for him to sit down. Derek eyed her suspiciously, took the chair closest to him and sat down. Maybe a little further from the table than strictly necessary.

“You do?” he asked.

“Oh, I know when I’m being challenged.”

Derek’s brain went into a frenzy trying to process the information. Challenges were thrown when someone wanted to become Alpha, or when a werewolf threatened what belonged to another or wanted what belonged to someone else. It was a brutish remnant of earlier days, when it was considered fine etiquette to throw a gauntlet down at someone’s feet. A werewolf didn’t throw a challenge just for the heck of it. Derek wouldn’t even actively think about provoking someone without reason, let alone his mother and Alpha.

“I didn’t mean to,” he assured, because no. Derek didn’t want to be an Alpha, wasn’t even remotely good at anything Alpha-related. It meant dealing with people. Derek was swamped dealing with himself. He wasn’t even sure if an NSFP could become an Alpha if he did win. There had to be laws against that, but the only thing he knew was a veto from marked and werewolves from a pack. The Hale pack wouldn’t veto. They would wait to see what happened if he won. Which he wouldn’t. Because he wouldn’t fight against his mother. Ever.

“I know that,” Talia asserted and Derek took a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “And it was obviously my fault that you got worked up. After all it’s difficult to share something that hasn’t been affirmed as yours yet.” Derek furrowed his brow, but before he could ask, Talia continued businesslike in what was her Alpha voice. “What I’m more interested in is your partial shift. How did that happen?”

“I don’t know.” Derek swallowed, letting his eyes wander to avoid looking at his mother. “It never happened before.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” she replied. “Do you think it will happen again? Because if it does—”

“I’ll be code red,” Derek finished for her, mouth set into a firm line.

His Alpha gave a short affirmative nod. “Until you learned to control it.”

“Which will never happen,” Derek added on her behalf.

The older werewolf watched him through stern eyes, lips pressed together. Her heartbeat was calm, her voice hard. Derek knew that his sudden shift wasn’t something to ignore, but he wasn’t sure if it had only been a fluke. And neither was his mother, apparently. “We’ll keep this in the family. You will see Deaton today—” Derek opened his mouth to protest, but his mother stopped him with a single gesture of her hand. “Relax. He will have to make a home call. I wouldn’t want you to leave Stiles’ side if you don’t want to.”

“What?” Derek asked in confusion.

“Am I wrong?”

The werewolf frowned, then shook his head. No, she wasn’t. Because Stiles was in a strange mood and they must have spent too much time together because it was pulling Derek right along. He didn’t want to tear Stiles out of the comforting cocoon they had made on the bed, didn’t want to face a reality in which the teenager’s parents were probably dead or gone forever and not a chance to find them, because no one could trace their scent after such a long time.

“What about the marking?”

His mother looked surprised for the fraction of a second. “Deucalion never said when,” she replied with a shrug and a hint of mischief in her eyes that told him she was currently replying as his mother. “We can wait until he is ready to give his consent, can we not?”

“Probably,” Derek agreed and she waved at him in dismissal.

Some werewolves claimed that they could find their ‘mate’ via scent. That it was particularly aromatic or arousing or intense. There used to be a dating show on TV in which participating werewolves had to stand inside a glass cubicle divided by a curtain. On the other side ten strangers were one after the other led inside and the werewolf had to decide based on scent alone who he wanted to go out with. They weren’t allowed to talk, they didn’t know anything about the gender—though if a werewolf was in tune with their senses they would figure that out pretty soon—what they looked like, what their hobbies were. Nothing. A camera would follow them to their first date and at the end, the werewolf could decide whether he wanted to meet that person again or not.

There had been another TV show where couples were tested, usually with a Q&A session. If one part of the couple was a werewolf, there would be a test where the werewolf had to pick out their partner via scent and heartbeat between the audiences. Surprisingly, a lot failed that test. Cora, an avid viewer of ‘Test of Love’ always blamed the fact that most werewolves were either bitten ones or badly trained. She claimed she could pinpoint Isaac’s exact location anywhere in school even if they were in different ends. Talia confirmed that she was able to detect Frederic’s heartbeat even through the noise of his repair shop on the south side of Beacon Hills.

Five to six miles.

That’s what researches claimed was the hearing range for a well-trained werewolf.

Apparently, if a mate was involved, the scope could increase up to the double.

Frederic’s workshop was about fifteen miles from the Hale house.

Two days passed without a sign of the McCalls and Stilinkis. Yet the tension was still heavy in the air. Talia got several calls from David Whittemore, asking if they had heard anything or if the boy had said anything. Derek hadn’t realized that the other Alpha’s weren’t aware of the fact that Stiles was unable to talk or even comprehend what was being said.

Stiles spent the two days trying to coax a transformation out of Derek with the subtlety of a brick to the head. Actually, at the beginning the werewolf really wasn’t even sure what he was trying to achieve when he used Derek’s old school equipment to toss Lacrosse balls at him. The pack simply assumed he wanted to play and so they did and Stiles enjoyed it for an hour before he got frustrated and threw the stick at Derek’s head.

When Stiles started to try and scare him—which, granted, didn’t work because Derek could smell him now—the werewolf had an inkling about what might be going on.

And concerning that smelling thing: that was another matter altogether. Derek thought it might get easier. As soon as he had gotten used to the new scent, he wouldn’t feel quite lost.

He was wrong.

It didn’t get easier.

Even though it helped a lot that Stiles finally smelled like pack—real pack—it still sort of wasn’t enough for him and he didn’t know what to do with that.

It made him nervous.

So did Deaton’s visit. The emissary was asking questions Derek had heard several times in the past when doctors tried to investigate his mental capacity for human interaction. They usually talked about him like some wires in his brain weren’t connected as they should be, that something in his life had maybe traumatized him. He had been in and out of child psychologist’s offices ever since he had been four or five which was around the time he apparently lost his shifting ability. They found his stunning lack of interest for interaction with other people interesting, but nothing that helped to explain why he wasn’t able to change like any other werewolf.

Now Deaton was asking the same questions, asked him to shift.

It never happened.

Derek didn’t have any time to dwell on it, though.

On the 29^th, Laura called from work.

Derek was glancing at Stiles, who was sitting on the couch in his room, tongue poking out between his lips as he was playing with a Rubik’s cube. The werewolf wondered if he should say something, if he should prepare him. He didn’t know how, so he simply made sure their bodies touched at shoulder, hips and thighs for the last half hour Stiles would live in their house. The teenager was blissfully oblivious to the situation, once or twice shooting Derek questioning glances, then smiling brightly before he returned back to the cube in frustration.

Derek wondered if Stiles was going to come back.

When he heard a car pulling up in the driveway, he didn’t move. He heard several voices speaking at once, some high-pitched, other’s tiny, quiet and low and in-between Laura’s agitated but oddly patient, determined alto.

“Come with me,” Derek said calmly, taking the cube out of Stiles’ grabby hands and placing it down on the couch. The brunette pouted at him, but then he tilted his head and when Derek held his hand out as he stood up, he took it hesitantly with a questioning purr. The werewolf guided him down the stairs. Voices from outside were getting louder, more frantic. Whoever was in that car, they were still locked inside, someone growling to let them out, banging against the window while Laura remained calm, trying to brief them on the situation.

How they shouldn’t be surprised that Stiles couldn’t speak, that he might not remember all of them, giving a short medical run down so that they were prepared for whatever happened.

Someone asked if they were really sure it was Stiles.

Laura told them that Heather Custer had confirmed it.

Stiles was oblivious to the drama, squinting his eyes in confusion at Derek, who continued to stare at the door for another moment, his grip becoming painfully tight, before he lead him further into the living room. The brunette glanced at the door in passing, reached with his free hand after Derek’s, brushing lightly over it. The werewolf ignored the unfamiliar clenching of his heart.

This was for Stiles. This was good and everything was fine and it wasn’t the last time Derek saw him.

The brunette barely sat down on the couch in the living room, when the door was suddenly wrenched open and two pairs of feet thundered oddly unerring into the living room and stopped when a tall brunette boy appeared in the doorway.

Floppy haired, round brown eyes: Scott McCall still looked like his nine-year old self.

The Alphas whole body was shaking as he let his gaze trail over the back of Stiles’ head, heartbeat hammering in a wild staccato. Next to him was a shorter boy, hair dark blond, hands fisted into the hem of a shirt, eyes trailing around the room until they finally settled onto Stiles.

Scott let out a desperate whimper.

When Stiles caught the noise, he slowly turned around to look at the newcomers.

Derek had never heard the brunette’s heart pound so hard in his chest as when he caught sight of Scott; hitting even stronger when his eyes focused on the blond boy next to the Alpha. The world slowed to a silent crawl as they were staring at each other—and then it slammed right back into a full blast spin. Suddenly there was movement all at once, when the brunette werewolf cried out Stiles’ name and his rigor was broken the same moment Stiles rashly flailed to climb over the backrest of the couch with an onslaught of high-pitched yelps and whines. One of his feet caught at the backrest. He was falling forward but Scott’s arms were already there to break the fall and wrap around the shaking shoulders, hugging him in a tight embrace as they almost fell to the ground together.

“Fuck, Stiles,” the Alpha breathed and Stiles was frantically tearing at the other boy’s clothes, touching everywhere, maybe making sure it wasn’t a hallucination, maybe just trying to get even closer, while he let out broken sobs, his scent a blend of unbelievably happiness and sadness and disbelief and fear and shame.

The blonde kid took wobbly, slow steps forward, his hands reaching out to the two teenagers. “Stiles. Stiles, I’m so sorry,” the boy bawled through tears and snot and hiccups. But when Stiles let go of Scott to kneel down, opening his arms, he rushed immediately forward. “I’m so sorry, Stiles,” he cried as he breached the last few feet, before throwing himself into the embrace, tipping them both off-balance. Scott was already bent down to keep them from toppling over, crushing both into another tight hug.

Derek stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, watching the situation unfold. He should leave. Should let them have their privacy. But when he made up his mind two adults blocked the way out. The blonde woman and the brunette man he had seen on the photo Stiles had always clung to. They had changed over the years, the man looking older with grey hair, the woman with a shorter hair cut, worry-lines marking her face. But she still had those warm brown eyes Stiles had inherited. Unmistakably Claudia and John Stilinski.

Behind them, Melissa and Rafael McCall appeared.

The parents were all silently staring at the boys hugging, trying to realize what they saw was real. The moment they did, Claudia Stilinski was bending forward with a choked breath, barely holding on with her hand fisted into her husband’s jacket, the other shakily clapped over mouth and nose, tears running down her cheek. As if on cue everyone was storming into the room, rushing towards Stiles, touching and hugging and crying and in-between nonsensical words Derek could hear Stiles’ gut-wrenching wails.

Derek didn’t look at them when he left the room, pulling Laura, who had stood behind the parents, along with him, before they closed the door to give the families the privacy they deserved.

“You probably realized, but the older boy is Scott McCall,” his sister explained to him, leaning against the stairs. Derek nodded once. “The younger one is Stiles’ little brother.”

“Little brother?”

Laura pressed her lips together. “He was born after they left Beacon Hills.”

“Who are they?” Derek inquired, jerking his head to the porch where three other people stood hesitantly, the teenage girl waving shyly at him in a short greeting, when she noticed him looking.

“Ken Yukimura, his wife Noshiko and daughter Kira,” Laura explained. “They protected the True Alpha Pack until now. They weren’t welcomed anymore in their old pack after illegally harboring an Alpha refugee for years. They are lucky they weren’t arrested.”

Derek nodded in understanding before he turned away. “I’ll go pack Stiles’ things.”

His sister brushed her hand over his shoulder, before she nodded and turned to stand close to the door. Probably in case the families needed something.

The goodbye was short.

Derek handed Stiles’ father a suitcase with the clothes they had bought for him and added some of his favorite picture books. They were probably redundant. In a few weeks, Stiles wasn’t going to use them anyway. Derek was only selfish by packing them in, wanted the other to have something that would made him think of his time with the Hales. Even if only for a short time.

Talia, who came home an hour after the reunion, while the families were still huddled up in the living room, took over the explanation. She told them that Stiles wasn’t able to understand speech yet and was solemnly deciphering through facial expressions. That he was hard-headed enough to make his wishes clear, though. It elicited a tiny smile from Mrs. Stilinski, who wasn’t letting go of Stiles’ hand even for one second, knuckles white under the crushing grip.

Talia gave them Deaton’s number, told them to call him so he could explain in detail what she had only done in a none-professional way, assured them again and again that Stiles was going to be fine, that it would just take time. That an emissary called Julia Baccari was probably going to contact them to reverse the spell.

Stiles put his arms around Derek’s neck for barely a second before they left. The werewolf didn’t even have the chance to return the rushed hug before the teenager was back to clinging to his little brother and mother.

Then they were off.

Derek tried not to feel as lost as he did.

“That was fast,” Cora remarked.

Derek ignored the slight hitch in her voice, just nodded in reply. “I’m going for a walk,” he announced and left without another word. It was all he could think of, the only thing that seemed to calm him down when his emotions were in an uproar, which, granted, didn’t happen often to him. Walking was easy, just one foot in front of the other.

He didn’t know how long he had been out, but the moon had risen a long time ago, when he eventually found his way back home, his brain mercifully empty. Even though he must have walked for hours, his body still felt restless.

When he entered the house, a whirl of blonde hair attacked him. Malia looked up at him through wet, brown eyes, whining pathetically until Derek patted her head. “You can visit him,” he assured. He waited until she let him go, then walked up the stairs to his room, closing the door in her face when she tried to enter after him.

There was a moment of forlorn silence as he took a look around. Then Derek gave himself a push, opened the window wide and changed the bed sheets, throwing the used ones directly into the washing machine before he went to collect the toys and books to bring them back to the attic. On his way out Malia had camped in front of his door but he walked past her. When he returned she was gone. Back in his room the Rubic’s cube Stiles had last played with was still on the couch. He took it in his hands and sat down, absentmindedly spinning and twisting it for a while.

In retrospect, Derek realized what it meant that Stiles had played with the toy.

He was seeing colors again.

Every born werewolf had a sort of free pass for their first years. A week after their fourteenth birthday Californian werewolves were introduced to the Argents who assessed their ability to control a shift. Usually, everyone passed without any problems but it was still celebrated as some form of youth ceremony or early coming of age. In the rare cases they didn’t, a werewolf was declared NSFP until they learned how to control it. Depending on what triggered the change, they were divided into different categories, which determined when the next instance of testing was going to be.

Chris Argent had performed Derek’s tests, had almost declared him safe until his father and head of Argent’s Tactical, Gerard, walked in and asked Derek to change on command.

When the boy couldn’t do it they suspected drugs to repress the change for a certain amount of time. There were a few illegal, very expensive and not exactly healthy methods mostly bitten werewolves used to pass the test. That day was the first time the teenager had heard of such drugs. Gerard didn’t believe him. They tested his urine and blood. He passed. Victoria, Chris’ werewolf partner and wife, was called in. Gerard suspected Derek wasn’t a werewolf, Victoria said he smelled like one. They tested his senses, hearing, smelling, night vision, everything they could think of.

After that they contacted his parents.

They discussed for what felt like hours, Derek listening to their muted voices through thick-steeled doors.

When he saw his parent’s unhappy faces as they left the office, Derek didn’t even need to ask what the outcome had been.

Most of the information Derek received about Stiles was through bits and pieces said at the dinner table.

That the True Alpha Pack was back in town. That they declined whatever the Whittemores offered them and only wanted to live in peace among the other packs in their old houses and a new one for the Yukimuras.

Jackson was all too willing to grant that request.

The families confirmed that there had been an attack on the True Alpha Pack nine years ago. Laura said it hadn’t been the Whittemores, but probably some fanatically religious splinter group. But they didn’t know if it was the ones that worshiped True Alphas as Gods or some backwards organization that still believed in achieving power by killing a True Alpha. Investigation was taken up again and still going on. Yet Derek had a feeling there was more behind the weird behavior of the Whittemores and Martins; that they knew more than they let on but neither the Stilinskis nor the McCalls seemed to believe that the Alphas themselves had anything to do with the attack.

Stiles’ brother was the one who had used the spell on Stiles years ago. The information about what had lead to the curse was a little hazy and everyone had another story to tell but the gist of it was apparently that the two brothers had a fight over something stupid. The younger Stilinski had tried to run away. When Stiles followed to bring him back home, the boy got upset and unintentionally spelled his older brother in anger. No one had even known he was magical until then.

The younger brother was now learning under Julia in Emissary school.

Derek didn’t ask for the details of the spell, but was offered some of them anyway. The first years Stiles had spent as a real fox but with the fading magic he slowly returned to his human self—like Julia had predicted. She made a bad attempt to hide her smugness, when she informed the Hales of what had been going on with Stiles. However, the emissary was unable to lift the spell completely, but could at least speed up the healing process with the information she had gotten from the blond boy. According to Cora who was in class with Scott McCall, it meant that Stiles by now was completely human brain wise, with his body still undergoing some changes.

It meant he understood language.

Before returning to Beacon Hills, The families had thought Stiles was dead.

They had almost not come back, hoping against hope that Stiles might return to their hideout. But it was too dangerous to live with an of age Alpha werewolf in a territory that wasn’t his and the only place they had a claim to was in Beacon Hills.

Stiles’ smell was slowly fading. Derek trailed the preserve not thinking about it. Old lumberjack Jenkins sometimes stopped in his attempt to chop down the tree to sit with Derek, telling him stories of the old world, when werewolves were vicious clans, hunting down humans for sport. Before the Great Wars and the blood shed and the truces and riots.

Sometimes when Malia came by, she would smell faintly of Stiles. She tried to rub the scent off on Derek, but he simply bypassed her. The werewolf did everything to lose it and didn’t need a constant reminder. The girl would look at him like he had slapped her in the face. Derek knew she was just trying to comfort him.

He didn’t think he needed comfort.

Obviously his family and friends disagreed.

At the beginning, he didn’t even notice. How Laura was constantly just there. Sort of floating around him, not exactly within eye sight but in proximity, like she could be by his side immediately if he wanted her to be. How Eric was always asking him for help or advice or leaving him to brood in his room.

It hit him the moment Cora was dangling Ben & Jerry’s ice in front of his nose, tipping her head to the TV where he could see the start screen of “Back to the Future”. Derek furrowed his brow before he brusquely brushed past her and slammed his door shut.

At night, when Derek let himself think of Stiles too much, and he became aware of how much he missed the warmth of another body, he would begin to unintentionally shift. Derek didn’t know what the trigger feeling was, considering there were so many running through him at those times.

The shift was worrisome.

Derek thought he might turn feral soon.

He wondered if he should report himself.

There were several organizations keeping track of werewolves in the USA, one for every state.

The Argents were in charge of California, with their headquarters in San Diego and San Francisco. They had several facilities all over the state, serving as detention centers for feral werewolves, as well as special prisons for criminal ones.

Most Argents belonged to the specially trained operation force known as SA—Silver Arrow. They were working to catch feral werewolves alive for treatments. A group consisted of a minimum of two: at least one human and one werewolf. Never just two werewolves, never just two humans.

On the side they performed the dirty task of testing suspected ferals, born werewolf teenagers and bitten ones.

The Argents and everyone belonging to their organization were forbidden from joining any packs, lest it could interfere with politics.

They were trained to catch werewolves.

But also to kill them with the most effective methods possible.

The means to do so were developed in research centers all over the countries.

Derek wondered if it was ironic that their history with the Argents went very, very far back. That the Argents used to hunt down the Hale pack, back then declared as dangerous simply for being human rights activists.

He wondered if it was coincidence that they met again in a tiny town like Beacon Hills.

Wondered if Kate, who shouldn’t have been anywhere close to Beacon Hills, being on Hale territory the night she snapped under the pressure of having lost her partner had been a coincidence or a strategically placed pawn.

Over the years of the equality riots and demonstrations, there had been a lot of bloodshed and suffering on both sides of the Hale and Argent families.

Derek never probed into the subject. And no one in his family ever voiced any concerns of their own.

Probably because a feud with the Argents wasn’t worth it.

Derek couldn’t sleep at night.

It was laughable how he had managed for years without anyone even in his room and now after a few months of Stiles clinging to him like an octopus, stealing blankets and pillows during the night and sometimes even kicking him, he was suddenly unable to even get a wink of sleep for a few minutes.

Chuckling darkly to himself, he flipped to the other side.

His mobile was ringing somewhere in the room. Derek thought about ignoring it, but considering that it was way past three in the morning and usually no one called him anyway, mostly just sending messages, curiosity and boredom got the better of him. When he finally found the phone underneath half-drawn drafts and colored failures, plugged for what must have been forever, the caller hung up.

Derek listened to the steady beep tone, before he carelessly threw the phone on the couch.

Barely a second later, it went off again.

“Yes?” he growled into the speaker.

Silence greeted him.

There was a second when he was about to snarl at whoever called, to curse and hang up. Instead he listened to the fast breathing from the other side, the shaky almost inaudible whimper and wail, and then—

“Stiles?”

There was a vibrating whine on the other side on the phone. A sound Derek knew very, very well. Something Stiles made whenever he was unhappy or sad. The werewolf sat down on the couch, head in his hand—waiting for, he didn’t know what. Stiles clearly couldn’t speak yet.

It’s been a week.

Why was he calling?

“Do you understand me?” he asked, but knew he wouldn’t get a satisfying answer.

Stiles barked once. Derek figured it was affirmative.

“Are you alright?”

Another potential yes.

Derek didn’t know what Stiles wanted him to do, but he was well aware what he wanted to do. He was about to just drop everything and drive over to the Stilinskis, regardless of time and circumstance. But he was putting as much distance as possible between them, giving the family a chance to bond, to get to know each other again. Stiles might think that Derek was what he needed right now, but the man was mature enough to know that this wasn’t the case. Furthermore, he didn’t trust himself at the moment. Whatever was happening with him, it was unstable. And dangerous, he mentally added when he noticed his claws had come out somewhere between going to bed and talking one-sidedly with Stiles.

The breath of the teenager was soothingly steady by now, and Derek just tipped himself back sprawling on the couch, legs dangling over the end. They were both quiet on the phone but it was enough for the werewolf. He could hear Stiles’ breathing, could pretend the boy was there, just sleeping in his bed, not close enough to touch but to hear. It was comforting. For the first time since Stiles had left, Derek fell into a deep sleep while listening to the other’s low, even breaths.

He startled awake what felt like a few minutes later by a voice calling out.

“Hello? Anyone there?”

It took Derek a second to realize that it was morning already. And that the female voice was coming through his mobile.

“Yes?” he asked, picking up the phone.

“Claudia Stilinski,” the woman stated, there was uneasy reluctance in her voice. “Who are you?”

“Derek… Derek Hale,” he offered, after clearing his throat.

“Oh.” The woman let out a relieved breath, chuckling lightly. It didn’t sound happy. “I guess that explains a lot. I’m sorry he called you.”

“No. It’s… fine,” he said.

“No, it’s not,” she countered determinedly. “You have done enough already. It’s not fair to burden you any further.” Derek wanted to assure her that Stiles hadn’t been a burden, never was, was never going to be. “I’ll tell him he shouldn’t call you at,” she paused for a moment, letting out an exasperated sigh, “Christ, three in the morning? I’m really sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Derek replied firmly.

She paused, then said: “It was nice talking to you, Derek,” before she hung up.

Derek stared at the phone in confusion.

Stiles didn’t call again after that.

Derek’s shifts happened faster than before. It was only a question of time when he wouldn’t be able to hide them any longer.

Derek knew that Stiles’ parents were somewhere in the house. But he didn’t know where or for what purpose. The second he saw the car pull up in the drive way he locked himself in his room.

He attempted to draw, but his hands had been shaking for two days now and every draft ended up as a paper ball littering the floor. He had gone through a ninety paged sketchbook in less than a week and had produced nothing. Just ridiculous sketches of foxes again and again. Derek had been growling in frustration at the uncreative mess in front of him for a good ten minutes, when a knock on his door pulled him out of his misery. There was a short pause, before it opened and his mother stepped in, raising her eyebrows at the paper grave yard around his feet.

“I invited the Stilinskis,” she explained, when her eyes flickered back to him.

“I noticed,” Derek replied flatly.

“They would like to ask you a few questions. If that’s alright with you.”

Derek’s eyebrows went up in surprise, but then he schooled his expression back into his usual scowl and shrugged.

It was the first time Derek got a good look at the couple after the reunion, faces almost relaxed and not wrecked by tears. The blonde woman tensed as soon as he entered the living room and sat down on the coach opposite them. He didn’t say anything apart from a short greeting, waiting patiently for them to come forth with their questions so he could be out of there, the scent of Stiles too strong around the two visitors. For a moment he wondered if it had something to do with the call, but Derek himself didn’t know how Stiles had gotten a hold of his telephone number, let alone how he had dialed it.

“It’s nice to see you again, Derek,” Claudia Stilinski opened with a tight lipped smile. The Stilinskis seemed nervous, but the presence of his mother calmed them whenever one of them looked over to her. “I hope you are doing well.”

Derek shrugged. “What do you want to know?”

The parents shared a look between them, the man pressing his lips together in a frown. His wife put a hand on his knee before she turned back to Derek.

“We need your help,” she unclosed after a moment’s hesitation.

Derek furrowed his brow.

“Stiles… he hasn’t slept in days, and he spends his nights in the closet. We tried to get him out of there but it only made things worse.”

“Did he build a nest from his clothes?” Derek inquired, mouth twitching despite the genuine worry. The Stilinkis glanced at each other, John coughing once before they nodded in unison.

Derek raised his eyebrows at the exchange.

“We don’t know what to do. The only time he slept had been when I found him in the closet with you on the phone. But we can’t have him calling you just for that.”

“Leave him,” Derek replied easily. “You don’t have to do anything.”

“Listen,” Mr. Stilinski snapped, standing up but his wife pulled him back to the couch, as Talia shifted her position slightly, baring her teeth in a silent growl.

“Stiles needs time to get used to you and the house,” the dark-haired werewolf continued unfazed. “He’ll come around when he’s ready. Just don’t force him. He doesn’t like it. If you do, it’s likely that he doesn’t do it at all And I don’t mind him calling me.” It wasn’t like he was getting a lot of sleep anyway.

“And maybe,” he started, but then stopped himself, glancing at his mother.

“Yes?” Mrs. Stilinski prodded.

Derek shrugged in reply. “Maybe the house reminds him. Of what happened the night you left.”

It was like time was standing still, the Stilinskis frozen in their position after hearing these words; like they hadn’t even contemplated that Stiles might have a problem living in their old house again after everything that had happened. It wasn't like Derek was all that sure about the assumption. All he knew was that the brunette had kept away from the building ever since they had found them on its doorsteps.

“That night Stiles, he,” Mrs. Stilinski started after a moment, shaking her head as if she was trying to suppress memories, “was supposed to be asleep. I heard muffled voices and thought he was up to something. But when I entered his room, a man pulled him out of his bed and held a gun to his head.”

Derek glanced at his mother, who was attentively listening to every word. As far as the man knew it was sheer impossible to get a word out of the two families regarding that night they vanished, but it seemed like at least Mrs. Stilinski was slowing opening up to them, whereas her husband remained mute, giving silent support to the blond woman via small touches.

“Living with the Yukimuras,” the werewolf started again after a quiet moment, “he had shared a room with Scott, but he never did something like hiding in a closet. Maybe he does feel scared alone in that room?” Her question was clearly not directed at Talia or Derek when she turned to look at Mr. Stilinski, who was frowning in contemplation.

“How long,” he suddenly asked, turning to make eye contact with Derek, “did it take with you?”

Derek’s eyes narrowed, before he earnestly contemplated the question. “Until he left the closet for sleep? Weeks, maybe a month.” It was difficult to even remember the beginnings, the struggles, the power plays Stiles used to engage him in. “I don’t think it will take that long with you.”

Stiles’ parents didn’t look pleased with his answer but it wasn’t like Derek could change the situation. “But I’m not an expert,” he tried to smooth the situation anyway.

Claudia smiled wistfully. “Your mother said you were the one who looked after him. So I guess you are as much of an expert as we can get.”

They left shortly after. Derek’s mother watching him out of the corner of her eyes. When he turned to face her, raising his eyebrows in question she simply furrowed her brow before she got up and left.

A few days later, Cora informed everyone at the dinner table, that she had spoken to Scott McCall.

Apparently, Stiles was doing really well now.

Derek was happy for him.

Derek watched helplessly as his fingernails turned to claws. He was out in the preserve, no other being around. His thoughts had been blank, he was pretty sure of that. Simply walking through the wood, listening to the snapping of twigs underneath his steel-toed boots, which were suddenly too small as claws on his toes tried to dig their way out. The werewolf growled at his own hands, before he clenched them tightly, drawing blood from the palms. There was an unfamiliar tension in his jaw, an itch and pain whenever his teeth tried to grow and he attempted to push them back. It became more difficult with every passing day.

“The waxing moon bothering you, son?” Old lumberjack Jenkins asked from his side. Derek frowned at the ghost in irritation, before his eyes widened and he looked up to the sky through barren tree branches and falling leaves, the moon already three-quarters full.

Derek had never kept track of lunar phases. Waning and waxing had never held any meaning to him, neither had the full moon. But now that his body grew more and more anxious for something, as he became more edgy and his limbs started to tingle and ache, and an uncontrolled energy was prickling under his skin, he finally realized what was about to happen.

The werewolf opened his hands, blood still tainting the already healed skin.

He hung his shoulders in defeat, pushed the hands into his pockets as he trotted back home.

He didn’t tell anyone.

But they knew when Derek went down the stairs leading into the cellar. When he closed the doors to the cage behind himself and silently dropped down on the floor.

It was like something else took over. Like he was losing himself in blood and rage and pain. So much pain. Every muscle in his body was aching and screaming. From open wounds he subconsciously knew he had inflicted on himself in order to break free as he tried to gnaw through the bars with his bare teeth; tried to dig with clawed fingers through the concrete, howling until his voice was raw and almost gone, his vocal cords hurting through roars as he threw himself over and over against the door and the walls, skin breaking under the maltreatment.

When the night was over, Derek was huddled together in a corner, bloody, but healed and human.

The cage door creaked ominously when it was being opened from the outside, the noise too loud to his oversensitive ears, shallow light falling, throwing shadows onto the ground. Derek shied away from the rare sunbeams, like he had been underground for days, and pushed his body further against the corner.

“Ssshhh,” a voice hushed soothingly. It took Derek a moment to notice the curly blond hair, slim fitted clothes, provocatively red lips pressed into a thin line of worry instead of their trade mark smirk. “It’s Erica,” she confirmed, slowly advancing. Behind the girl were several other silhouettes, just dark blurs moving and flickering. Derek felt his head spin, so tried to focus his vision back on the girl.

Erica didn’t make an attempt to touch him. She stayed a few feet away, but was hunching down. “Are you alright?”

Derek opened his mouth to reply, noticing how dry it was. His voice was more a croak than anything else when he worked the aching muscles in his jaw, forced his chapped lips to shape into a barely there ‘yes’.

Erica moved deliberately slow when she reached behind her and revealed a bottle. “Water,” she explained, then placed it down in front of him. Derek took it immediately, downing the liter within seconds.

“Thanks,” he replied, drying his lips with the back of his hand.

“You’re welcome.” She watched him carefully for a moment. “Do you want to come out?”

His eyes looked past her, at the silhouettes that slowly materialized and shaped into the worried faces of his family. Of his pack. He turned his eyes away in shame, shook his head once.

“Okay,” Erica conceded easily through the growls of protests from the rest of the Hales. “Whenever you’re ready. The door is open.”

He didn’t acknowledge her words, but didn’t need to, either. Erica was already up and turning around to leave the cage, door ajar as she ushered everyone out of the cellar with a determined growl.

“This was your first time.”

Derek rolled his eyes and head back, staring at the ceiling. “You know it was,” he replied in annoyance. He couldn’t see it, but he was sure Deaton nodded in that annoying way that meant absolutely nothing.

“We have to call the Argents.”

“Yes,” Derek agreed, keeping his voice neutral.

Deaton left his office to make the call, while Derek sat in the uncomfortable chairs, looking around just to have something to do. The last time he had been in there, he had listened to the changes Stiles had been going through. Now he was here because of his own. He busied himself with studying the row of shelves, filled with books about werewolf physiology, social behavior, race typical sicknesses.

When Deaton returned, Derek looked up, mustering the courage to ask what had burned on his tongue ever since he had entered the room. “I was… a werewolf, right?”

The older man paused, before he sat down again, a benevolent smile on lips. “According to your mother, you were. You are a born werewolf, Derek. Cases like Malia or Jackson are rare.”

“Yet they both happened here,” the man pointed out flatly, ignoring the sigh of relief he let out nevertheless.

“Can’t argue that point.”

Deaton brought Derek into a room, bar of anything but a table and two chairs. He stripped down to his underwear, already used to the routine, bare feet cold on the glass tiles, embedded wires visible on the surface. There was the distinct buzzing sound of electricity coming from an adjourned room. Derek didn’t need to think that hard to know what the wires were doing there.

Half an hour later two pairs of heavy booted footsteps echoed in the hallway, then there was a knock on the door. Whoever it was didn’t wait for any confirmation, but simply turned the knob. The opening door revealed a dark-haired woman—more like a girl, really—with a shy, but wide innocent smile.

“Hello Derek, I’m Allison,” she greeted as she walked in and closed the door behind her, then offered a hand in greeting.

Derek raised his eyebrows in surprise. Her smile just grew a little wider and she gave a slight nod in confirmation. The werewolf took the hand, shaking it quickly before letting it drop.

“I’m here to conduct some tests to determine your status.”

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” he asked instead, testing out her temper. Over the years he had several run-ins with hunters, some nicer than the others. Derek had learned that it was always good to know what temper one was dealing with.

Her smile didn’t falter for a second, instead she chuckled quietly. “I’m nineteen. Started my unofficial training at seven. Officially at eighteen, of course. However, I’m still a trainee.”

“You’re a real Argent then,” the werewolf concluded.

“Yes,” she replied easily, then changed the subject to the matter at hand. “My partner, Bennett, will be waiting outside in the hallway. You might have noticed the wires in the floor. If I see signs for an attack, or you refuse to cooperate I am allowed to use electricity to subdue you. And I will,” she tagged on. “If you have any questions, feel free to ask whenever they pop up.”

“Right,” Derek replied.

He was already done with this.

He hated the stress endurance tests the most. Electricity, fire, wolfsbane, minor forms of narcotics. They were testing the reactions, how long one could control the shift, ranging from physical to mental.

They were usually painful.

Derek shifted not even once without even trying. When she requested him to do, he couldn’t. Allison arched her eyebrows. “Your file stated you aren’t able to shift. Doesn’t look like anything has changed. What are you doing here?”

Derek shrugged.

It wasn’t like he didn’t know what the trigger was. But he had forcefully kept himself from thinking about him. The woman walked up and down in front of the table, pen stuck in her mouth as she went over the data a second time, motioning at Derek to get dressed again.

He could help her out of her misery.

But he didn’t.

She filled the report out with a sigh, while he put his clothes on. After every sentence Allison let him know what she had written down. That physical stress or pain did not trigger a reaction wasn’t a surprise to the werewolf. However, she purposefully left the lines for psychological facts open. When Derek was about to leave the room, she took in a steadying breath, her heartbeat picking up. Then he heard the trigger of a gun clicking.

“Stiles.”

The reaction was pretty much right off the bat. Thankfully only his eyes glowered, which were reflecting in the window of the door. Coming waxing moon again, Derek knew his reaction would be more than just that. Through the reflection of the glass he could see Allison pointing a gun at him, waiting until he turned around to her before she put it down, her whole body relaxing at the lack of aggressive behavior.

“Your Alpha told us it might be him.”

Derek raised his eyebrows. He should feel betrayed but it was probably for the best. Allison holstered the gun, then leaned back, half sitting on the table as she crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“I’m changing you to code red. Usually, having only one fixed trigger and becoming problematic with the waxing moon would put you on yellow. There are two things keeping me from doing it,” she explained, face hard as she looked at him. “First, the fact you didn’t tell me what your trigger is, even-though you obviously knew doesn’t make you generally trustworthy.” Derek defiantly lifted his chin. “Second, your trigger would be put on the pin for everyone to see. It’s to prevent accidentally causing a reaction by third parties, and also to keep the werewolves save. If someone exploited the warning, fully aware it would aggravate a yellow, the werewolf by law wouldn’t be held responsible but the one using the information as provocation. I figure you wouldn’t want that. Not that I see you wearing a pin anyway,” she judged, looking him up and down.

The werewolf remained stubbornly silent.

“If you ask me, this is a step up from black,” Allison supplied, voice a little warmer. “You just have to learn to control it. It might be more difficult, considering your age, but you have been growing up with werewolves and it is essentially a part of you since you were born.”

Derek didn’t reply.

Allison sighed, before she handed Derek the discharge papers. “Your parents are outside to pick you up. Ms. White will fill you in on the regulations regarding your changed status and help you with the paperwork. I’ll see you again in three months for your next evaluation.” Her smile was confident when she continued. “I’m positive you will be able to handle yourself until then.”

Derek wasn’t allowed to leave the house. He had to wear an ankle monitor laced in wolfsbane, which not only made it impossible for a werewolf to touch or break but also caused a nasty rash where it was wrapped around his ankle. Admittedly, the rash was probably Derek’s fault as he didn’t take proper care of the annoying device and ignored tears in the leather, therefore neglecting to wrap a bandage around the affected skin.

The electronic shackle wasn’t what bothered the werewolf the most, though. It was the fact that he couldn’t get rid of his excess energy by prowling the preserve anymore.

When he wanted to go outside, Talia had to call the Argents in advance and two werewolves had to accompany him. Among the six lycanthropes in their pack, they tried to make free time to get Derek into the forest for at least an hour. Braeden was able to get a license which allowed her to supervise Derek’s activities alone if she used a wolfsbane collar—a means to forcefully prevent shifting. It wasn’t easy to obtain the permission but as she was over-seeing most of SAs training sessions she was in good standing with Chris Argent.

Derek was grateful for his family but the walks in the preserve weren’t the same with the constant surveillance, and the hour never enough.

Although he greedily took what he was offered, and worked out for the rest of the time to repel that itch, that buzzing energy under his skin. He couldn’t concentrate on his work, neither the illustrations nor the woodwork. In his unsettled state, he would sometimes just walk up and down the stairs for a change of scenery. It was like he was becoming cage stupid.

In less than a week he looked pale and tired and had actual circles under his eyes.

Up to that point he didn’t even know that was possible for werewolves.

Derek hated it.

He hated his condition, hated that he didn’t know how Stiles was doing. He wanted to know what the teenager was like by now, whether he was happy. If he even for one second thought about Derek as much as Derek thought about him. What it actually meant when his family said his brain and body were human by now. How much he had changed from the Stiles he had become acquainted with.

Derek wasn’t sure he wanted to meet a completely human Stiles.

He wasn’t sure whether a completely human Stiles wanted to meet him.

Derek was spending most of his days alone. Peter was usually the only person home during the day, his job as a supernatural adviser one he could pursue from the Hale library. Everyone else was out for work or school.

It had never bothered Derek before. He had been busy with his own deadlines and for a short while, he had Stiles who was keeping him on his toes with whatever nonsense he came up with.

Now that the brunette was gone and Derek was shackled to the house, unable to even get one illustration done, the werewolf wasn’t only bored out of his mind but also surprisingly… lonely. Because even with Peter around, his uncle was usually in his own world.

There was excitement and pleasure and content and pride and a lot of other emotions and overwhelming smells when Derek opened the door. The werewolf had known who was waiting impatiently on the porch, had caught the unique heartbeat before he had heard the engine of the car that minutes later pulled up in the Hale driveway; had caught the scent even through the open window of his own room.

There was Stiles, beaming brightly and proudly at him, smugness and brimming happiness radiating off him as he bounced on the heels of his feet in barely restrained excitement.

“Hello Derek,” Stiles said, and if possible, the smile grew even wider on the boy’s lips as Derek’s mouth slowly dropped open in surprise.

“I’m Stiles,” he continued, reaching his hand out.

The werewolf simply stared at him, his eyes flickering to the hand and then back to the mischief and, strangely enough, shyness in the other’s eyes. When he slowly reached out to take the offered hand, Stiles grabbed it with an indignant huff and pulled Derek closer in an uncoordinated movement, almost tripping against him, before he jumped up with a gleeful laugh to wrap his limbs around the man’s waist and neck.

Derek caught the teenager easily, balancing them out before he even realized what was going on. When he did, he promptly pressed the boy impossibly closer, fingers digging into shoulders as he unabashedly nuzzled Stiles’ neck. It elicited a quiet chuckle from Stiles and a low growl from the front yard. Only now the werewolf noticed Scott McCall, standing further away, but he chose to ignore the Alpha. He was more interested in the deep, cheerful laugh from the human in his arms, the sound void of screeching or yipping.

“Derek,” Stiles repeated on a chuckle, the ‘r’ rolled a little too hard, and the ‘k’ ending too sharp.

“Stiles?” he asked.

The teenager relaxed his octopus grip around Derek’s neck to lean away and establish eye contact, almost making them fall but the man adjusted their bodies easily. “Derek. Derekderekderek. Deeeereeeeek,” Stiles sing-songed in a mantra, his expression warm and soft and pleased and Derek should be annoyed, really, at the overabundant use of his name.

He wasn’t.

In all his stupidity he enjoyed listening to the awkward pronunciation, realizing in that moment what it must have been like for Stiles when Derek used his name for the first time. Remembered how he himself had enjoyed simply being able to finally call the other by a name.

“It’s all he can say for now,” McCall interrupted his thoughts, approaching them. Derek noticed he had just been staring, open mouthed, at the brunette in his arms for a while now. Stiles started to lower his feet and Derek took the hint, reluctantly letting him down and resisting the urge to keep him close nonetheless. “He learned your name, like, twenty minutes ago and wanted to tell you right away.”

Stiles slapped the other boy at the arm with a frown.

“And he didn’t want me to tell you,” the Alpha remembered, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m Scott McCall, by the way.”

“The True Alpha.”

The other werewolf grimaced at the words. “Dude, seriously, if people don’t stop calling me that I’m going on a killing spree.” Derek tilted his head, frowning. “Joke! I’m joking!” the boy pushed on, palms facing him in a placating manner.

Derek simply stared at him.

“So, you’re Derek then?” Scott asked after a few seconds of silence, his eyes flickering to the electronic tag hidden underneath lose jeans for a second, probably noticing the wolfsbane.

Stiles was chuckling next to them.

“Derek Hale, yes,” the older man said, when he realized that he had forgotten to introduce himself.

“I guess I owe you thanks. I mean, we all do. We sort of forgot that day—”

“Doesn’t matter,” he interrupted.

“It does matter,” Scott replied firmly, frowning at him. “We’ll make it up to you. If it hadn’t been for you—”

“Stiles is fine. That’s what’s important.”

The spoken about boy puffed his chest out, preening at them and hitting a fist twice over his heart before he pointed between Scott and Derek, wiggling his eyebrows at his friend in an expression that was communicating a lot, considering how McCall’s face changed in under a second from confused, to annoyed, exasperated and then amused before he swatted Stiles’ finger away and ignored the following pout.

Derek looked between them, his stomach growing cold in a way he didn’t want to analyze closer.

“Yeah well, Stiles just wanted to tell you. So we are leaving,” Scott decided, wincing at Stiles’ sudden crestfallen face. “Dude, you know we have a lot to do.”

The brunette nodded in defeat, but turned around to face Derek again. He leaned in without any warning, placed both hands on the stubbled cheek as he brought their faces close together to inspect Derek, rubbing his thumbs underneath the dark eyes. Stiles’ gaze was quizzical as he slightly turned his head to the side, as if he was trying to figure something out.

“A lot of work,” Derek lied.

Stiles squinted at him suspiciously, but then nodded. He waved at Derek in goodbye before turning around and jumping down the stairs, stumbling into Scott at his landing and letting out a surprised laugh as they collided. The Alpha caught both of them before they could fall over, an exasperated sigh coming over his lips.

Derek closed the door before the car had left the property.

After the first visit, Stiles came by almost on a daily basis, mostly twice a day; sometimes more. The teenager would never stay for long, which didn’t surprise Derek at all.

According to Scott—not McCall, not True Alpha, Alpha or any other weird title, just Scott please, after all we are practically family—Stiles had to see neurologists and other doctors of different fields almost daily to track his healing process. He had private tutors who taught him writing and reading, was seeing a speech therapist for pronunciation, a physiotherapist to help him with posture and any pain the changing skeleton brought along, a regular therapists to deal with whatever issues he needed to deal with and probably a dozen other therapists and whatnot to help him with things Derek hadn’t even considered necessary.

Knowing Stiles had a rather tight schedule sobered Derek up, made him appreciate the short visits, even if he hated seeing Stiles leave again. And if Stiles’ hesitation and attempts to prolong his stay were anything to go by, the feeling was mutual.

It wasn’t a coincidence that he felt lost when someone of the pack was there and snatched the brunette’s attention away from him.

That he shifted as soon as he stopped hearing Stiles’ heartbeat.

Scott was always the one to drive Stiles into the preserve to meet the Hales. He did it without complaining, content to help his friend with as much as he could. Derek didn’t think Scott had a lot of free time himself. He probably had to deal with official Alpha bureaucracy stuff and boring meetings. Yet he always made time to drive his friend around. Sometimes Derek suspected Scott did it to get away from said duties.

“He has a lot he wants to tell you,” the Alpha explained with a shrug after Derek sort of awkwardly asked once. “It’s easier now that he can write down what he wants to learn. You won’t believe what kind of terror he inflicted on us because we didn’t understand him when he told us he wanted to learn your name.”

They were in the living room, Derek offering Scott the tea Peter had made for them. Stiles was in the library after Cora, Malia and Erica had kidnapped him to play, trying to teach him their names. Derek could hear them forming the syllables slowly with Stiles generally chuckling about something. Probably about their faces. Or maybe because Derek knew for a fact that the teenager already knew how to pronounce the names but simply pretended he didn’t for whatever reason.

Brat, Derek thought, trying to keep the fondness from his inner voice.

Scott stood up the moment Derek put the tea cup down on the table. Confused, the beta assumed Scott was about to leave but then the teenager made a strange impression of… a bear? Hunching his shoulders, ducking his head, pulling his lips down in an obvious frown. “That’s what he did,” the younger werewolf explained, repeating the imitation before plopping down again. “He used pantomime to let us know, but seriously, the impression of you was the worst I had ever seen. We might have yelled things like ‘Yeti’ or ‘angry bear’ and stuff like that at him. We were seriously confused. And Stiles pretty offended. On your behalf. Or his behalf. I don’t know. He was throwing a fork at me. That’s all I cared about.”

Derek sat down, blinking at the brunette.

“It sounds funny now, but at that time we were really worried. But yeah, now Stiles is fluent in writing and reading, he just has trouble with individual sounds. He’s getting there. Obviously. So he writes down what he wants to tell you and his teacher helps him with the right pronunciation. It’s funny to watch actually. Mr. James—that’s his speech therapist—wants to give him this global education, but he is like ‘no, no, no’ all the time until he teaches him. He is terrorizing all the other therapists, as well. I think the only one who can handle him is Ms. Morrell, his psychiatrists.”

Derek nodded, a little overwhelmed by the barrage of words. The man couldn’t remember the last time anyone had talked so much at him. He could only imagine what Stiles was going to be like as soon as he mastered the art of speech again. The werewolf had a hunch it would be equal to Scott, if not even more eloquent.

Right now, the sentences Stiles came to pass on had always been short. After ‘Hi Derek’ and ‘I’m Stiles’ it had been ‘Thank you for your help’, ‘I’m sorry for the biting’, ‘But you were kind of a jerk’, ‘But only at the beginning’, ‘You should smile more often’ and ‘Your cooking skills suck by the way’. Derek had openly laughed at the last one in surprise, because it was more like Stiles than anything else he had told him as of yet.

After staring at him for a moment, Stiles had produced a notepad from somewhere in his pockets, flipped it open, scribbled something down and then held the note up for Derek to read.

‘I want to talk to you so this is the only time I’ll write’ it said in a scrawny messy handwriting. ‘But I told you you should smile more often and I’m right’. The teenager smirked at him. Derek couldn’t even pretend to be annoyed.

True to his word, Stiles never wrote. Derek wished he would, because there were so many things he wanted to know and ask. Instead he had to exercise patience. Stiles never called either. He always showed up personally.

“Dude, not kidding, at the beginning I was so jealous of you,” Scott confessed. Derek wondered if he was high or drunk. He shouldn’t have left Peter to brew the tea. His uncle had probably tampered with it just for kicks. “After three years, I finally had my best friend back. And all he wanted to do was come back for you.” Derek tried to hide the surprise and happiness rising in his stomach but the Alpha caught it easily, lifting his eyebrows but refrained from commenting on it. “And the beginning… it was so freaking difficult...”

Scott trailed off, but after a second he abruptly snapped his eyes to Derek’s. “I told his parents to contact you. That you would know what we would have to do. I was a couple times about to do it myself. But they said we shouldn’t bother you. I’m glad they eventually did.”

“I didn’t mind,” Derek replied truthfully.

“I noticed,” Scott chuckled dryly, before he fell silent. They were quiet for a moment, Derek listening to Stiles’ loud laughter and the girls frustrated mumbles and grumbles in the background. It was almost serene, almost too good.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” the teenage Alpha suddenly started again. Derek startled out of his concentration, noticed how the air around Scott had changed from the goof ball he had gotten to know to authority. Derek pushed his back through, promptly sitting straighter, his jaw clenched when he caught the shift in atmosphere. “Stiles is going to get marked as soon as the doctors declare him mentally stable.”

Derek nodded curtly.

“It’s what we had planned years ago and it’s what he still wants to do.”

“You want us to stay away?” Derek asked bluntly.

Scott’s eyes widened, before he jumped up, shushing him with a finger to his lips. “Are you insane? If Stiles hears you say that he’s going to kill me. Oh my God, I don’t want you to stay away, Jesus. Don’t put words in my mouth that might endanger my life!”

Derek looked up at him in surprise. The other werewolf dropped back on the couch.

“So... you want us to stop… touching him?”

“I know belonging to different packs isn’t much of a deal in larger packs,” the brunette boy started. “But yours is small. So is mine. Sooner or later, it could lead to problems and I don’t want a fight with Talia over territory. But you’re a werewolf so you could leave the pack if you wanted, right?”

The older man furrowed his brow, not sure what the other was asking him.

“I’m marked.”

“Huh?”

“I’m marked,” Derek repeated patiently.

“That’s… unfortunate,” Scott finally offered, appearing confused.

“I’m labeled NSFP red.”

“Yeah, the monitor. I noticed. But that’s not a problem for us.”

“And I’m not going to leave my family.”

Scott was gnawing on his lower lip now, then nodded in determination. “I understand. I’ll try to work something out for all of us.”

Derek eyed him warily, unsure about what had just transpired between them.

Peter’s birthday was in late October. Derek’s only a week later.

Thinking about celebrating anything really didn’t sit well with the unstable werewolf. His only consolation was that Peter’s birthday was still in the waning cycle of the moon, which meant his tendency to shift uncontrollably wasn’t as pronounced as in the waxing phase.

His pack was considerate of his circumstances without any bitterness. They were understanding and honestly worried, but the degree of empathy was what made Derek hate the situation even more. It didn’t help his barely existing self-esteem as well.

Derek’s family always had to accommodate to his situation before, had been restricted in where to go and stay during vacations, as NSFPs weren’t welcomed everywhere. But before it had only been pro forma, something written on paper, something they had only been conscious of when they left Beacon County. Now they actually had to be mindful of what to say and what to do and where to go even in the safety of their own home town.

They usually celebrated Peter’s birthday at his favorite Italian restaurant. It had a policy of keeping NSFPs out, but usually closing both eyes in the past when the Hale family had walked in with Derek in tow.

This year they refused to reserve a table, the word that Derek’s situation had changed spreading like wild fire through the grape wine. He offered to stay home, but Peter said he wasn’t in Italian food mood anyway. Instead the Hale pack had a late autumn barbecue, before Peter went out to meet Braeden, who had finally asked him out in a less than subtle ‘We should go out for drinks. Just us two’ way, that even Derek’s uncle couldn’t misinterpret.

“You know what your anchor is?” his mother asked after she had found him standing in the hallway, partially shifted and confused.

“I know that my anchor is the reason I’m unhinged,” Derek replied.

“Your level of self-harm is not normal—”

“There’s nothing normal about me,” he interrupted and started to leave.

“Stay,” the woman growled once, flashing her eyes in a dominating gesture and showing authority as she threateningly bared her teeth.

Derek wasn’t surprised he didn’t feel any form of need to submit to her Alpha status and just started up the stairs

Derek’s birthday was quiet.

It was a few days after the new moon and the waxing made Derek itch. His grandparents called but he didn’t possess the patience to stand another nagging, almost didn’t show up for the call as he dreaded talking to them. His fears had been unfounded as they never once steered into the fatal topic of mates or anything else related to whatever might cause him discomfort. They simply asked how he was doing, whether he wanted them to come home.

He told them to stay in Angola and enjoy their time there.

They promised to be back for Christmas.

When Stiles visited he was behaving strangely at first, hesitating at the front door and when he finally came in, started to snoop around the house like he was looking for something. Scott followed him on the heels, chuckling quietly to himself the whole time. Derek didn’t understand what was going on until Stiles hurried outside again. Upon return the teenager thrust a badly wrapped present and a Tupperware container stuffed with what looked like muffins into his hands.

“Happy birthday?” Stiles more asked than cheered, chewing at his bottom lip in uncertainty.

Derek blinked in surprise, before he felt a small smile tug on his lips. “Thank you.”

The insecure look vanished immediately, replaced by a beaming smile. “Happy birthday!” Stiles repeated, throwing his arms around Derek’s neck. The werewolf had trouble saving both muffins and present from being squashed between them and Scott behind them made gagging sounds. Derek could tell without looking that Stiles was sticking his tongue out.

“Don’t open now,” Stiles commanded, pointing at the present as soon as he pulled away. The werewolf replied with a short nod, curiously eyeing the shapeless object.

“Your family?”

“Mom’s grocery shopping,” Derek replied, then pointed to the library. “Uncle Peter’s where he’s always holed up. The rest in school or at work.”

Stiles nodded, then nudged Scott in the side with his elbow.

“Can we stay?” Scott asked like rehearsed. “I got him a few hours off for today, so...”

“Sure,” Derek replied, walking into the kitchen to get some tea or coffee ready with the muffins. When he turned around Scott and Stiles followed a few feet behind, Stiles boxing the werewolf into the side. The floppy haired boy rolled his eyes in response. “Are you expecting any guests?” he asked as Derek placed the muffins on a plate under the human’s watchful eyes.

“Not really. The pack will come by, I guess.”

“You’re not going out? I mean, I know—”

“No,” Derek interrupted, well aware what Scott was playing at, motioned to the glass ware. “You want something to drink?”

The Beta tried to ignore the awkward atmosphere. Or maybe he was the only one who felt awkward. It wasn’t his fault, considering that it was the first time Scott and Stiles stayed longer than just a quick visit. He used to be comfortable around Stiles. Now it was like he had been before the brunette had entered his life, with Derek never knowing what to say or what to do. The human was still more tactile than the werewolf, but the small touches between them were gone and Derek wasn’t sure if they were desired or even allowed. And with the Alpha, Stiles’ Alpha watching, he didn’t even know if they were approved.

“No coffee for Stiles,” Scott warned, getting elbowed in the side for his words. He glowered at his friend, before he returned his attention back to Derek, coughing once. “So, we are not interrupting anything?”

“Nothing,” Derek replied, furrowing his brow. “Why?”

“Oh, you know. It’s your birthday. And maybe you wanted to throw a party? Stiles here worried we might disturb you. Or that we are unwanted.”

“Stiles is never unwanted.” The words were out of his mouth before he could think about them, biting his own tongue to suppress a pathetic wince at his honesty. When he chanced a glance at the brunette, a wide grin was on Stiles’ lips and he was practically bouncing on his heels.

Scott didn’t look as happy.

“I’m just asking because you never told—” before Scott could finish, Stiles hauled him out of the kitchen and into the living room by his ear. Derek watched them in mild bewilderment until they were out of his sight, then went ahead and fetched three cups and brew some tea.

His gaze caught on the present out of the corner of his eyes as he waited for the water to boil.

Honestly, Derek wasn’t used to gifts outside his family. Paige was the only one who went out of her way to buy Derek something but he usually knew what it was because he would casually drop a hint in conversation, stating that he was looking for something.

From Stiles though, he didn’t know what to expect and seriously, he was a little bit intimidated.

The werewolf continued to frown at the unusual object until the water was boiled, then brought the tea and muffins into the living room, where Scott and Stiles had settled down on the couch and apparently dissolved whatever argument they had. They were quiet, but both Derek and Stiles were used to the silence between them, having communicated mostly with hands or eyebrows whenever they needed something. And he found that they both still did, even though Stiles could understand what Derek told him by now. Scott however shifted uncomfortably in his seat at the wordless communication. Stiles wiggled his eyebrows at Derek, jutting his chin in Scott’s general direction. Derek’s lips twitched in amusement, when he shrugged in reply.

“Stiles made the muffins,” Scott pointed out abruptly, looking smugly at his friend, who choked on air or crumbs. “He didn’t want you to know but he’s an ass right now, so there.”

“They are good,” Derek offered and Stiles stopped punching the Alpha into his side, suddenly calm and placid when he smiled at Derek. “You didn’t learn that from me.”

Stiles laughed, waved his hand in dismissal.

When the boys left, Derek hid in his room, fighting to control the claws.

Paige came by in the evening. They got plastered with whiskey and wolfsbane induced scotch and never once talked about Stiles. Drinking wasn’t the best decision he made that evening, considering his lack of control, but his whole family was home and they left the door ajar.

Derek opened Stiles’ present the next day, still hung over from the alcohol. Paige was snoring next to him, her legs thrown over his back. The werewolf stretched to reach the gift he had put on his desk, examining it before ripping off the wrapping paper. He snorted when he realized what it was, then chuckled before he started to laugh so loud he woke Paige up, who blinked at him blearily.

It was a log of oak wood.

And attached to it was a small card.

Here’s to you the finest wood I could find. Carve something for me!

“Wow,” Paige muttered, before sleepily falling back. “It’s timber.”

He ignored her words, smiling more to himself.

Derek made a talisman and a key chain out of it.

The next full moon Talia asked if Derek wanted to call Stiles, suggested that it might help.

Derek ignored her and caged himself again.

He knew for a fact that Stiles had enough problems, that he didn’t need Derek turning feral over him added to the pile. Actually, he didn’t need Derek added to his life in general if it meant he would have to deal with an NSFP for the rest of it. He knew how restricting it was for his pack and Stiles was just about to get his life back in order.

There was dark humor in this world, and Derek was apparently the butt of every joke.

Honestly, the werewolf had assumed it would get easier, thought the first time was the hardest, had assumed the talisman he had carved out of the wood would help.

He had been wrong.

The second time was even worse and his injuries couldn’t heal fast enough before he inflicted new ones. His memories were fuzzy at best. He could remember the taste of metal on his tongue, lead bars digging into his skin, saw the blood stains on the walls where he knew he had banged his head against until it felt like his skull was cracking.

Derek stayed locked up in the cage until the late afternoon of the next day, even though Erica had come by in the morning to open the door and bring him water. The werewolf just sat in his corner, staring up through the bars and the cellar windows, watching the sky change color with time as he held on to the wooden pendant.

No one bothered him until he came out and trotted upstairs into the bathroom.

Derek was right.

Stiles was a chatterbox.

It sounded like he had some weird accent at the beginning but it was fading. At first he was using longer sentences, but speaking slowly, like he was thinking every sentence over twice before choosing to go with it, his intonation sometimes off. A week before Thanksgiving he was talking fast and with his whole body and face, arms flailing in redundant gestures, eyes shining mischievously and amused, lips quirking and curling.

Everyone was amazed at his quick progress, at the amount of time, hard work and willpower he put into relearning his native language. He simply blew them away with his tenacity.

As soon as Derek’s sisters realized Stiles could talk without being taught how to pronounce, they stole him from under Derek’s nose, when Scott was trapped in Talia’s office for whatever Alpha business, and instead abducted Stiles into the living room, where they sat him on the couch like he was on display.

Derek almost expected Laura to get a lamp out and adjust the lightning to shine on Stiles’ face.

Thankfully she didn’t.

“Wait here,” Cora commanded and went upstairs to fetch Eric. In the meantime Laura retrieved a crumpled piece of paper from one of the cupboards and spread it on the coffee table, a brown porcelain jar right next to it. Confused, Stiles turned to look at Derek who simply shrugged. The human frowned, then jerked his head to the open seat next to him. The werewolf’s body followed the silent command without asking his brain for permission.

Cora returned with Eric in tow, waving her phone at them.

“I called Erica. She’ll be here in a sec.”

“What’s going on?” Stiles asked warily, flicking his eyes between the porcelain vessel, and then to the other three Hale siblings, who were looking far too gleeful to relax. A couple eerie minutes later, the door burst open with Erica stumbling into the living room, her hair in a mess, adorned with twigs and leaves, and looking a lot like Malia in her rumpled state. There was a swagger in her steps as she walked over to the couch, dropping down on the other side of Stiles while pulling branches and foliage out of her curly hair.

“Alright, let’s get started,” Cora decided, clapping once as Eric dumped the insides of the jar on the table, revealing several five dollar bills. Derek closed his eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh the second he realized what was about to happen.

His family had almost been notorious in deciphering Stiles’ body language and behavior over the last few months, had come up with their own interpretation and sometimes even fought over theories with each other trying to decode the teenager.

He didn’t know they had been placing bets, though.

“So here’s the things we want to know,” Laura opened, sitting cross-legged on the fluffy carpet, reading from the list in front of her. Stiles quirked his eyebrows at them, while Derek tried to glance at what the hell was on that sheet of paper, wondering if he could get it from his sister to burn it in the fireplace.

“Why did you protect Derek from Julia?”

“Seriously?” the dark-haired man groaned into his palm, when Stiles just looked between the other Hale siblings. “What? When?” he asked in confusion. “I mean, Julia is threatening him all the time.”

“Your second encounter, I think. In the library?” Cora detailed further and something like understanding lit up behind the brunette’s eyes.

“Oh, you meant when she actually slapped him. I can vaguely remember that.”

“And?” Eric pressed curiously.

“You don’t have to answer that. Or anything,” Derek assured, but the human simply shrugged. “I had to protect what belongs to me, right?” he replied with a smirk, glancing at Derek and taking the werewolf’s hand into his. “Don’t let anyone say I don’t take care of what is mine.”

Laura and Cora cooed at the words, while Eric scribbled something on the paper and Erica rolled her eyes in disdain. Derek just dumbly stared at the hand interlaced with his own. The gesture wasn’t really that unusual for them. Yet, they normally only touched like that in the protection of Derek’s room and when either of them was in a funky mood or needed comfort. Not just for the hell of it, not in this context.

Stiles doing it now, in front of his family, the werewolf didn’t know what it meant. And he was confused and maybe a tiny bit embarrassed but most of all—he didn’t mind. So he returned the gesture, ignoring the way his siblings looked at their hands before returning to business.

“What have you been doing in the closet all the time?” Eric continued the interrogation. Stiles squirmed in his seat, glancing at Derek before staring to the ground. “Mostly sleeping. I was exhausted, didn’t get a lot of sleep before you came by. Then hiding, because I didn’t know what your angle was. Good things don’t just happen. Not to me.”

Derek unintentionally squeezed Stiles’ hand at those words and the boy looked up at that, fixing a point pass Laura’s head at the wall. “But I guess sometimes they do,” he finished with a tiny smile, face almost vulnerably open as he replied with a squeeze of his own. Derek wanted to take Stiles and hide with him in the closet again, shutting out everything around them.

“Just for the record,” Cora declared, “I really don’t now how you managed with him sleeping in your closet for so long, Derek. I wouldn’t let him clean out my closet and then live there. God knows, I’d be too worried about what he might find.”

Derek frowned at her in confusion.

“What?” Eric and Laura asked unison, while Erica simply smirked.

“First, I’m probably not the only one in this room—”

“Most certainly not,” Erica interrupted in a sing-song voice.

“And second, our rooms are sound-proofed for a reason. Right, Eric?”

The oldest Hale groaned into his hand, and Laura pulled a face when she suddenly realized what her younger sister was talking about. Derek wanted to hit Cora over the back of her head but was too busy trying to hide his own embarrassment at the innuendo that he might hide something like whatever the hell she had in his closet.

“I was fourteen and out of Kleenex. Could we please never talk about this ever again?”

Yeah, Derek didn’t need to know any of that as well. But Stiles looked eager to either run up to Cora’s room and find out what exactly she had been talking about or getting really deep into the topic and no, he did not want that.

So he changed the topic.

“Did you test me when I knocked?”

“What are you talking ‘bout?”

Derek sighed. “Every time, Stiles, every time I needed something and wanted to talk to you, I knocked at the door and—”

Before Derek could finish, Stiles interrupted him with a laugh, then tagged on a snort in amusement as his lips curled into a wide grin. “Yeah, I kinda was,” he admitted without any shame. “Dude, you were so awfully patient. It irritated the hell out of me. But I liked that. A lot. I wanted to see how far I could push you. But instead of getting angry, you started to fold your laundry. Man, you were unbelievable.”

The boy stared into space for a brief moment, before he chuckled again, most likely remembering the situations.

“Wait,” Erica interrupted confused. “Derek. You knocked? On your own closet door? How very you.”

Before the dark-haired werewolf could bare his teeth at the girl in fake annoyance, Stiles punched her unapologetically in the side. She gasped in surprise, rocketing forward. “What the fuck,” Erica growled, but the brunette human just shrugged.

“Werewolf, don’t be a sissy,” he replied haughtily instead.

“I’m still a girl.”

“My bad.”

“Alright, next question,” the blonde snarled at Stiles. Derek had a feeling this wasn’t going to be a nice one. “How aware were you of what was going on?”

“Pardon?”

“Did you understand what we were saying?” Eric elaborated, scanning the page for the question. “You always knew how to react to Derek. Did you read his facial expressions?”

Stiles looked at the other human like he was crazy. “Dude, the guy doesn’t have facial expressions.” Derek contemplated getting insulted, but then he conceded that yes, his face refused to work fifty percent of the time, the other half was rolling his eyes, huffing in annoyance, sighing in exasperation and quirking his eyebrows. “I smelled his emotions is how I knew. Derek is usually awkwardly chill, like on a scale from one to ten a two or three at max. When his inner turmoil jumps to a five, I just know something is off. He was a solid eight when that douche-bag showed up at the ice parlor.”

“You have a scale?” Laura asked amused.

“That’s why you attacked Jackson,” Cora concluded happily, nudging Eric with her elbow.

“No one’s allowed to upset Derek,” Stiles clarified emphatically.

Derek really tried to control any traitorous body functions, because he was in a room with three other werewolves who could hear everything perfectly. Stiles getting protective over him shouldn’t make his heart rate accelerate anyway.

“I have one question,” he tried to diffuse the situation again. If Laura’s knowing look was any hint, he failed. “What have you done with all my shirts?”

“You mean the one for the nest?” Stiles asked reluctantly, a blush spreading from the back of his neck.

Derek rolled his eyes. “No, I meant the ones that never showed up again.”

Stiles mirrored his gesture. “Dude, that wasn’t me. That was Malia. She stole your shirts all the time. She still does! How you never noticed is beyond me.”

“Malia?” the man asked skeptically. “Why would she do that?”

Stiles stared at him, open mouthed and incredulous.

“Derek,” Eric started with an exasperated sigh. “She is doing it ever since she moved out. It’s been years and you really never realized?”

“I used to have more shirts before the nesting occurred,” Derek defended himself. “I never ran out of something to wear before.”

“Yeah, okay, that’s my fault,” Stiles admitted more or less apologetic.

“In your case,” Erica began, twirling a strand of hair around her finger as she lasciviously eyed the dark-haired werewolf up and down, “shirts are overrated. Just run around shirtless all the time. I’d come by more often.”

“I don’t want you to,” Derek sulked, but when he saw the blonde opening her mouth to retort, he changed the subject before the conversation could spin out of proportion. “Apropos, when you arrived you wore clothes,” he addressed the brunette boy who raised his eyebrows inquisitively. “Where did you get them?”

It happened in the fraction of the second. One moment Stiles was glaring at Erica who draped herself almost over his lap in order to paw at Derek’s chest, the next his face closed off completely. Erica immediately reeled back in confusion, taking her hands off the human boy.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Sure, no problem,” Laura acknowledged quickly.

“It’s time to go,” Stiles decided. He dropped Derek’s hand, didn’t meet anyone’s eyes when he got up and left the room to find Scott. When they passed the living room on their way out, the Alpha looked once at the group, arched his eyebrows in a silent question before he followed Stiles outside.

Derek had focusing problems. He blamed it on the sleep deprivation. Sometimes he simply couldn’t adjust his hearing and he would either end up understanding nothing or everything at the same time. The same with his nose. There were moments when he didn’t notice someone was cooking until he was called down for dinner, and then it hit him full force.

He sort of dealt with it, didn’t tell anyone, kept his door closed. It wasn’t like it was really bad.

Apart from that one time he smashed his working laptop against the wall because the fan bugged the hell out of him. On the plus side, Eric was able to save his hard-drive and transferred it to the cover of an external drive. On the other hand, Derek had to buy a new laptop for his illustration works and mails from orders for his woodwork with money he didn’t have, because he hadn’t finished a job in months.

The werewolf decided to take an impromptu creative leave.

He was pretty sure his editor was going to call and yell at him in a few days.

Scott called and asked if they had any plans for Thanksgiving. He wanted the Packs to celebrate together as they had to thank the Hales for more than just finding Stiles and keeping him safe. Talia agreed readily, with the condition that they would do it at the Hale mansion. The young Alpha accepted without problem, mumbling something about their house not being big enough anyway.

Derek wasn’t quite as optimistic as his mother.

He hadn’t heard from Stiles ever since the interrogation his siblings had instigated and he really wasn’t sure if the boy even wanted to talk to them anymore.

“It’s going to be fine,” Paige tried to assure him with a pat on his shoulder before she vanished into the winter garden, where they had set up the tables. Derek seriously contemplated hiding in his room for the rest of the day. He was sure his family wouldn’t really hold it against him.

Instead he holed up in the workshop, working on an order of a rocking horse as a Christmas present. The werewolf heard several cars pull up. Couch Cupcakes; Braeden and Julia together; the McCalls. Another time the Yukimuras. None of them the Stilinskis, Derek noted and he wondered if they were even going to show.

The werewolf had waited for the base of the rocking horse to dry, while cutting out the different horse parts, when he picked up Stiles’ heartbeat from miles away. It was calm, steady, soothing. Not erratic or panicked like he had feared.

Derek put the saber saw down and went outside as far as the ankle monitor allowed. It was getting chilly, which he usually wouldn’t noticed if he weren’t so upset with the light clothes Stiles was wearing.

Claudia looked up as soon as she had left the car, her eyes meeting Derek’s. She nodded with a smile, holding up a casserole dish. Derek replied with a nod of his own, turned around and went back to his workshop.

Barely a few seconds later Stiles was standing in the door way, smirking with his unique crooked half smile. “I always wondered how you have gotten into this,” he greeted, inclining his head to the barely finished rocking horse, letting his long fingers slide over the arch of the horse head.

“It’s something to pass time,” Derek replied, purposefully looking somewhere else.

“I always wondered how you have gotten into illustrating children’s book, too,” Stiles continued, advancing slowly until he stood right next to Derek, bumping their shoulders together. Derek tried to keep his body in check and not lean against the boy. He did it anyway, but the teenager didn’t seem to mind taking a bit of his weight.

“Another thing to pass time.”

“I learned a lot by reading your books,” Stiles admitted in a low whisper, as if he wanted to keep anyone from listening in. “As soon as I had figured out they were yours they intrigued me. You know, how someone as stern as you can write cute stuff like that.”

“I only have a few books. They are mostly just my illustrations,” Derek explained.

“Yeah, no. The ones I read? They were all by Dee Haitch. Again, kudos for that pen name.”

“Not my idea.”

“I figured,” Stiles laughed, picking up one of the tools. Derek took a step to the side just in case. The boy was, even after training, still a klutz and Derek had the feeling the screwdriver was a deadly weapon in the brunette’s hands. “Anyway, I read the books going to sleep. They helped greatly.”

“Because they are boring?”

“Yeah,” Stiles dead-panned, rolling his eyes. “That’s exactly what I meant. Don’t be an ass, man, you know what I’m talking about.”

Derek smirked, when Stiles boxed him in the shoulder thankfully sans screwdriver. “I guess I don’t.”

“Then I’m not telling,” the boy replied. “By the way, does Malia know who’s behind her favorite books?” Stiles turned around to hop on the working bench, ignoring Derek’s disapproving scowl with a playful slap to his nose.

“I don’t think she does.”

“But you’re not hiding it deliberately?”

Derek shrugged, then started to plane the wood for the horse. “She was probably too young when it started. Now she’s too old to care.”

“I don’t think so. She was always pretty happy when she talked to me about them. Granted, I really didn’t know what she was talking about but I do believe they are still important to her.”

When Malia had been bullied, Derek had assumed he sort of knew what she was going through. Even though he had been ten years older, he had still believed he could relate, knew what he was talking about when his doodles in class suddenly turned into whole stories starring a little girl changing into a werecoyote, who was constantly ostracized for being weird and different by her classmates. Yet she was resilient and courageous, and never gave up, fought her way through until in the end she succeeded.

Derek hadn’t been sure if the story would help her, or if Malia would be interested in it, but she became quickly attached to the heroine of the book.

“Why aren’t you out there? With the rest?” Stiles suddenly asked, putting down the tools he had examined.

“Too many people.”

The boy was silent for a moment, before he placed one hand on Derek’s shoulder. The man looked up at the touch. “Same,” Stiles confessed quietly, like it was supposed to be a secret and maybe it was. “It still makes me edgy. Even if I know and love all of them. Sometimes I feel like it’s too much.”

The werewolf nodded in understanding.

“But you see, we should at least make an appearance. And eat. We can hide after we stuffed ourselves full!” Stiles seemed rather proud of the suggestion, so Derek gave in with little to no resistance.

When they showed up in the winter garden, everyone was already mingling or busy setting the table with an amount of food that could probably feed a small country. Or an armada of eight werewolves and associated humans.

“Derek, let me officially introduce you,” Stiles started, pulling at his sleeve and leading him over to his little brother, who was playing cards with Cora. “Linus, Derek. Derek, Linus.”

“Is that a nickname?” Derek could admit he was still not over the atrocity that was Stiles’ real name and had some doubts that whoever chose a name like Zidhsfoas or Khkjdsdf would suddenly settle for ‘Linus’.

“I chose it,” Stiles informed proudly.

“And he makes me thank him everyday,” the boy muttered under his breath, before he turned to Derek, waving at him. “Hi Derek, thanks for looking after the dork.”

Linus looked a lot like Stiles, same brown eyes, perky nose, wide mouth and the exact same facial expressions. Essentially, he was Stiles just blonde and younger.

“Yeah, Stiles said you’re not much of a talker,” the kid stated as he returned to his game, when Derek hadn’t offered a greeting himself. Cora snorted behind her cards. Stiles looked mildly conflicted, like he didn’t know whether to be aghast or amused or proud. He decided on all three. “But well, Stiles says he likes—”

“And that’s the hereditary Stilinski big mouth starting to talk,” the brunette human interrupted immediately and spun Derek around on his shoulder to usher him away from the blonde kid and instead towards the Asian girl Derek had seen on his front porch the day the True Alpha Pack came to get Stiles back. “Kira Yukimura, she’s—”

“A kitsune. So is her mother,” he concluded, looking her up and down once. “I noticed the first time I saw them.”

Kira’s eyes went wide. Scott, who was standing next to her, snorted in amusement.

“I wanted to say Scott’s girlfriend,” Stiles explained. “But yeah, kitsune works as well.”

“Nice to meet you,” the girl said, waving shyly at him.

“Derek.”

“I know. I mean, it wasn’t hard to find out. Stiles has described you in many, many, many, many words. He was talking about you non-stop and—”

“Yes, thanks for the info, Kira,” Stiles skipped in, voice tripping over itself. Again, the teenager pulled Derek away from his friends and steered him in the other direction. The girl was chuckling and Scott kissed her cheek, mumbling something Derek couldn’t catch because Stiles was tugging on his sleeve. “How did you know she’s a kitsune?”

“Her energy wave,” Derek explained simply.

“Energy wave,” Stiles repeated, then shock his head. “Have you met Scott’s parents?” he asked, changing the subject. Derek turned his head to were Melissa McCall was struggling to balance a tray with drinks, whereas Rafael was immersed in a conversation with Frederick and Coach Finstock.

From the looks of it, they were talking about Independence Day.

“Or the Yukimuras?”

Derek knew that Noshiko and Talia were getting along fairly well and he had seen the Asian woman visiting every once in a while. But that was about all he knew about them.

“Not officially,” he replied, but Stiles was already dragging him to the tables were he had spotted his own parents.

“Well, I know you know my parents so, that’s them. Mom and Dad,” the brunette sort of not introduced and sat down on the long table next to his father, who gave Derek a short nod and an attempt of a smile as the werewolf was pulled down on the other side of the boy.

“Where’s Malia?” Stiles asked curiously. “I’ve got something for her.”

“She’s not coming,” Laura answered with a frown as she put down a bowl of beans. “Today’s her birthday, and her mother is all ‘she should spent time with her family and bla’.”

“And with family she means the new one, not us,” Eric added sourly.

The relationship between Hales and Tates had always been rocky. With Peter’s ex joining the Whittemore Pack and her practically accusing the Hales of purposefully instigating against the Tate family, it was worse than ever. When Talia had called to ask if they wanted to come for Thanksgiving, it almost resulted in a shouting match. Luckily, Peter took over the phone call before Derek’s mother had the chance to say something that did not fit an Alpha.

Truth was, everyone but Derek was allowed to go over to Malia’s birthday if they wanted. The Shrew didn’t want an out of control monster around her baby girl. In the end, no one went except Peter, who only spent a few hours before returning for the Thanksgiving meal.

“I didn’t know,” Stiles admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, before dropping his hand.

“She’ll definitely come by tomorrow and steal the leftovers,” Peter replied with a shrug. “So just give it to her then.”

A small smile played on Stiles’ lips at the words, and he glanced shortly at Derek before he turned his attention to Scott who sat down opposite them. Derek tried to talk to Paige for a bit. It wasn’t as easy as it used to be and he had to fight to ignore Coach Finstock yelling over the noise as he was trying to recruit Kira and Liam for the Lacrosse team, offering them a test game in the Hale’s backyard.

The second something brushed against his thigh, then touched the back of his hand, it was suddenly easier to filter through the conversations, picking out the important parts intended for him. Derek frowned, glancing down and then noticed Stiles’ hand next to his own. Stiles’ eyes remained on Scott, though, and he was laughing at whatever his best friend was saying.

Derek returned the gesture, bumping his hand slightly against Stiles’, who in return linked their fingers without even looking, letting their clasped hands swing between the chairs.

He wondered how obvious he had been staring, when Paige kicked him against the ankle. Luckily it wasn’t the one with the monitor, because Derek wasn’t sure if it would suddenly go off. He wore boot-cut jeans for a reason. No need to rub it in anyone’s face that they were sharing their Thanksgiving with a nut-job.

“You alright?” Stiles asked, leaning over to him, fingers still interlinked. If anyone noticed, no one pointed it out.

“Yeah.”

And he was.

Better than he had been for a while now.

That was until his grandparents called.

It really shouldn’t have come to a surprise for anyone when Ada and Eugene politely greeted everyone in the room from Tanzania, told them about the sunny weather in Dar es Salaam for a good ten minutes before making a segue to their favorite topic of all times. Apparently, having the whole pack in one place for once, visitors present or not, was a good chance to talk some sense into their grand-children.

Secure in her relationship, Cora leaned back in her chair, one arm loosely wrapped around Isaac’s neck in an obvious theatrical display of affection as she got ready to watch the show.

“Nsansa couldn’t stop talking about how adorable her great-grandchildren are. It’s such a shame. Why do we have such stubborn grand children?” Nonna complained with a histrionic sigh after her tale of some Zambian woman in her late seventies with three children and seven great-grandchildren. “All we get is the grandchild, that is too afraid to confess.”

“Which in your case, Eric, I can understand,” their grandfather conceded, while the oldest Hale son just downed another shot of whiskey, looking pale as his eyes kept on fleeting over to Julia. Derek could actually hear him praying to whatever entity listened, that his grandparents weren’t as evil as he assumed and won’t spill the emissary’s name. “Because that woman is a little intimidating. Still good choice, kid!”

For his brother’s sake, Derek hoped that the look both grandparents sent towards Julia would be interpreted for anything but a dead give-away of who they were talking about. After all, Coach Finstock, Erica and Heather were also in their line of sight and by now, Derek knew Eric would pay money for people believing he had a crush on the Coach.

“Then there is the grandchild who is too proud to confess.”

“Seriously, Laura, get your act together. You’re an adult, now,” Nonno agreed.

Laura only quirked an eyebrow at the TV, then shot a glare at Melissa McCall who tried to overplay her laugh with a cough.

“Not to forget the grandchild who never goes out to meet anyone.”

“He’s met Stiles,” Cora pointed out helpfully. Mr. Stilinski choked on his drink as his wife clapped him on the back.

“Actually, he has brought almost every new addition to the pack in,” Laura agreed, glaring at her younger sister, who simply shrugged in reply.

“Right, like the idiot trio,” Eric added. Erica protested by throwing a pumpkin muffin at him.

Nonna ignored the nonsense around them and continued like she had never been interrupted: “And then we have the granddaughter who is the only one in a responsible, loving relationship but too young to marry and give us great-grandchildren.”

“You better run, Isaac,” Boyd suggested, earning himself a kick against the chin.

“Goddess, mother,” Talia groaned. She looked like she really needed a shot of some wolfsbane punch. “We only brought you in for the ‘Thank you’s’. Did you really have to embarrass your family in front of the whole pack?”

Nonna huffed in annoyance. “They are all family. Even the one with the uneven jawline and the puppy dog eyes in the back. Who were you again?”

Stiles chuckled, his shoulders trembling as he tried to hide his face behind one hand, the other still clutching Derek’s. He didn’t stop while Scott awkwardly introduced himself under the scrutinizing glares of the two old people on screen, pointing out immediately that he was in a very happy, fulfilling and especially monogamous relationship with the lovely girl sitting next to him and by the way, her name was Kira and wasn’t she great? Couldn’t we talk about someone else please? Greenberg maybe?

It took a while until Talia finally settled everyone down and got her parents to thankfully shut up without being forced to mute the flat screen. Which was her first ‘thank you’ for the night. They didn’t go person by person, instead everyone threw in whatever they wanted and it didn’t turn out as messy as Derek had suspected.

Claudia and Scott were the ones who made most on the table tear up a little, and even the old Hale couple quieted down when they spoke, as they focused their thanks on the Hales, on Derek, several times, on the Yukimuras and Deaton and Julia and everyone else who had helped both families in the last few years or months without asking for anything in return. The whole time, John held his wife’s hand in a vice-like grip.

After that it was chaos again, everyone yelling over the table for potatoes, vegetables or meat and meat and even more meat, trying to hold conversations over several seats and other discussions. Derek calmly listened in, not contributing at all.

After dinner, the Stilinskis took him to the side. Stiles was trying to inconspicuously spy on them but his mother always detected him when he was close enough, frowning disapprovingly. Stiles would make a sharp U-turn in the other direction, whistling as if he had wanted to go the other way all along.

Derek’s lips twitched in amusement.

“You’re helping him,” Stiles’ father admitted. “He’s really working hard because of you. We hope you are, too.” His eyes flickered down to Derek’s feet, when he patted his shoulder in a distinctly affectionate gesture, which surprised and disturbed Derek at the same time. He did his best not to flinch away from the touch.

“It might take some time, but I managed. And I had been in my late twenties when your mother bit me,” Claudia encouraged.

“Thanks?” Derek asked, helplessly letting his eyes wander around the room for anyone who was willing to save him.

“I’m sorry if I’ve come off too rude in the past,” Mr. Stilinski apologized. “It had been a couple of rough weeks.”

“Don’t worry about it,” the werewolf replied. He just wanted to be gone and away. Now.

“So, you’re a writer?” the man changed the topic, and the werewolf had a feeling he was a little relishing in Derek’s discomfort.

“Illustrator.”

“But I thought the books Stiles forced us to read,”—Derek quirked an eyebrow at the statement, and Claudia put a hand on her husband’s arm—“were written by you?”

“Forced you to read?” he asked.

Mr. Stilinski put a half-smile on his lips, very much like Stiles and yes, there was the striking resemblance. “Oh, he learned reading with those children’s books you gave us. And then he read them to Linus at night.”

“While Linus tried to tell him that he was too old for good-night stories,” Claudia added with a fond laugh.

“I’m sorry—”

“They were really good,” Claudia offered with a wide smile. “I took up my job in elementary school again and would love to use them in my lessons. I think they teach so much about self-acceptance, courage and respect, especially at such an influential age. I would really love to know what your motivation was. Especially that one were the main character—”

“Mom, dad,” Stiles chose that moment to jump in, literally pushing himself between them. “I’m getting Derek, you know, away from you. The inquisition.”

“We are just talking,” Stiles’ father said with an innocent smile.

The boy narrowed his eyes suspiciously at both of them, before he wordlessly pulled at Derek’s arm to steer him away.

“Where are we going?” Derek inquired curiously.

“Your room,” Stiles explained, pulling him further along and up the stairs. Derek could hear Paige distinctively coughing, when she spotted them leaving the room, but chose to ignore her. When Derek’s bedroom door closed behind them, Stiles let out a long sigh and the werewolf noticed for the first time how tense the younger boy had been as the stress finally left his body. “God, this is so exhausting. For you, too?”

Derek simply nodded, staring out the window for a moment.

The moon was waning, he shouldn’t shift so easily. Stiles should be safe around him right now, he told himself. He wasn’t about to open the door, but at least the window. In case something did happen. At least that way some werewolf would hear them. But before he could act on his decision, Stiles walked over to him, staring at him with unusual determination.

“There… is something I wanted to… urgh… apologize for,” Stiles started awkwardly, grimacing and shifting on his feet, while Derek’s eyes widened in surprise. That was the first time the teenager even remotely hinted that he was regretting something he had done. Derek had actually assumed Stiles was physically incapable of expressing apologies. “Oh for God’s sake, stop looking at me like that! I know I’m not good at any of—”

“What are you sorry for?” he interrupted quickly.

Stiles stopped, his nose twitching. “For last week. When I suddenly left."

“Oh that,” Derek realized. “That wasn’t your fault.”

The brunette uselessly dropped his hands to the side. “You know, I don’t mind telling you. It was just,” he shrugged helplessly, “them. I guess.”

Derek watched him for a moment, wanted to approach him, touch him. Instead he yanked his thumb in the direction of his closet. “Want to talk?”

Stiles huffed out a laugh, but the weak smile he had worked to keep up was followed quickly by somber contemplation before he hung his head, giving a light nod. The offer hadn’t been genuine, Derek knew that the other was aware of that. Yet he still pulled him on his hands along, got down in the familiar position, with the boy between his legs, back leaning against the werewolf’s chest.

Maybe this was going to become a thing between them. Maybe it was the only way they were able to talk to each other, in the safety of darkness, where Stiles couldn’t see Derek and Derek could only see the back of Stiles’ head and neck.

“It’s nothing dramatic, really,” the teenager began after a short moment of silence, giving a self-depreciating snort. “Just that when I was changing back into a human, this weird couple found me. You know, I had a tail and ears and pointy teeth. I remember seeing myself in a mirror. It was grotesque. My knees and elbows were still bent the wrong way and, well, it doesn’t matter.”

Derek hesitated before he wrapped his arms around Stiles’ waist, blindly searching for the teenager’s hands to take into his own.

Stiles breath hitched.

“They thought I was a were, thought I was kind of mental and disabled to put it nicely. They gave me clothes, gave me food and shelter. It was fine the first day. After that they used me.” Derek tensed but Stiles petted his arm soothingly. “As in, for manual labor. I’m not strong, have never been, you know? Maybe they thought I was lazy or something. They tried to make me work harder using physical punishment. When I fought back, they threw me into a shed for a few days. Can’t even remember for how long. Eventually they let me out, but used a collar. It took me weeks to flee, and then there was only forest and hidden caves.”

Stiles words were like a waterfall, rushing through the story as if he wanted to get this over with.

“Someone tried to shoot me once. I think he thought I was a feral or something. Luckily his dogs couldn’t trace me down. It wasn’t the first time someone pulled a gun on me. Just the first time when I was in a sort of human form.” Stiles laughed humorlessly. “Who would have thought being a real fox was easier than a disfigured human?”

The teenager chuckled darkly again and Derek tightened his grip. He didn’t know what to do, what to say. There was nothing coming to his mind and he wondered if he had always been this bad at thinking of ways to cheer someone up.

How had his pack even dealt with him? How had he gotten Paige through all her break ups? Or calmed Malia down when she had been crying? Or cheered his little sister up when she was upset about something?

It took him a while to realize that people usually didn’t come to him for comfort.

“I still have some scars. Pretty sure you have seen them, what with you trying to get me naked since the first time we met.”

Derek was glad Stiles couldn’t see his ears coloring red. “I never saw you naked,” he amended quickly.

“Yeah, and I’m sort of thankful that you tried to keep my dignity, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable bathing in shorts.”

“I never saw you complaining.”

“The violently flailing was no hint?”

“You always flail,” Derek replied dryly, rested his chin on Stiles’ shoulder while the other elbowed him in the waist.

“Flailing. Violently,” the brunette emphasized.

Despite himself, Derek chuckled into the crook of Stiles’ neck, pressing the boy even closer. Stiles let out a barely audible gasp, before pinching him in the hand. “Careful, dude. No squeezing the Stiles. I’m a fragile human!”

“I beg to differ,” the werewolf disagreed seriously. He didn’t explicitly say that Stiles was strong, that he maybe admired his courage, but Derek did. And maybe he should tell the teenager one day. Stiles must have picked up on the change in atmosphere. It was probably Derek’s talent to nip every attempt at humor in the bud.

“Right. Gotta have to get used to a little werewolf manhandling anyway.”

“What?” Derek asked, furrowing his brow. Stiles heartbeat picked up a notch. It somehow awed the werewolf every time he was able to notice little details like that now, considering how long he had been denied them.

“Nothing,” Stiles coughed, and before the man could prod further the brunette changed the subject. “Did I ever tell you that I consider you picking me up a weird birthday present?”

“No,” Derek replied. “And back then it didn’t seem like you were very happy I did.”

“Excuse you!” Stiles interjected incredulous. “You hunted me, then pinned me down, and dragged me to a house where you undressed me by ripping my clothes apart, forced me under a hot shower and then in my pretty justified attempt to get away was attacked by a ferocious wolf. I think I was very much allowed to be a little terrified of you and your family.”

“Right,” Derek remembered sheepishly, “that happened.”

Stiles huffed in righteous indignation. “Despite all that though,” he continued with a shrug, “you weren’t that bad I guess. Especially if one gets to know you and find out that it’s just you. And you’re an awkward little potato on your best days anyway.”

“Potato,” the werewolf repeated tonelessly.

“Pumpkin?”

“Are you hungry?”

“Derek, I just ate my weight in food. What makes you think I could even eat one more bite?”

“What… am I even doing in here?” Derek asked helplessly.

“Hush, I’m telling a story here.”

“You were the one who called me a crop.”

“And you should have said: ‘What happened then, Stiles?’”

“I know what happened,” Derek replied dryly. “Someone stole my shirts, occupied my closet, and was generally behaving like a brat.”

“Hey, that’s not true!”

“A spoiled brat.”

“Only because you let me,” Stiles defended himself with faked outrage. “Why did you let me anyway?” The werewolf frowned at the younger boy, who suddenly full-bodily twisted around, kneeling between Derek’s thighs and putting his palms on the upper legs as leverage. Stiles’ eyes were inquisitively scanning Derek’s face, as if he was really seeing him, which wasn’t possible without night vision. “Seriously, why did you put up with me? Why’d you deal with all my shit? How’d you know what to do anyway?”

Derek snorted at the last question. “I didn’t know what I was doing. At all. I never did. Honestly, I thought I was messing up. Especially when—” He trailed off, averting his eyes. “When some stuff happened.”

“The panic attack because of the TV wasn’t your fault,” Stiles told him earnestly.

Derek scoffed. “Wasn’t talking about that.”

The boy furrowed his brow in confusion, but Derek simply took his hand. He knew the wound from when Stiles had almost set their kitchen on fire hadn’t been serious, he knew it had healed and there was nothing left to see anyway. It wasn’t even the injury, it was the fact that he had been completely overwhelmed with the situation, the smoke and fire in his house.

“You were afraid,” the brunette said with a shrug, like it made Derek yelling at him okay. “And panicked. I’d never seen you like that. You know, that’s what scared me the most. Not the yelling,” Stiles continued, sitting back on his calves. “I could have dealt with you reprimanding me. It wasn’t like I understood anything you said anyway.”

Derek scoffed again, shaking his head in intangible amusement.

“Hey.”

The werewolf looked up at the word, saw Stiles gnawing on his lower lip and he traced the movement with distracted interest, before lifting his eyes. “Back then you tried to explain, didn’t you?”

“Sort of,” Derek admitted

“Would you mind, you know, doing it again? Now that I’d understand?”

Derek looked at Stiles, before he nudged his toes against the brunette’s legs. The boy jerked in surprise, then glared at Derek, who simply pulled Stiles forward, manhandling him back into his initial position.

“Her name was Kate,” the werewolf began, and Stiles settled down against his chest.

Chapter Text

Talia and Scott had developed quite an interesting relationship over the last few weeks. In fact, so had Scott and Derek. Whenever the young Alpha brought Stiles over after being nagged by the brunette for hours and, upon arrival, Stiles was hijacked by whatever pack member around; McCall spent his time hanging around Derek, completely disregarding what the older man was currently busy with.

It was usually Scott who talked, while Derek only grunted in reply.

It didn’t seem to deter the boy at all.

“I mean, all I want to do is hang out with Kira and Stiles,” Scott complained, happily ignoring the ax Derek was wielding as he was chopping wood, shirt abandoned hours ago and the wooden pendant safely tucked away into his jeans pocket. Stiles had noped out on them the second he had stepped out of the car, taken one look at Derek before letting out a long suffering groan and vanishing into the house. Derek hadn’t seen him for the past half hour, whereas Scott was slowly succeeding in his mission to chew his ears off.

“Instead I have to go to ‘Alpha Lessons’. Like, seriously? I never knew there were lessons involved. And man, they are boring,” Scott continued unperturbed. “Pack Management, Derek. There’s a subject called ‘Pack Management’, and ‘Pack Ethics’ and ‘Werewolf Etiquette’. And not the stuff like which fork to use when, no. Like what to do when someone challenges you. I don’t even need that. Like who would even challenge me in my pack?”

Derek nodded in agreement, mostly out of habit. Laura used to throw the same fit, whenever she had to tag along to an Alpha Seminar.

“And all those meetings! I keep falling asleep and then I have to copy your mother’s notes. Scratch that, I have to copy her notes even when I don’t fall asleep because half the time I don’t even know what they are talking about. Oh, and your mother’s notes? Yeah, they mostly consist of doodles or sentences that don’t make any sense. Like seriously, you wouldn’t believe it. Because she just sits there, looking intimidatingly stoic and proud and everybody sort of fears and respects her at the same time and I thought, hell, I can start writing whenever she does because she understands what Deucalion is talking about. But she’s always writing. And when I peaked at her notes all I saw were trees and flowers, and stickmen hanging themselves. And she keeps scrawling ‘I wanna die I wanna die this is so boring’ at the top of her sheets. She plays hangman with how often Deucalion uses the phrase ‘Alphas of Alpha’ or Natalie Martin says ‘We in the Martin pack’. And if she doesn’t do that she plays tic tac toe with herself. I asked her once if I could join but she outright refused, explaining it would be too supicious but I’m sure she doesn’t wanna lose to me. One time she wrote something on the margin and showed it to me. Do you know what it said? ‘Whoever reads this is dumb’. And did you know that she always draws Jackson with a lizard tail and a snake tongue? What the hell is that about?”

Derek almost choked on his own spit, when he heard the Jackson part. He wasn’t surprised about everything Scott had mentioned before, after all he knew his mother, but that was a little unprofessional even for his mother. The only ones who would understand the reference apart from the two Hales were Jackson, his father and Deaton, but it was still a little risky if the wrong person saw that.

“How do you know it’s Jackson?”

Scott gave him a flat look. “She scribbles his name on the top. Or gives him a speech bubble reading ‘I’m Jackson Whittemore and I’m the worst Alpha Beacon Hills has ever seen. I’m worse than my father’ or stuff like that.”

The beta was speechless. And only short from slamming his hand flat across his face. Luckily, he was still aware of the ax and therefore did not follow through with the urge to show his disbelief.

“Still, I think I would die without your mother,” Scott admitted shamelessly.

Derek snorted in contempt.

Talia saw herself as some sort of mentor for the True Alpha, which Scott readily accepted. Scott McCall actually believed she was doing it solemnly out of the goodness of her heart, but fact was that an Alpha who was taking another under their wing was compensated.

With less office work.

For example, the Alphas of a region had to listen to complains twice a week in mandatory meetings. They were mostly about disputes between two werewolves of different packs or someone believing a werewolf was abusing power or some sort of fight. As an Alpha who had someone in training, Talia was excused from meetings like that for a certain time so she could commit to her protégé’s needs.

So, while Jackson and every other Alpha in the vicinity were stuck with paper work and nagging citizens, Talia got to play with puppy Scott.

“I really don’t know how Jackson does it.”

“He sends a proxy,” Derek informed impatiently, letting the ax hurl down, not pretending it was Scott’s head he was chopping off at all. “His father. That’s why he has too much free time.”

The brunette was quiet for a moment, before his lips formed into a silent ‘oh’. “Now that you mention it, he barely shows up for those meetings.”

“You’re only noticing now?”

“Hey, I’m a little busy, you know? I can’t keep track of everything going on around me.” Scott defended himself with a pout, crossing his arms in front of his chest while sulking.

Derek watched him for a moment.

Talia had told him that the teenager wasn’t attending school right now, because he was too busy with his duties as an Alpha and learning everything he should have been taught at a much younger age and over a longer time span if it hadn’t been for their sudden disappearance.

She had explained that the boy was loyal, open-minded, friendly, empathetic and had the potential to become a great Alpha in the future. But right now he was completely in over his head, and hated everything about his special Alpha Status.

Derek knew that it was the truth, because he could feel the frustration slowly dissipating whenever Scott was ranting about his Alpha problems to the older werewolf like it was some kind of catharsis to him.

The fact that Scott wasn’t able to hide his emotions in front of a beta that didn’t even belong to his own pack was another dead giveaway about how much he still had to learn.

“I understand,” the older werewolf replied wryly. “Now leave.”

“I’m insulted. You never talk to Stiles like this,” Scott complained, swinging down from where he was sitting on the second tree bole.

“Stiles doesn’t annoy me.”

Scott laughed.

And continued to laugh.

“As much,” Derek tagged on, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

The Alpha just waved at him and went into the house, all the while chuckling to himself.

Truthfully, Derek didn’t mind Scott and their little one-sided chats. The older man was used to people talking at him and even if he really wasn’t sure why Scott was so adamant to spent time with him, the werewolf didn’t care. Mostly because the teenager wasn’t treating him like a porcelain doll and was completely ignoring the wolfsbane infused ankle monitor, never stumbled over his own words as he tried to avoid a topic that might offend—simply because he wasn’t trying to avoid anything.

Derek couldn’t remember if he had ever shifted, but according to his mother it happened occasionally when he was young. Not often, because common triggers were anger and other strong emotions. However, even toddler Derek had always been rather calm; a fortunate thing for his mother’s nerves.

Contrary to Eric and Laura, who used to have a temper like no other, especially when they didn’t get their way.

Even when Laura used her little brother as a dressing doll, it didn’t elicit more than an annoyed snort from him. She had started off with make-up, trying to get a reaction out of him, but Derek hadn’t even bothered to acknowledge her presence. It escalated quickly to forcing him to wear her dresses and making him walk around town with ribbons and headbands in his hair, but he never got angry.

Talia didn’t know when exactly Derek’s shifts stopped—somewhere between age four and five—but she had simply assumed that he was a natural, that he had learned to control himself without anyone teaching him.

It took her a while to realize how wrong she was.

When Stiles drove up in a battered baby blue jeep in early December Derek knew what it meant.

Stiles had his driver’s license.

He was free of conservatorship.

Which meant he was marked.

When Derek opened the door to let the beaming boy in, he couldn’t see the tattoo under the collar; only the edges of a bandage. But he knew the mark consisted of two intertwined rings in tribal style. Stiles smelled faintly of pain and ink and blood and ointment as he walked up the stairs and to the door, throwing his car keys in the air in a show of confidence and nonchalance. He showed no signs of self-consciousness as he entered like he owned the place, moving with a poise born from familiarity.

Stiles behaved like he was still living with the Hales.

Derek’s family felt like he indeed was still part of their pack.

The hidden mark told another story.

“I’m finally, legally allowed to make my own decisions again,” Stiles declared proudly to the house.

“Congratulations,” Frederick and Peter called unison from the kitchen, where they tried to bake muffins. From the slightly burned and completely unappealing smell Derek could detect in the hallway it was an utter failure.

“Thanks!” the boy proudly shouted back in reply. “That means I got my license. Got a car. And my mark,” he stated further, as Derek closed the door behind him.

“Great!” Malia cheered from the living room.

When Stiles peered through the door, the girl threw her head back over the backrest, smiling at them from upside down.

“That only leaves one more thing to do,” Stiles continued as he approached the girl and petted her hair briefly in a greeting before he spun around on his heels to face Derek again.

“What’s that?” she inquired and the werewolf would have liked to second that question if it wasn’t for Stiles’ rather intense gaze directed at him.

It made him self-conscious.

“Can we talk?” Stiles asked, though he was already tugging the werewolf along the hall to the stairs.

“Stiles?” Malia called after them, confusion mixing with curiosity.

Derek could hear his uncle hushing the girl, but Stiles never answered and remained unnaturally quiet as he lead them into Derek’s bedroom, where he pushed the older man down on the couch, then went to close the door and lean against it.

The werewolf furrowed his brow, watching the brunette now nervously fiddling with the keys as his heartbeat quickened and slowed almost with every breath he took, before he determinedly thrust both hands into his pockets, firmly looked up and straight into Derek’s eyes.

“I like you.”

Derek stared at him.

“As in, I really, really like you. Which of course, you’ve probably noticed by now, but yeah. I wanted to say it. Make it kind of official. Or so. Which is harder than I expected.”

The werewolf blinked.

Stiles shifted under the stare, rocking back and forth on the heels before he stopped abruptly. “This is the part where you say stuff like ‘me too’, or you know, ‘thanks, but no thanks’,” the human continued awkwardly in light of Derek’s stunned silence. “Or something like ‘I prefer you over my strolls in the preserve’. It could easily be considered a confession in your case.”

In reply, Derek’s eyes flickered to the tattoo and Stiles followed his gaze before he approached him. “Don’t think about that,” he said while kneeling down, placing his hand on Derek’s knee, keeping their eyes on the same level. “It has nothing to do with this,” he assured, waving his hand between them to indicate what he meant.

Derek pressed his lips together, fighting the urge to reach out. He could feel the by now familiar itch of claws trying to push out underneath his finger nails, feel the beginnings of bones shaping and changing.

Derek first reaction was to say ‘Me too’.

He wanted to say ‘me too’.

But Derek had once believed he had been in love with someone. Because she was smart and cheerful and a tad bossy and always there. Paige back then had known what Derek couldn’t figure out until a few months later: that it wasn’t the same feeling but simple attachment. He couldn’t trust Stiles, with his lack of human interaction the last few years and his closeness to Derek, to realize the difference.

Truth was, Derek himself didn’t know what ‘love’ was, what this was. And with this he meant everything between them. Why he wanted Stiles around, why he wanted to make him smell like them again, why everything the boy achieved made him so proud, why everything he did made him stupidly happy but still let his gut grow cold at the same time. Why his first and last thought, and every thought in between was always Stiles, Stiles, Stiles.

“Derek?” Stiles inquired quietly, frowning slightly.

“I don’t know,” he finally replied.

“Don’t know what?”

“About us.”

Stiles immediately dropped the hand from Derek’s knee, leaning back to get more distance between them. “Oh,” was all he said and then awkwardly looked away, staring to the side. When Derek reached out to touch his shoulder, the brunette abruptly stood up, taking a step back. “Oh wow.”

Derek dropped the hand now uselessly hanging in the air.

“That... I thought... I mean... You were,” Stiles started, breaking up every time before he could finish a sentence. It took him a moment before he was able to fix his eyes on Derek again, clenching his jaw. “Is it because I’m younger?”

“No.”

Stiles knuckles were white, hands fisted into his shirt. “Because I’m a guy?”

Derek shook his head. “We spent months together—”

“That wasn’t lost on me.”

“What I meant: maybe you just became attached?”

Stiles took another step back, releasing his shirt as he clenched and unclenched his hands. “You think... this isn’t real?”

“Yes.”

Because how could Stiles be so firm, so convinced and confident? He had been living as a fox for years, and upon awakening to humanity spent his nights and days living with Derek, almost attached to the hips. Stiles might think he was in love with Derek, but the werewolf wasn’t prepared to get dumped the second the teenager realized what a huge mistake his confession was.

The truth was, his reluctance wasn’t only about Stiles.

Derek was simply scared.

Right now, in his current situation, he felt too vulnerable. He wasn’t prepared to put himself out there. Especially if he wasn’t sure about his own feelings. Because even worse than getting ditched, was the realization that his feelings weren’t the same as Stiles, that he, who should have known better was the one who would have to break it off, just because he rushed into this head first and without thinking things through.

To him, Stiles was too important for such reckless behavior and he didn’t want to lose him over a heat of the moment decision.

“You’re wrong,” Stiles interrupted his thoughts, hands balled to fists at his side. “I know what I feel.”

“You don’t know that,” Derek insisted, moving to sit on his hands, claws digging into the cushion of the couch as he averted his eyes.

“I do. You just don’t believe me!”

“So what?” Derek growled back. “So what if I don’t?”

Stiles stared at him with wide eyes, mouth slightly open, before he clenched his jaw and averted his eyes. They were silent for a moment, until the brunette took a steadying breath. His shoulders were sagged as he carded a hand through his hair, worrying his lips between his teeth.

“Okay. I...,” he started slowly, then stopped. “Alright… so… what does that mean? I don’t understand.” He shook his head once, hand fisted into his shirt above the tattoo—and the realization that Stiles had come to him to confess right after he had been marked by someone else made his stomach grow cold in quiet fury. “What do you want me to do. Or what do you want to do? What do you want… or need?”

“I just...” Derek broke off, dragging his gaze away from the concealed mark. He didn’t know the answer to that question. He was confused, he was unstable, easily angered, a bad influence on Stiles and a danger in the first place. What he wanted was to be left alone. On the other hand he wanted Stiles to stay with him. But that was the problem to begin with, wasn’t it? His complete and utterly pathetic dependence on the brunette.

“Distance. Time,” Derek decided eventually. “To get this sorted out.”

The teenager tensed, not meeting his gaze. “Okay.”

“And I want you to meet other people your age.” Because only then would Stiles be able to figure out what he truly wanted, and whether or not that was Derek.

Stiles flinched at his last words. When the werewolf lifted his head to see his reaction, the boy looked like he had been punched in the face. It was only for the fraction of a second, before Stiles’ expression suddenly closed off, his lips pressed into a thin line. “My age,” he repeated toneless, hurt and betrayal mixed with the already strong odor of humiliation. “Right. I get it.”

Derek frowned.

“I should go,” the human stated as he forcefully tried to stay calm.

“I,” Derek said, swallowing the urge to change his mind. “Yeah.”

The brunette paused at the door, hand hovering over the handle before he pressed it down. “See you.”

“Yeah,” the man replied again, following Stiles’ harshly pounding heart down the stairs, to the front door and the car.

“Stiles, did you get it?” Malia shouted after the boy, bare feet trampling on the wooden floor. All she got in reply was the start of an engine. As soon as Stiles’ jeep was out of the driveway, the girl stormed up the stairs and tentatively poked her head in.

Derek was still sitting on the couch, partially shifted by now. He didn’t even acknowledge her presence until she spoke.

“Everything alright?” she asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” Derek replied through fangs.

Malia looked at him for a brief moment, before she shifted into her animal form. The coyote jumped on the couch, then curled up together next to her cousin, head resting on his thigh.

The next test was shortly before the full moon. Allison didn’t even bother to make him undress. The second she walked into the confined room, she simply threw a shirt at him.

It immediately triggered a shift, when the werewolf caught the scent clinging to it.

He didn’t ask how she had gotten a hold of one of Stiles’ shirt. Whether she had to go and request it from his parents. Or Stiles himself. If she had to explain for what purpose she needed it. Derek knew the Stilinskis were aware of his status, but he didn’t know if they had any knowledge about why he was a code red now.

Derek continued to stare at the shirt, holes punctured into the sleeve from his claws. He could feel the rage burning inside him like hot ice, knew that his consciousness was barely hanging on a thin thread. Allison, who had one hand to her gun was well aware of that too.

He had a few uncontrolled shifts in the last few days, lost some pockets of time and when he regained his conscience someone was always holding him down, mostly Peter. A couple of times his mother, watching him with worried eyes.

Once it had been Cora and Laura together, staring wide-eyed and scared down at him, their faces, arms and clothes slashed open by deep claw marks, strands of hair pasted wildly to their foreheads as pearls of sweat mingled with the blood on their skin. Derek’s own body was marred in a myriad of wounds slowly and poorly healing.

Another time it had been Braeden. Derek had woken up with a gun to his temple and the tendons of his knees severed by what must have been a sharp weapon laced with wolfsbane. The woman’s eyes had been hard and unwavering and he knew she would have put him down if she thought it had been necessary.

Maybe she should have.

No one said it, but Derek knew.

He knew when everyone was careful to leave at least one werewolf at home; when Eric and his father were never alone in a room with Derek; when other pack members were only permitted when Talia and Peter were both at home; when Aconite Spray was conveniently placed into every room and Derek’s door was locked at night.

No one needed to explain what it meant.

Unsurprisingly, the third full moon was worse than the previous ones.

Derek didn’t even shift back at the end of the night and his injuries weren’t healing until two days later. In his fury, he smashed the talisman he had made from the log of wood Stiles had given him to his birthday. He picked up the shards the next day, blankly staring at the splintered wood, before throwing them away.

He tried.

He really did, but thinking about Stiles didn’t help. Not thinking about Stiles didn’t help either. Trying to track down his heartbeat through half of Beacon Hills didn’t help as he gloriously failed at it. He knew his hearing ability was usually better than even his mother’s, but he also knew it wasn’t enough to listen to something that was over twenty miles away.

Stiles stayed away and the days became unbearably long with nothing to look forward to. Derek spent most of his time holed up in bed. His concentration was dwindling, and when he tried to read a book his thoughts mostly faded out after a few sentences, returning to the last conversation he had with the brunette or completely blackening out.

Honestly, Derek couldn’t even tell if that had anything to do with his general situation or the fact that he missed Stiles.

They met one time shortly before Christmas on the rare occasion that he had been granted permission to go into the mall. Derek had a feeling his siblings knew Stiles would be there, but didn’t voice it. The brunette boy looked away as soon as their eyes met, but Derek could still hear his heartbeat speeding up, his breath quickening.

He tried not to read too much into it.

When Stiles brushed past Derek, it was with a curt nod in simple greeting. He smelled of regret, sadness and anger.

Scott stopped next to Derek, patted his shoulder awkwardly. “He doesn’t get it,” the Alpha explained, while Stiles had already left the store, waiting impatiently. Cora and Laura moved on in line, pulling Derek along as he wasn’t allowed more than a few feet away from them. “If it helps, his parents are absolutely in love with you for this. They have been giving him the same talk you probably did.”

Before Derek had the chance to reply, Scott took Derek’s hands in his own. Belatedly, the werewolf realized that his claws had shown. The young Alpha looked him straight in the eyes, slightly tilting his head as he flashed his own bright red.

It didn’t help him shift back.

There were rumors spreading around Beacon County, small town gossip about how the Hale and True Alpha Pack were engaged in a cold war. Which was preposterous. Claudia Stilinski, Melissa McCall, Ken Yukimura and Talia Hale met up at least once a week, though Derek didn’t know how much was courtesy in their cases. Their counterparts—plus Coach Cupcake—were bonding over fishing, bowling, poker games or whatever they did on their weekly meetings.

According to Heather who dropped by once, reeking of McCall and Pack and Claimed, more werewolf clutching to her skin than ever, Stiles was going to go back to school in January for half a year to check on his progress and whether he was able to keep up with freshman level studies. Apparently, Stiles wanted to go to college, wanted to study history or criminology or something like that, so he would have to take his GED sooner or later.

Derek had no doubt Stiles was going to ace the classes. He was so infinitely smart and fast to catch on.

It was good to know that Stiles’ life was slowly coming back together.

Good to know that he didn’t need Derek for it.

Nonno and Nonna showed up a week before Christmas Eve, the engine of their motorcycle announcing their arrival eons ago. Cora greeted them at the border of the preserve, running beside the Ural in her wolf form, happily barking every once in a while. Soon there was a second set of paws running in the distance and Derek could just picture Nonna jumping right out of the side car to join her granddaughter.

Derek left the house as soon as the engine died in the front yard. His grandfather hugged him tight, lightly kicking against his ankle above the monitor. Derek just shrugged, instead focusing on the new sets of tattoos decorating the old man’s biceps. The colorful pictures always told a story. Places he had been, people who were important to the old man.

Derek liked to listen to tales.

And Eugene liked to tell them.

Christmas almost went by without the presence of Malia again. Ada however didn’t want to hear about it, strapped her helmet on and kidnapped the girl right out of her new family’s living room. Not even The Shrew dared to object. Nonna was thoughtful enough to invite the Tate family for Christmas, but they refused.

Usually in the Hale family, Christmas meant strictly family, compared to Thanksgiving where the whole pack was invited. Nonna was prepared to make an exception for Malia’s sake.

Christmas also meant the Hale’s betas and humans would hold their annual contest of who could hide long enough to avoid kitchen duty and who was sneaky enough to get past Talia Hale to the cookie jar.

The winner, as every year, was Eugene.

There was a brightly colored tree in the living room, decorated with a werewolf-angel at the top, rather tacky tinsel in silver and gold and glitter balls in so many different colors Derek slowly suspected Cora and Malia were both color blind.

They shared gifts, ate pancakes for breakfast, played board games, which Eric absolutely sucked at. Derek was trying out his new monolith woodless pencils, his grandparents gave him.

Derek’s presents had all been handmade. Apart from the fact that he wasn’t really able to leave the house, he was short on money as he had lost a few contracts, what with being unable to meet deadlines for his illustrations. Because his laptop was still dead.

The woodwork was poorly made, his hands unsteady whenever he worked with a tool and frustration grew with every piece he had to discard. Derek knew the key chains and pendants looked amateurish and he had been about to throw them away when his father stopped him and told him they were fine.

For New Years, Derek kicked his family out. The Hales usually celebrated the end of the year at the Beacon Hills town square with friends and the rest of the pack.

Derek just wanted to be alone.

As soon as his family left, making sure for the third time if it was really alright with him, he locked himself inside the cage and slept through midnight, not even woken by the fireworks.

Scott visited a couple of times, keeping him updated on Stiles’ progress. Derek was torn between not wanting to know and to make sure he was alright. Apparently, Stiles wasn’t.

Stiles had dropped out of school barely two weeks after he had enrolled again in January. According to the young Alpha he was miserable and hadn’t been doing well in classes. Deaton advised a home-tutor until the teenager was closer in his studies to students his own age.

Derek was about to ignore his house arrest.

But he didn’t trust himself to even arrive at the Stilinski house without losing himself.

Just that he did.

Derek wasn’t sure how it happened, but suddenly he was finding himself in an unfamiliar suburb. It wasn’t until he had walked around for a while that he finally realized where he was as he recognized the colonial house he had only seen once before.

But now, compared to before, the front yard was clean, new paint in white replaced the tattered one, lights were on in the windows. It was warm; and felt like life and family.

Derek could make out Stiles’ heartbeat from where he stood. But he didn’t register the beeping of the ankle monitor until he heard the click of a toggling lever and noticed a gun pointed at his head.

“You’re not allowed to leave your house.”

“No, I’m not,” Derek confirmed. “I don’t know how I got here.”

“I have to take you in.”

The werewolf nodded, before he turned around to face Chris Argent. He was older than the last time he had seen him, a few more gray hairs, some wrinkles, but the same steel-blue eyes that held more compassion than someone in his profession should. The man raised his eyebrows at something behind Derek, slowly levering the gun. The werewolf turned his head and spotted Claudia Stilinski behind them, arms wrapped in front of her chest. The annoying beeping of his monitor was still going off as she approached without hesitation.

“Are you here to see Stiles?” she asked, looking at Derek, before turning to Chris Argent. “Will you let him—”

“No,” Derek interrupted. “I’m not.”

Claudia watched him quietly, her eyes flickering to the annoying device at his leg. She nodded before she left and Derek climbed into the back of the black SUV. Victoria Argent was waiting in the passenger seat, not looking at him once.

They didn’t take him in.

They brought him back home and Derek decided that he would have preferred the cell over his family’s worried faces. Especially when he spotted Peter in the hallway, an open wound on his arm that was still healing.

That night he tried to talk to his mother about custody at one of the Argent’s detention centers.

She didn’t want to hear any of it.

Derek was already locked away in the cage a day prior to the fourth full moon, trying to figure out how to deal with the shift; how this anchor thing worked for others and why it wasn’t working for him. Why everything inside him was so twisted and turned.

He was raging deep into the night of the second day after the full moon.

When his head finally cleared, Deaton was in the cellar, together with Allison, his mother and grandparents. He was so sick of them watching him with concern and fear.

“It’s getting worse?” Allison asked with a frown, her hands to her hip. Derek tried to reply, furrowed his brows when nothing came out but a croak. Instead he nodded slowly. “If this continues we have to detain you, Derek.”

Derek let his head sink to his knees and shrugged.

“I agree,” he forced out, voice a quiet rasp.

When Derek opened the door at the beginning of February, Stiles punched him in the face. “That’s for forcing me to go through the worst months of my life,” the teenager growled at him. “And that includes me being a fox for years, getting shot at and almost eaten by a lynx.”

Stunned, Derek staggered backwards, staring at the brunette in confusion as he reflexively brushed a knuckle under his nose to check for blood. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh don’t worry,” Stiles snapped, “I won’t take up a lot of your time. And I’ll promise I won’t ever bother you again after this.”

“What—”

“I know you don’t like me,” Stiles barreled on. “I mean, not like I do and I get that. I can get over that, it’s not the end of the world, obviously.” The words sounded hollow, like he had rehearsed them and it might have been because of Derek’s slowly dwindling abilities or just his clouded brain, but he was unable to pick up any emotions behind them. “But it’s not fair to lie to me and tell me that you need time when you already know you don’t want this.”

“I… what? It’s not like that,” Derek objected, mildly confused as how Stiles had even reached that conclusion. “I told you.”

“Two months,” Stiles accused, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. “And not one. Single. Word. God, did you even notice I wasn’t there? Did you care? Did you miss me at all?”

“Yes,” Derek admitted under his breath, probably too quiet for Stiles to pick up. Not that it actually mattered because the brunette was just storming through his monologue like he wanted to get the words out before he lost courage.

“Or were you just glad that the stupid fucking kid finally left you alone? Because let me tell you, I was fucking miserable waiting for a phone call, or for you to show up. And then I realized that you’d probably never come. Why would you? I mean, you never visited once even before I went ahead and spilled my guts to you.”

“Stiles—”

“I used to think, ‘dude, it’s Derek, he probably only wants to give you space, because that’s what he always does. He’ll probably wait until you make the first step’.”

“It’s not—”

“And I did. Again. And again. And you were—I don’t know. I thought you felt the same. Yet I was the one who initiated—stuff—between us. And you fucking let me! You never told me to get lost, to stop bothering you, to stop touching you. You didn’t even give me one single hint to let me know everything I did was unwelcomed. I know how you are with other people, I noticed how you treated me differently and yes, I was stupid enough to believe it meant something. But all along I was just a fucking charity case to you, wasn’t I? The pitiful kid trapped in a fucking fox body you’d just humor until it eventually gets the hint and realizes what a fucking moron it is. Just going along with whatever I wanted because that was apparently the lesser evil!”

“Don’t talk—”

“No, shut up, Derek, I’m not finished,” Stiles interrupted him harshly.

Derek took a step back, swallowing hard, flight instinct kicking in, because no, he couldn’t do this, couldn’t talk about this. Not now. Not in his current condition. There was something growing in his stomach, hot and heavy and dark and distinctly savage.

“You could have just told me! I’m not some fragile, delicate maiden or whatever. I can handle the truth. Instead you use this round-about way of getting rid of me. And you wanna know what’s the worst? I still want you. I want to be with you and it’s just not fair that you kept leading me on for so long!”

Derek snapped his mouth shut, pinching his eyes close, trying to calm his heartbeat and his breath, fighting against what was slowly accumulating in his stomach, begging to get released.

“I mean, it’s no wonder you don’t want me. I’m like, mentally fifteen or something. And that’s only if you’re generous. I’m a mess, I know that. But I tried really hard, okay? I fucking worked my ass off so that I wouldn’t embarrass you, so I’d be equal to you, so that you wouldn’t have a reason to be ashamed of walking next to me, because I thought we could be something—”

“Stiles,” Derek cut in-between, vision blurring, wondering where the hell his mother was, where Peter was, why he couldn’t hear anything but Stiles’ voice and the blood pounding in his head. “You have to go.”

“Screw you, Derek,” Stiles exclaimed incredulous and angry. “You can’t just kick me out just because—”

“Stiles! Stop it!”

The werewolf lost consciousness before he could even figure out who had yelled those words.

There was something about Derek only Talia knew. Something she had never told her parents, the Hale’s emissaries or even her husband. Something Derek himself didn’t know, because he couldn’t remember. And she had intended to keep it that way.

The fact that her son—just once—shifted into a real wolf.

That night, everyone had already gone to sleep, while she had stayed behind in her office, working into the wee hours, when a crashing sound caught her attention. She stood on alert without delay, prepared to shift and defend her home, when she heard the wooden front door breaking under a heavy weight.

She caught the scent easily, knew immediately who it was she was chasing through the woods even if it was a little off until she realized why. She spent a few seconds admiring her sons lean black wolf, before she shifted completely and bolted right after him.

Talia had trouble catching up, because Derek might have been clumsy but was still very fast. If he had been in better control of his animal body, she probably wouldn’t have been able to get close enough for a tackle.

The wolf was as vicious as he was beautiful, snapping at her, digging claws into her skin and struggling against her hold. He didn’t react to her Alpha red eyes, nor did he seem to submit to her overpowering strength.

Derek fought with the desperation of a drowning man, as if his life depended on getting away from her.

Their struggle lasted for long minutes, until the energy and strength finally left the teenager’s body, the unfamiliar shift too much of a strain on him, especially in combination with the exhausting fight to shake Talia off.

The Alpha carried her unconscious son back home and tucked him into bed.

The next morning, when asked what had happened to the door, she simply replied that she had intended to go for a walk but in her eagerness to get outside and away from work forgotten to open it.

She was slightly offended that her family accepted the explanation without any suspicion.

Just a few hours later she received a call from Deucalion.

The True Alpha Pack was gone.

There were no memories. Nothing concrete. Just some pronounced feelings; screaming anger, morphing restlessness then suddenly quiet ease; fleeting impressions of actions clouded by a blur. Everything was always just vague and instinct and most of all vast darkness.

When Derek woke up, it was in the middle of the night, the eerie moonlight casting flickering shadows against the stone wall of the cellar. He was curled together on the floor, naked, a torn blanket thrown to the side, plastic shards littering the ground, his ankle monitor gone, the smell of urine and sweat and blood thick in the air. Closing his eyes, Derek shifted a little on the spot, trying to find out which body part hurt the most to avoid adding weight to it.

Albeit there was a surprising lack of wounds; an ache at the back of his thigh he couldn’t quite place, dull throbbing pain in his mouth, at the flesh around his teeth, but otherwise less injuries than he had gotten used to over the last few full moons.

“No one told me.”

Derek immediately snapped into focus, groaning when a thudding ache made itself known, something sticky now tugging at his skin, most likely a wound ripping open again as he could feel the slow trickle of viscid liquid.

“You didn’t tell me.”

His ears twitched as he looked around, his senses numbed but trying to pick up a direction or scent. In the end it was a subtle movement that revealed the origin of the voice and he squinted at the dark silhouette hunched on the floor not far from the cage but definitely out of reach.

“Stiles?” Derek asked, more croaked, reaching for the blanket.

“What, jerkass?” the brunette replied without any heat, not even looking up, his head resting on his knees.

Derek caught himself inching closer, stopped when he realized that he involuntarily tried to seek comfort in the other’s presence.

“What... are you doing here?”

The teenager finally lifted his head and turned to stare at Derek, while the werewolf was rooted to the spot. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

The man frowned at the question. “I,” he started but didn’t know how to continue.

Derek didn’t know how he had gotten into the cellar, couldn’t remember whether there was a full moon to begin with. It took him a while until he was finally able to tie at least some broken memories together, Stiles’ anger most prominent, a blur of dark shapes and distant voices, Stiles punching him in the face before unloading—oh, right.

He had felt trapped by Stiles’ accusations and shifted and—

The man didn’t know what happened after but he could remember all the times he had lost conscience while shifting and they had usually resulted in someone getting hurt. Derek closed his eyes for a brief moment, repressing the looming panic because no, Stiles was sitting there, Stiles wouldn’t be here if he had been hurt, but—

“Did I…” He swallowed hard, uncertain if he wanted to hear the answer. “Did I hurt you?”

Stiles was silent, then sighed heavily before he pushed himself up, breaching the couple feet and slumped down directly in front of the cage. “Nah,” he replied and Derek let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Peter was there and tackled you down before... something could happen. Or not happen. We don’t really know what you were going to do but Peter wasn’t willing to wait and find out.”

Derek worked his jaw in speechless frustration. “Where is everyone? Why are you here?”

The boy glanced at the stairs leading up to the ground floor, then back to the caged man. “They are all upstairs,” he replied with a frown, “Can’t you hear them?”

“No,” Derek answered, collapsing against the stone wall. He was tired, not just physically but mentally. “I can’t hear anything. And I don’t remember much.”

Stiles leaned forward against the bars, pressing his face lightly against them. “After Peter stopped you, he brought you down here and threw me out. I kept banging against the door, but he wouldn’t tell me what was going on. No one would. I came back the next day, but your mother refused to let me in. Literally threw the door in my face. Your grandparents are scary by the way. They tried to shoo me away, too, but you know me,” he continued with an easy shrug, that was probably as fake as the light tone he used. “So I came back the day after and bugged the living hell out of everyone. Singing off-key in the yard was one of the nicest things I did that day. And believe me, I was just about to burn sulfur, when Laura eventually let me in.”

Derek quirked his eyebrows at Stiles’ unvoiced disbelief. It wasn’t like Laura hated him but the teenager apparently hadn’t gotten the memo yet. Not that it was his fault, considering Laura’s stand-offish attitude.

“Your mother didn’t seem happy, but Laura brought me downstairs anyway. Apparently the first time I showed up you had calmed down, but acted up again as soon as I’d left. She figured I might help you, and that it was worth a try. And it was.”

“That’s why you’re here?”

“Basically.”

“How long has it been?” Derek threw another look around the cellar, dried blood stains on the ground, the plastic shards of torn water bottles, shreds of clothes, the picture Malia had drawn on the opposite wall with chalk after his second full moon. But it was mostly just dark. Every corner was pitch black in his vision. He couldn’t hear anyone upstairs, couldn’t hear Stiles’ heartbeat, couldn’t smell pack.

“I’ve been here for four days, so almost a week,” Stiles replied, before trailing his eyes along the cage, rubbing the back of his neck. “Feels like it has been ages. I’ve been down here for so long I don’t even notice the stench anymore. My nose must be all clogged or something. Then again, I smelled worse with a sniffer more sensitive than this one.” As if to emphasize his words, Stiles tapped against the side of his nose, smirking a little.

“Have you been down here all this time?”

“Don’t worry,” Stiles tried to play it off with another disinterested shrug. “It’s not like I was wasting my time or anything. I caught up on some reading, did homework, played Nintendo, bothered Scott. A lot. And oh, got some sleeping done, too.” The brunette jerked his chin in the direction of the operating table, staggered with blankets wounded into each other like a nest. Derek wondered if Stiles was ever going to get rid of the nesting instinct.

“You shouldn’t even be here,” he stated with a sigh, wrapping the shredded blanket closer around his body.

Stiles scoffed. “Well tough luck, mister. Because I am here and I won’t go until you do. Not as long as you need me. By the way I have clothes. You want them?”

“Your parents—”

“Low blow, dude,” Stiles chided him calmly, “And by the way, my parents know that I’m here.”

“And they approve?”

“They deal.”

“Stiles—”

“Look, if you want to stay here that’s fine by me. You’ll have to come out of there eventually anyway but I won’t force you. Just sit there and brood. I’ll go ahead and read some poems for English lit. Clothes?”

“Go home, Stiles.”

“It’s cute how you think I would.”

“I’m NSFP,” Derek snarled and hated himself for it. It sounded like he was joining the freaking AA. Acceptance being the first step and all that. Well, he had accepted his inability to shift a long time ago, suddenly changing and attacking people at random, that actually took some time to get used to. Especially with his flickering senses which made him feel numbed, thrown off-balance and handicapped.

“Nobody cares.”

“I’m dangerous.”

“No, you. Are. Not.”

“I tried to attack you,” Derek continued dumb-founded, because why wouldn’t Stiles understand?

“We don’t know that. You just shifted.”

“Then what about the town. You have—”

“Fuck the town,” Stiles interrupted him forcefully, angrily slamming his hand once against the bars, before his fingers wrapped around the iron. “I don’t give a flying fuck about what some idiots say. Stop finding reasons to get rid of me. I’m here to help you, and I won’t go until we have this fixed. I’ll find you a freaking anchor if it’s the last thing I do.”

Derek opened his mouth, taken aback at the sudden outburst. “I have one,” he confessed dumbly.

“It’s doing a shitty job, if you’re still like this,” Stiles snorted disdainfully. “I’m not a werewolf but I know a thing or two about anchors. Whatever it is, it’s bad for you so just sever all ties and find something else. Because this? This is obviously not working for you.”

“I think it’s you,” the werewolf admitted, not particularly sure because the brunette was right. It was doing a shitty job and it was making him unstable but it was the only logical conclusion. Because everything had turned downhill after Stiles had left.

The teenager nodded but when the meaning finally hit him he suddenly froze. He was quiet for a moment, not even looking at Derek anymore until he lifted his head. For the first time Derek could pick up his heartbeat, loud and clear and fast and stuttering. “Want me to read you some poems until you’re ready to come out? I found one that suits you pretty well. It’s about a panther though, but whatever.”

The man blinked at the words, then shook his head.

Avoidance.

Right.

“Suit yourself,” was all the brunette answered, moving back from the bars and to his initial spot. “I’ve got water, though, if you want some. You must be thirsty.” Derek looked at the bottle Stiles was waving at him like it was some kind of priceless showpiece, then without further ado maneuvered it through the bars and rolled it towards him.

Derek tried to ignore the trash his hands had to go through to fetch the bottle, tried to ignore the stench around him. He couldn’t. Instead he stopped in his attempt to grasp the plastic, noticing for the first time the ache underneath his nails, fingertips stained with something dark. So were his arms and legs.

He was a mess.

This whole thing was a mess.

The werewolf watched Stiles, who had his back turned towards him and was muttering to himself as he searched through a pile of books. His face looked ashen in the cold light of the mobile’s LED flashlight. It didn’t seem like Stiles had caught a lot of sleep, which wasn’t a surprise. No one would, while a werewolf was raging in a cage just a few feet away.

And yet Stiles wouldn’t leave.

Derek ignored the bottle and instead lifted himself up, barely standing on legs and feet, which felt wrong and strange and twisted and like they didn’t belong to him.

“I should probably take a shower,” he admitted quietly, clutching the blanket closer around his waist.

Stiles froze at his words, before he turned around. “Oh yes, you should,” he agreed with a vigor that suggested he had been waiting for those words ever since Derek had regained a fully human body. “You want the clothes now?”

Derek startled a little at the question, then looked down on himself before giving a silent nod.

The teenager stood up, fast steps leading him to his nest where he rummaged for a moment, wrangling with his mobile as the only light source.

“Why didn’t you turn on the lights?” Derek asked, just to break the silence.

“Huh?” Stiles replied, holding the pants up in victory when he finally found them, mobile fixed under his chin. “Have you seen how your mother decorated the place to make it more homey? I mean look at the curtains. They totally destroy the cellar flair.”

Derek raised his eyebrows at the answer, but when Stiles looked anywhere but at him as he returned to threw the fabrics at the werewolf and spun around immediately as if to give him more privacy, he figured that the reason was something else.

He wasn’t sure what had been going on these past few days, but he was pretty sure Stiles had seen his fair share of nudity considering Derek had apparently spent the days naked. Luckily somewhere between his second and fourth Full Moon his father had a heater installed so it wasn’t freezing cold in the winter.

Derek had to drop to the ground to get dressed, unable to stand on one leg, which was, for whatever reason, unwilling to support his body weight. Walking was exhausting as well, and the werewolf had to cling to the bars to move forward. When he left the cage he felt like an invalid or a tottery old man.

Stiles didn’t turn around until he caught the tell-tale and completely clichéd creaking sound of the door opening. Without a word, he linked one hand under Derek’s arm for support, smiling faintly. The werewolf wanted to push him away, but he wasn’t sure he could handle the stairs alone. Not without falling down several times at least. And something told him that Stiles would wait at the bottom, gleefully laughing at him which was why Derek accepted the silent gesture with only a little hesitation.

“Don’t worry,” the teenager assured as his hand dragged Derek’s left arm over his shoulders. “Right now, you’re not even remotely attractive to me.”

“Wasn’t worried about that,” Derek replied dryly, rolling his eyes and suppressing a pathetic whimper when he noticed the pain in his neck muscles.

“Well, maybe a little,” Stiles continued as if the man had never spoken.

“Brat,” he muttered under his breath.

Stiles just chuckled.

When they reached the stairs, the brunette stopped and stared at the door at the top for a moment. “Alright big guy, here’s the deal,” he uttered confidentially. “What happened in the cellar stays in the cellar.”

“Jokes?” Derek groaned, but Stiles didn’t look like he was joking.

“If you have any questions, asks them now. Because as soon as we walk through that door, we won’t ever talk about what happened here again. I’ll erase it from my memory and so will, hopefully, Scott and you.”

“Scott? Was Scott down here, too?”

“What? No! I just sent him lots of text messages. And I think some of them left him traumatized. A little. Just a tiny bit.”

Derek hadn’t felt the urge to ask before, just assumed he had been this ravaging monster gnawing on iron bars and scratching nails on the stone. Scott shouldn’t get traumatized by something like that.

“What did I do?” he asked in a quiet whisper, unsure whether his family was listening in, whether his family knew what Stiles was talking about.

“Nothing! Nothing bad in particular! I just thought it’s better to get this over with! I mean, what if a week later you suddenly remember something and want to ask but don’t know how. Or what, I don’t know what I thought! I just wanted to let you know that I never have and never will judge you for anything that might or might not have happened in this cellar.”

“Then why did you…” Derek stopped himself, sighed in frustration. “Alright. I think I know. Maybe.” He heard something that sounded suspiciously like an ‘you have no idea, man’ muttered under the other’s breath but ignored it in favor for his own sanity. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“That you had to witness…whatever you had to witness.”

“Hey, if it had been that bad, I wouldn’t be here.”

“Right.”

“I’m not that nice, Derek,” Stiles insisted.

Derek snorted in reply and they finally made their way upstairs. The cellar door was underneath the stairs leading to the upper floor and right between living room and kitchen, usually the places commonly occupied by pack members. Yet when they entered the hall it was almost too quiet, the house seemingly empty.

He should probably say something to get them out of hiding or whatever they were doing. Maybe they thought he wasn’t comfortable with them suddenly showing up, that he was ashamed—which he was, no doubt. In fact, he could happily hide in his room before the Argents arrived to pick him up. Which was just a question of sooner or later as they had most likely only been waiting for a call from his mother that he had regained his senses.

“Hey?” he called awkwardly into the house. Stiles scoffed and looked at him with an expression wavering between pity and amusement, letting him know that only something like ‘What’s up?’ could have been even more inappropriate.

Malia was the first to skip out of the living room, as if she had been perched behind the door just waiting for him to give a sign. Her hands were clutched behind her back and she didn’t approach further, didn’t run up to him like she usually did. Instead the girl stood almost frozen in place, shooting worried glances between him and someone still hidden behind the threshold.

“Hey Derek,” Laura greeted stiffly, her head poking out from the living room a second later. “If you’re hungry, we have something in the kitchen.”

“Thanks. I think I’ll just,” he waved a hand at his body, hopefully conveying the message. His sister’s nose twitched for a moment before she nodded in understanding.

“We’re all here. So if you need something…”

“Yeah,” he replied.

It was like a train wreck. He had never felt so awkward talking to his family and this was just painful, even to his own ears. And if Stiles’ or Laura’s expression was anything to go by, they shared the sentiment. He could only imagine the faces of the rest of his family. God, he didn’t even know if Nonna and Nonno were still around or had left for their next adventure.

His sister gave another curt nod, her eyes scanning his body before she ducked back into the living room. Malia continued to anxiously stare at him. Stiles nudged Derek in the side and they proceeded to the bottom of the stairs, stopping in front of the girl who simply took a step back to let them pass.

Out of the corner of his eyes he spotted Eric and Cora in the living room. And then he noticed the blonde woman and brunette man at the table, talking quietly to his mother.

“Your parents are here?” he whispered at Stiles, who followed his eyes and then shrugged.

“Have been here ever since the day I announced I was moving in for a while.”

“Linus?”

“He’s with Scott.”

Derek stared at the teenager for a moment, but then shook his head in defeat.

They were just about to head upstairs when Malia suddenly approached them, taking Derek’s free hand and pushing a book in his palm. “Maybe it helps you as much as it helped me,” she said, instantly taking a step back like she expected Derek to lash out at her for the mere suggestion. She didn’t wait for a reaction though, turned around and hurried into the living room.

Derek followed her with his eyes, before he trained them on the book in his hands.

It was the first one he had drawn for her, not the reprint but the original. Even after all these years it was well-read but in surprisingly good shape.

“Come on,” Stiles commanded, pushing forward.

“Are they afraid?” he inquired quietly.

“What?” the brunette asked perplexed, fighting to keep Derek steady. When the werewolf noticed the struggle, he reduced the weight he put on Stiles’ shoulders and instead leaned on the hand railing.

“My family,” he jerked his chin in the direction of the living room. “You know.”

“Dude, you stink,” Stiles replied bluntly. “You probably offend their sensitive werewolf senses. Because they are werewolves. With werewolf noses. Of course they keep as far away as possible.”

Derek scoffed and the teenager dumped him on the closed toilet lid as soon as they arrived in the bathroom.

“Well, you didn't exactly smell of roses yourself when I found you,” Derek responded dryly.

“Oh please,” Stiles snorted, collecting Derek’s shampoo and shower gel and throwing them into the shower without any addendum. “That was the smell of forest right there! Eau de Nature, my friend. You, on the other hand, smell of stuff we don't wanna talk about.”

“Eric—a human—from the next room could smell you.”

“Oh, shut up Derek and get clean,” Stiles scoffed in faked indignation, then left the room.

Derek chuckled, but stopped abruptly as soon as the door fell shut and his eyes fixed onto his chapped hands, nails bloody and torn. Sober, he stood up, ignoring the ache in his bones and muscles as he moved to the sink, staring into the mirror which confirmed that he looked just the way he felt: like shit.

He stared at himself for a moment, taking a long time to process that he was looking at himself not a stranger. His hair was almost greasy, crusted with stuff Derek didn’t want to know, mostly blood probably. It was a stark contrast to his paper pale skin that only had a dark color around the eyes, which were red and swollen. His face looked haggard and old.

Most prominent was the beard. That wasn’t merely stubble anymore.

He looked more like he had been living in the woods after just a few days than Stiles had after months.

And he was tired, was more inclined to pass out on the floor instead of getting into the shower but he willed his body over to the stall. The second he pulled the curtain close behind himself, the door to the bathroom opened again.

“It’s just me,” Stiles announced himself. “Clean towels and clothes on the toilet seat.”

Derek hesitated turning the water on. He could hear Stiles do something but not really locate his whereabouts in the room or figure out what he was doing.

“Stiles,” he called and the shuffling movement stopped straightaway. “…Thanks.”

There was a quiet exhale, before the brunette resumed whatever he was doing. “Yeah, no problem.”

Derek turned the water on when he heard Stiles leave, waiting a few seconds to let it heat before he moved under the stream, almost letting out a deep moan when it hit skin.

Derek took a long—a very long—time in the bathroom. For several reasons. Mostly because no matter what he did he never felt clean, his skin was already red from the furious scrubbing. Secondly, because he somehow hoped Stiles was gone the second he entered his room.

The werewolf had just left the bathroom when he caught movement out of the corner of his eyes. Surprised, he turned around and spotted Peter standing in the archway to his own room, quirking an eyebrow at him. Derek hadn’t even heard him approach. His uncle opened his mouth to say something, but then just shook his hand lightly, steering Derek’s attention to an item he was holding.

Aconite spray.

Peter arched an eyebrow with a thin-lipped smile as he lifted his hand to throw the spray can. “He’s supposed to have this, but he refuses.”

Derek caught the object with some embarrassing fumbling, the reality of everything slamming right back into him. Peter’s face suddenly softened at whatever he saw in his nephew’s expression when the unstable beta looked up again.

“Get some rest, you look awful.”

“Thanks.”

“And don’t patronize him. He’s allowed to make his own decisions. Legally. Don’t forget that.”

Derek stared at his uncle for a moment, but the older man just shrugged and went back to his room.

“I know he is,” he muttered to the closed door.

The werewolf stood there for another few seconds before he took a deep breath, feet taking him to his room while he clutched onto the aerosol can like his life depended on it.

Or more likely Stiles.

As soon as he entered the bedroom, his eyes flickered reflexively to the closet, but the teenager was comfortably lounging on the couch, then turned around to look at Derek almost approvingly. Surprised, Derek noticed that he had glasses on. “You clean up nicely. Even the beard is gone,” Stiles fake whistled before he returned his attention back to whatever he was reading.

It seemed normal, like everything was alright.

The Aconite Spray in his hands destroyed the illusion entirely.

“Here,” Derek said as he approached the boy and handed him the can. Stiles took it with a frown, reading the label before he looked up at him, and hurled the spray can at his head. The werewolf had barely time to avoid it, staring wide eyed at the teenager who glared at him, nose twitching once in disgust before he returned to his book.

“Stiles—” he tried again, picking the can up to give it back.

“I swear,” the boy interrupted him, “if you say something along the lines of ‘you shouldn’t be here’ I will force wolfsbane down your throat. I’m not joking.” He gestured with his hands to the desk without looking up while he talked and when Derek followed the hands he spotted the plate with spaghetti. “Hope it’s still warm. I heated it when I heard you leaving the shower but you still took your sweet time. Now I know why.”

“Sometimes I wonder,” Derek said, and Stiles curiously looked up.

“Wonder about what?”

“About your senses. The way you talk, it sounds like a werewolf.”

“Oh, well,” the brunette shrugged and Derek sat down at the desk, ignoring the way his stomach twisted at the sight of food. He knew he must be hungry, that he had probably eaten the minimum, if at all. “My hearing ability is sharper than a humans. So is my eyesight. Minor night vision, too.”

“What?”

“It’s a remnant of my time as a fox,” Stiles continued disinterested. “I’m not sure if it will ever go away. It had been stronger back then, now it’s an on and off thing. Didn’t I ever tell you?”

“No…”

“Oh. Now you know,” the teenager stated with a shrug.

Derek looked at him for a moment, still busy trying to digest the information that Stiles had been able to see him, really, really see him in the closet, and the cellar, and it suddenly made sense that he had always been able to look him straight in the eye and find his hands without searching for them.

“Can you control it?” Derek stared at the fork and knife, reluctantly picking them up and cutting the pasta, not trusting himself with any maneuver involving more fine motor skills.

“Not really. I guess my eyesight will always be sort of different, hence the glasses,” he replied easily, waving at the thick rimmed spectacles that strangely suited him. “Though I only need them when I’m reading or driving. My hearing though, that is only around you.”

Derek stopped in his attempt to stall eating, snapped his head up to look at the younger boy. “Around me?”

“Sorry.” Stiles burrowed his face deeper into his book now, one hand cradling his neck. “You probably don’t want to hear stuff like that.”

“No, I did—”

“It’s fine if you’re not hungry,” the teenager abruptly changed the subject, closing the book and tossing it to the side. “I remember when I was in the hospital, I was so hungry it made me sick just thinking about eating. I have energy bars, though. They help at the beginning.”

Derek watched Stiles and his carefully blank expression, the downward tilt of his lips and unwavering eyes. “What do you have?” he asked, following the unspoken demand. The brunette’s shoulders relaxed, before he grinned and leaned forward to pick up the backpack at the bottom of the couch. “I’ve got White Chocolate Macadamia Nut, Luna Protein Chocolate Peanut Butter and Bumble Bar Chunky Cherry Organic Energy,” he enumerated as he pulled out several brightly packaged bars.

“Luna?” Derek asked, not sure if the innuendo was intentional.

He guessed not, when Stiles stopped for a brief moment before he let out a low chuckle.

“Here, eat this,” the teenager decided, throwing two bars at him at the same time. Derek caught one, the second landed conveniently in his lap. Stiles leaned back against the cushions he had arranged in a tower around himself, unwrapping the remaining energy bar. “And I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“That I vented my anger on you,” Stiles replied without looking at him. “I wasn’t even really angry at you. Mostly at myself. Because every thing was going down the drains. And I blamed you.”

“It’s fine.”

“Oh shut it, it’s not fine,” Stiles snarled, one hand threading through his hair as he leaned back. “I was an asshole and we both know that. Don’t tell me it’s alright, because it’s fucking not.”

“You’re not nice right now,” Derek stated toneless, unsure about how to handle this situation, how to handle this Stiles. He wasn’t used to him behaving like that.

“I get cranky sometimes,” the teenager muttered defensively.

“Okay,” Derek replied quietly and bit into the energy bar. The taste of too sweet cherry exploded on his tongue, and he had to fight a grimace. When he glanced at Stiles to make sure the boy didn’t notice, the brunette was absentmindedly playing with the wrapping paper.

Derek didn’t know if Stiles was waiting for something, and if, for what.

Their relationship had never been this awkward before. Not even in the beginning, when they had barely communicated or even been used to each other.

The man frowned, then looked around. One glance at the clock told him that it was still surprisingly early, not even nine yet, so maybe the Argents might still come to pick him up that very night. He should probably pack. After all his ankle monitor was off, which meant someone had taken it from him. Though it wouldn’t surprise him to find out that the wolf had completely ignored the pain when ripping the device off, so he might have done it himself.

Whatever it was, an ankle monitor that wasn’t attached to his foot meant the Argents had been informed and it was only a question of time until they showed up to take him in.

After finishing the bar, he scrunched up the wrapping paper and carelessly threw it in the direction of the bin, not even sure if it really hit before he stood up and got a bag out of his closet.

Stiles watched him curiously. “What are you doing?”

“Packing,” Derek replied, throwing socks and underwear in.

“For what?”

“For my arrest.”

Stiles was so fast, Derek had barely time to react. One second the boy was sitting on the couch, the next he forcefully turned Derek around on his shoulder.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m not wearing my monitor. And it’s probably been days, Stiles. Even if you haven’t called them, the Argents will show up.”

The boy scrunched up his face in irritation. “They have already been here,” he started, taking a step back. Derek quirked his eyebrows at him in question. “There was a pretty girl here once, dark-hair, young—”

“Allison Argent,” he confirmed. “She is in charge of me.”

“And a man, almost same age, dark skin, dark hair.” Her partner Benett. “And an older dude, I think he was her father. No one cared to introduce them but it was obvious when they left with the monitor.”

“I guess my mother called them to pick me up.”

“No!” Stiles replied briskly, “she won’t do that. They are not going to take you away.”

Derek stared at him in disbelief, before he turned around. “I’m doing it then.”

“What? No! Why?”

“Stiles, I’m a danger.”

“You’re not a danger. You were perfectly fine and civil.”

“Apart from the fact that I don’t remember anything?”

“You didn’t harm anyone.”

“But myself.”

“No, I mean—”

“I had blood in my hair, Stiles. On my body. There are wounds that still haven’t healed yet.”

“It only happened because I didn’t stay with you all the time. I had to leave sometimes. To—”

“Don’t you get it?” Derek snapped, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. “You shouldn’t have to be here all the time. You shouldn’t be forced—”

“Hey now, I wasn’t—”

“Or feel obliged just because—”

“Not obliged!”

“—I would hurt myself otherwise. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this. This isn’t your problem. This has nothing to do—”

“Don’t you dare,” Stiles slammed Derek’s shoulders harshly against the wall, as he pressed closer, furiously snarling in his face, his eyes angrier than Derek had ever seen before, “tell me this has nothing to do with me. I fucking care about you, alright? I’m here because I want to help you. Not repay you or get even or whatever bullshit you’re thinking. I’m not forced, I don’t feel obliged in any way. I’m not such a nice guy, Derek. I wouldn’t stay days in a dark cellar together with a trapped puppy who demanded belly rubs all the time, drooled on my lap or constantly licked my fingers. Or started to whine every time I moved as far as three feet from the cage and went berserk the second I left the room. Do you even know me? If it were anyone else, I’d get pissed after an hour and never return even if they had saved my life three times over. I don’t do stuff like that for just anyone.”

“Drooled on your lap?”

“Really? That’s what you got out of this?”

“You have been in the cage?”

“Constantly.”

“Are you insane?”

Derek was only a second away from shaking some sense into the stupid boy. How could anyone survive with such a lack of common sense?

“Oh come on, Derek. You were on your back, all fours stretched out, demanding cuddles. How could I for one second believe you were out to harm me?”

“What are you even talking about?”

“I’m talking about how you not once tried to hurt me in any way. You didn’t try to eat your family either.” Stiles looked pensive for a moment. “You did kill that poor mouse that made it into your cage.”

“I can’t believe this,” Derek groaned.

“To be fair, it was a nasty little bugger, constantly running up and down out of your reach, mocking you, stealing your food and when you hit it with your paw—”

“Stop talking like that!”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m a dog!”

Stiles opened his mouth to retort, when he suddenly stopped, squinting suspiciously at Derek, before he pushed himself away. “You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“That you’re a real wolf?”

Derek was stunned for a few seconds, felt like minutes or an eternity, enough for Stiles to take another few steps back and watch him attentively like he was waiting for him to snap again.

“I’m what?”

“A beautiful, black, huge wolf,” Stiles elaborated. “And completely harmless.”

“No, I’m not,” Derek argued.

Stiles rolled his eyes, before he picked his phone out of his pocket and snapped it open. “I swear I didn’t do it to show you off or anything, but I just needed them to believe me that everything was fine,” he explained, then held the phone up for Derek to see. The sound of the video was off, the lightning bad and Derek watched in incomprehension as the camera blurred for a moment before it came into focus, showing Stiles in the cage, waving quickly before changing the angle. The frame showed something dark on his lap. The camera needed a moment to adjust to the new light, but when it did Derek saw a dark snout, closed eyes, like the… wolf… was sleeping.

“You got nervous every time someone came down, always got restless so they had to stay upstairs. When I told them you were completely fine they wouldn’t believe me. It’s the only video I made. I’ll delete it. I just wanted to keep it for a while. In case we needed it. For the Argents.”

Derek stood there, staring at the display even after the short video had stopped playing.

“Well, I guess it’s just like you to skip the beta form and jump to wolf without your knowledge,” Stiles theorized with a strained chuckle.

That snapped Derek out of his reverie and he looked up, shaking his head. “That never happened before,” he stated in confusion. “I’m not a full shift. I can’t, I can’t even control a beta shift.”

The teenager watched him for a moment, before his face suddenly softened. He reached out tentatively, placing his hand on Derek’s shoulder and steering him towards the bed. “Get some sleep. We’ll sort this out tomorrow, okay?”

Stiles ignored his contemplative silence, pushed him on the mattress. Derek expected him to follow, was already moving to the side, when the brunette pointed with the thumb behind himself. “I’ll clean up and then sleep on the couch.”

That said, he was out of sight. Derek could hear him collect the plate, leaving the room. It was pathetic how he almost held his breath until Stiles was back and he could listen to him rummaging on the couch, before the lights were turned off.

The door was left open.

It was only a guess, but if Derek had been in tune with his senses, he would be able to hear Cora listening to music over head phones, to Peter turning a page in his book, to the quiet sounds of the rest of his family, all keeping their doors ajar.

“Stop thinking, Derek,” Stiles muttered, a thud indicating that something soft, most likely a pillow, hit the dividing wall.

And Derek, well, he did.

The circumstances leading to Jackson’s bite had always been a little shady. No one knew what happened, but if asked, David Whittemore would claim that his son had been in an accident and about to succumb to his wounds, so he had done the only thing that could safe him.

The explanation was accepted, mostly because there was no one who could claim otherwise and Jackson refused to talk about it.

Rumors always spread easily, especially because it seemed like the bite didn’t take at the beginning and no one had any means to find out when exactly that accident was supposed to have happened. Jackson had been around nine back then.

It was shortly before the True Alpha Pack vanished into thin air.

Fact was:

Jackson, the official successor to the Whittemore pack, was a mere human and far too young for a bite. And even if he had chosen to get it at soon as he could, it might have taken a long time to get used to the new body.

Scott, a bitten werewolf belonging to the Whittemores, turned out to be a True Alpha.

The assumption that Deucalion would want Scott to take over the Whittemore pack completely as soon as David resigned wasn’t very far-fetched.

Derek woke up the next day after sleeping for nearly sixteen hours. Stiles wasn’t in the room but his backpack was on the floor, books spread on the couch in every direction, his scent strong in the air.

For a moment Derek just stood in the middle of the room, contemplating what to do next. His first thought was calling the Argents and letting them know he needed to be contained. His second to go down to the cellar and clean up the mess he had left there. Facing his family was somewhere very far down the list. Which was why he decided to do it first.

It wasn’t like he could avoid them for the rest of his life.

When he went downstairs Stiles was in the kitchen, arguing with the Hale Alpha in a low voice. He looked angry and the woman frustrated but both stopped and turned around as soon as Derek came within human earshot.

“Are you hungry?” Talia asked and Derek was glad she was sparing them both the platitudes of ‘how are you’, ‘I’m fine’ and, in return, didn’t ask what they had been talking about. He was sure he wouldn’t get a straight answer anyway.

“I want you to call the Argents,” Derek demanded, pushing both hands in his jeans pockets.

His mother looked surprised for a moment, then shook her head. “Chris and Allison will be here in two hours,” she replied, waving at the stove. “Now, are you hungry?”

Derek nodded numbly.

The father-daughter team showed up with their respective partners shortly after dinner, but neither Victoria nor Bennett made any move to get inside, instead settled down on the porch swing.

When Derek sat down on the couch, Stiles followed him promptly. It was ridiculous how the werewolf had already expected to feel the familiar weight and warmth against his side but when the brunette sat down it was on the other end, enough space between them for a third person.

He stared at the open middle in bewilderment, and his mother coughed to ease him out of his confusion.

Allison carelessly dropped an ankle monitor next to him as she walked past to one of the armchairs, not even mildly wary of him. Neither was Chris when he calmly followed his daughter.

“We’re not detaining you,” she opened without beating about the bush. “We don’t think it would help in your case.” At that she glanced to the brunette teenager. “Stiles is your anchor and the key to your control, so you have to work together with Alan Deaton and him.”

“Isn’t that a little reckless?” Derek asked.

“God, you sound like you want to get locked up,” Stiles interrupted, rolling his eyes.

“Gee, I wonder why,” the werewolf replied dryly.

The boy opened his mouth to retort, but Allison continued talking before he could get a single word out. “I have three Alphas, two emissaries and one adviser for SA vouching for you, Derek.” The dark-haired man furrowed his brow, tonelessly repeating the ‘three’ with a questioning look at his mother, who only jerked her chin in Stiles’ direction as reply. “I usually have trouble finding two people vouching for a feral werewolf, pack or not pack, so maybe you should consider yourself lucky. I’ll monitor your progress and require a daily update. If I have time, I will come by, if not, I will call you. You are not to leave the house for the next week. At all. Bennett will be staying here during the day whenever your Alpha is absent. At least two other werewolves have to be around at all times. I assume you will keep Braeden with you?”

“Yes,” Talia confirmed.

Derek wanted to point out that instead of locking him up where he couldn’t hurt anyone, they were locking him up where he could do damage, but it was clear that there was no space for arguments.

He glanced at Stiles, who was more lying than sitting on the couch, elbow probed on the armrest as he absently jiggled his legs. His lips were tightly pressed together, eyes trained on a cup on the coffee table but his mind obviously focused on something else. Derek could tell he wasn’t even listening anymore, lost in his own thoughts.

“Alright,” Allison closed, standing up again, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The collective movement jerked Stiles out of his own mind and he lifted his eyes to meet Derek’s, strong determination reflected in the warm brown.

The werewolf didn’t know what to think of it.

“Who vouched for me?” he asked, while his mother accompanied the Argents outside.

“Your mother and Scott, obviously,” Stiles replied with a shrug, looking away. “And then Deaton, Julia and Braeden.”

Derek had guessed as much. And he was fairly sure the brunette was aware of that. Rolling his eyes, he sighed dramatically, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“And the third Alpha?”

Stiles glanced at him for a brief moment, worrying the lower lip with his teeth before he sighed. “Deucalion.”

“Why?” Derek asked in surprise.

Deucalion wasn’t usually meddling in other pack’s affairs if he could avoid it. Especially when it was an obviously redundant act as it was in Derek’s case; considering that five other people felt the need to attest for his sanity. Which was another matter altogether, because if they had asked Derek he would have immediately institutionalized himself.

“Your mother has a theory,” Stiles explained. “And when she told him, he was intrigued and decided to trust her judgement.”

“What theory?”

“No idea.”

Derek didn’t need to hear the heartbeat to know that Stiles was lying.

Stiles didn’t touch him.

Usually the brunette would seek him out, latch onto him like an octopus, thread the tips of his fingers over skin or stand close enough for their arms or shoulders to brush against each other.

Now he kept his distance.

Derek hadn’t been annoyed at the beginning, had simply assumed that the boy was leaving him space to breathe. Furthermore, he was a little preoccupied with angsting over spending time with his family and angsting over meeting Stiles’ parents. Who were coming over every day, sometimes even with Linus in tow. And at the moment, the kid obviously wasn’t Derek’s biggest fan, if the way he glared at him was any clue.

But after days of complete physical avoidance, even Derek realized that something was off.

He tried to blame it on the fact, that Stiles ‘The Human’ simply didn’t feel comfortable with touching other people anymore. Which sort of was the worst lie he had ever told himself. Because Derek could still vividly remember all the times Stiles’ vocabulary clearly didn’t contain the word ‘personal space’ regarding Derek. The teenager might not have been officially declared ‘human’ during that time, but he most certainly had been already behaving the way he was now.

And Stiles was rather physical with Malia, Cora and Scott and, yes, everyone else.

Derek was aware that there had to be a reason for the sudden change in behavior. And he figured it had something to do with Stiles finding out what he was. The brunette might have tried to convince Derek that he didn’t care about his condition, but it was obvious that he did and that he wasn’t even willing to spend time alone with him anymore.

Derek couldn’t hold it against him, so he kept quiet.

When his mother let him know that Stiles was temporarily moving in again, he couldn’t help being a little relieved as it eased some of his restlessness. Knowing Stiles would return sooner or later, even when he left the house or was out in town made him feel less anxious as well.

Still, the werewolf didn’t see how getting used to Stiles again was going to help in the long run. According to Deaton, who visited daily, it was some sort of getting stabilized before treatment thing.

It was just lovely how it sounded like they were talking about a mental patient…

Apart from the not-touching, though, Stiles was the same as always: a quick-witted brat with accidental lapses into adulthood, whenever he pointed out that he was trying to read or study. Stiles was dead set on going to High School for the last year and tried to stuff every piece of information there was from the three years he had missed in school into his head.

Derek had known Stiles was smart and perceptive, curious and fast to catch on. But he had a little trouble staying focused. More often than not he would start with something, but drift into a random topic and spent hours, for example, researching rituals and customs of the old native werewolf tribes.

It wasn’t a surprise when he eventually stumbled upon the Hale’s history.

“Derek,” Stiles asked, walking into his room while still frowning at the open book in his hand, glasses on his nose slightly askew, his hair in disarray. “Are your ancestors Irish?”

The werewolf looked up from his desk, where he was working on something that actually started to resemble his usual works and did not look like a doodle drawn by someone with Parkinson.

“Yes,” Derek replied, then frowned. “Weren’t you studying algebra?”

“Yeah, well, I was getting bored.” Stiles’ eyes finally left the old pages of the tome he was holding and instead focused on the draft Derek was trying to hide from his view. “What are you working on?” The boy approached him, leaning over his shoulder but still leaving enough space to avoid body contact.

Derek fought the irritation growing inside him. “Nothing. Just practice.”

“Looks like a fox. Oh! Are you drawing me?”

“No. It’s just a fox.”

Stiles pouted, before he retreated. “Are you thinking of working on a new story?”

“Maybe,” the man replied monosyllabically. The teenager raised his eyebrows in question, but then shrugged and left the room. Though he stopped at the door to turn around one more time, before he vanished into the hallway.

Derek wasn’t working on something new. He had written the storyboard after Paige had pointed out what a great inspiration Stiles might be. During the time he had spent with the boy he had added ideas but the paper had been lost somewhere in the drawer of his desk and he had found it again only recently.

When Derek had read over the lines, he remembered that there weren’t only fleeting ideas and sudden inspirations jotted down, but also real occurrences, some of them he had even forgotten.

For example that time when Stiles had wanted to help with the laundry but instead flooded the bathroom. No one knew how the brunette had managed to do that and Talia had been really angry—because her expensive kempas floor had been in danger of getting flooded as well and that would have become a mess—growling at Derek to clean up, while Stiles had hunched next to the washing machine, clothes drenched and his head hanging low.

Derek had forgotten how often Malia and Stiles had played in the backyard, more often than not completely ignoring their surroundings and crashing into chairs, tables, flower beds and, worst of all if you asked Laura, into the air-drying laundry, which they then had to do again.

Over the time the notes changed; from the rambunctious stunts Stiles had pulled—after discovering the ladder for the library jumping down from the highest shelf or rolling through mud and leaves—to a more serious, more grown up nuance—successfully making breakfast for both of them, helping with collecting wood for Derek’s work, making contact with old lumberjack Jenkins.

It was little, unimportant things. Everyday events. But Derek had found himself smiling at the notes and the accompanying memories.

And then he had only gotten bitter that the easy atmosphere between them was gone and would probably never come back. Because upon realizing what Derek really was, it was no wonder Stiles was rejecting him.

Derek wouldn’t want to spend his time with a nut-case as well.

The thoughts made him angry, and he wanted to destroy something with his bare hands to vent the frustration and hurt—and that was probably the last clue he needed.

Getting rejected by Paige hadn’t felt this bitter and disappointing.

In fact, nothing that Paige had ever done had affected him the way Stiles’ simplest gestures did.

Leave it to Derek to realize something so plain obvious somewhat late in the game.

Then again, he should consider himself lucky. At least this way he didn’t get even more attached to Stiles before getting dumped for being an NSFP.

“What is your theory anyway?” Derek asked without preamble, closing the door to his mother’s study with a little too much force. The Alpha raised one fine eyebrow at the display of bad temper and the cracking sound from the wood, then wordlessly gestured to one of her chairs.

“What theory?” she asked calmly.

“The one that made Deucalion of all people vouch for me.”

“Oh, that one,” she replied evenly. “That’s not on me. And I don’t intend to take credit or, more likely, blame for it; or go against a promise I made to never tell you. As displeased as I am about that. If you want to know, you’ll have to ask Stiles. That child has more than one theory though, and right now he’s clinging to his second one.”

Her tone was dismissive and cold. Derek knew it was her strategy to make him give up right away, but he had a right to know what they were whispering about when they thought the werewolf couldn’t hear them. After all this was his life.

And he knew for a fact that Stiles wouldn’t tell him, ever since he so blatantly brushed him off with a lie the first time Derek asked about it. The werewolf had assumed he would have a better chance with his Alpha.

“I’m not your Alpha,” Talia suddenly said as if she had read his mind. “You don’t listen to me. You don’t submit to me. I don’t owe you an explanation.”

The words stung, as true as they were. Every other Alpha would have kicked Derek out of the pack by now. They could have accepted his NSFP status, even, to a degree, his violent tendencies on the Full Moon and his sudden shifts—but refusing to submit was something no Alpha would tolerate from one of their betas.

Derek balled his hands into fists, clenching his jaws to restrain the growl threatening to come over his lips.

The Alpha’s face softened a little, before she continued in a warmer voice: “But as your mother, I’ll tell you as much: Stiles had a lot of time when he was with you in the cellar. He’s a bright kid and he did some maths. So he came to me and asked me if something unusual happened the day they were attacked.”

“Unusual?” he repeated slowly.

“Derek,” his mother started with a firm voice. “This isn’t the first time you shifted.”

The man furrowed his brow in confusion.

“And there’s a reason you were able to catch Stiles in the woods that time you brought him in, which had nothing to do with the fact that you have superior senses. Stiles had confirmed that he had been in hiding for a long time before you met. Even as a fox, he was smart and knew to keep away from werewolves. Didn’t you ever wonder how he could make a mistake and let himself be found by you?”

“What are you talking about?”

Talia quirked both eyebrows at him, before she let out an almost inaudible breath. “I think I’ve said enough. Any more hints and I’m sure Stiles will be coming after me. If you can’t figure it out on your own, I’m sure as soon as Stiles feels like he’s prepared to let you know you, he will tell you. So long, you’ll have to wait.”

Derek looked up, and he knew his face was open and vulnerable.

“Don’t worry,” Talia assured with a soft voice. “Everything will be alright.”

Somehow he doubted her words.

Derek tried to distance himself from Stiles and avoided being in the same room with him. He was about to just call this whole thing off, tell his mother that it wasn’t working, that they should just give up.

Because it wasn’t working.

Stiles’ presence did make him feel more in control, but at the same time he felt like he was suffocating. He was constantly on edge and found himself unintentionally snapping at the brunette more often than not. And then getting frustrated and feeling guilty about the hurt expression that was on Stiles’ face, before it twisted in anger and the brunette snarled back.

Deaton didn’t get tired of pointing out that even while Derek was fighting with Stiles, he wouldn’t shift, which apparently was a good sign. But it left a bad aftertaste in Derek’s mouth and Stiles tried to use sarcasm to hide his own feelings.

Everything was just completely messed up.

Yet every time Derek tried to get some time alone, tried to ignore the fact that Stiles was there and hide in his room, the boy found him anyway. It was like the teenager was acutely tuned in to whenever the werewolf tried to steal away and haul him outside his room to whatever family member was free.

Stiles called it socializing.

Something about his second theory, which he was very vocal about, contrary to other. If Derek tried to ask about it, Stiles would usually skillfully change the subject, completely ignore the question or skip to his second assumption, that involved Derek being an Omega. And Deaton wasn’t that averse to that theory.

“You lose control over your shift when you get angry or emotional,” Stiles began for the thousand time. “You won’t submit to any Alpha. That’s common for Omegas, Derek. I used to have my suspicion about you long before I found out about this, but I always thought I was wrong because, dude, you never once changed back then. Not even when I actively tried to make you shift. So I thought I’m being stupid.”

“I’m not an Omega,” Derek replied annoyed.

Stiles huffed out a breath, shrugging nonchalantly. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m not—”

“You know Derek, I’ve spent years alone. Foxes, they are mostly loners. Wolves? Not so much. You grew up in a pack, yet weren’t comfortable with touching. It’s not like I didn’t notice that. You always kept to yourself, you barely physically interacted with your siblings unless it was wrestling. I don’t know why, but you always had this wall around you, even to your family. And you know that rage I witnessed in the cellar whenever I left?” he asked rhetorically, waving his hand in an all-encompassing manner.

“I thought what happened in the cellar, stays in the cellar,” Derek interrupted dryly, but was completely ignored.

“Your family told me it has gotten worse over the time. And I think it’s because you were distancing yourself from your pack. More than usual. At least that’s what Malia complained about whenever she snuck into my bed.”

“She did what?” That actually made Derek look up from his book and he turned to stare at Stiles, who was leaning against the door frame to his bedroom, arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Don’t worry. Nothing happened. It was completely friendship-y.”

“I wasn’t worried about that,” Derek groaned and maybe lied, realizing that a very bad headache was on its way. Malia and Stiles had always gotten along well. According to Stiles because she had approached him on a level equal to his past animal behavior that made him feel less like a freak. She had never been hesitant when interacting with him, never been self-conscious or patronizing, whether she had been a human or a coyote.

“Malia was lonely,” Stiles explained. “So she developed this bad habit of sneaking into my bedroom when I was sleeping. Actually,” he let out a quiet dry laugh, “the first time it happened I assumed it was you.”

“You thought Malia—”

“Oh shut up,” the boy growled, hiding his embarrassment by looking away. “I was sleepy, okay? My brain was still of out of order.”

“Okay,” Derek conceded, shaking his head, trying to repress the optimism that was making its way to the surface. After all, this had all happened before Stiles found out about him.

“Next morning I wake up, as the little spoon might I add, with Malia scratching up my back. I forced her to wear mittens whenever she snuck in after that. Seriously, I sort of dread the day Liam starts dating her. Poor boy is going to get maimed.”

The scratching was something Malia did under pressure or stress or changes she had trouble adapting to. The first time Derek had witnessed it was when he had let her sleep in his room the night he found her hiding her bed sheets. Just that she had torn his pillow at that time. It wasn’t something she actively did. He had seen her scratching up her own arms as well but they were usually healed by the time she woke up.

“Malia is still lonely, you know? She misses you. Make an effort to spent more time with her.”

Derek nodded numbly.

The fact that someone had to force him to spend time with his family should have told Derek that something was seriously wrong with him.

Maybe Stiles was right.

Maybe he really was an Omega in his own pack.

The Martin Pack was the youngest among the Packs residing in Beacon County and their Alphas had always been set on bringing it to the top, making it as elite as the Deucalions even with strong numbers of claimed, werewolves and marked ones.

They had always been smart in their decisions, wise in choosing who to let into their inner circle with the help of a Banshee and a stress endurance test, that was only the cover-up for assessing their psychological profile.

There had always been a Banshee in the Martin family, the gene skipping one generation, as Banshees had a longer lifespan as mere humans. Before Lydia, it had been her grandmother who had vetted some of the candidates. She must have slipped in her old age though, because a few bad apples found their way into the midst of the pack.

Lydia had tried to warn Natalie, but the Alpha wouldn’t listen.

The girl had told her that there was something strange going on with four of her closest confidantes. Natalie had noticed their behavior as well: always sticking together, reading through old books in the library and whispering to each other. But it wasn’t unusual for people like them to get heated about a topic. When she had gone to ask what their current research topic was, they easily answered ‘True Alphas’.

They didn’t lie, they didn’t seem nervous, and their interest was understandable as the True Alphas were raw and information about them lacking. With a True Alpha suddenly appearing in Beacon Hills, Natalie could understand their excitement and let them be, ignoring the continued warnings of her child.

A few weeks later she heard about the attack.

Natalie Martin knew, that if word got out, that the maniacs who committed the crime belonged not only to her pack, but were also part of her inner circle, the reputation her ancestors had worked hard to establish would crumble in an instance.

An Alpha who couldn’t control their members was a weak Alpha. Everyone knew that. Natalie would lose face, her pack would suffer a harsh blow, she would have to face challenges she might not be able to win.

She simply couldn’t let anyone know.

So she dealt with the offenders internally.

They begged for forgiveness. Told her they had only done it for the pack, that they would have given her half of the kid’s heart, that they would have only taken his liver for themselves and sold the rest. But they failed and the families got away and they didn’t know where they had run off to.

Natalie was more than a little disturbed as she listened to their plan, but could barely contain the disgust when they matter-of-fact told her that they wanted to kill a nine year old to eat him.

The Alpha was feeling sick to the stomach.

She had a daughter the same age.

After carefully disposing the traitors, she worked hard to cover their tracks, made sure that no one would find out about their involvement. The town and police could speculate all they wanted, but without proof, no harm would come to her reputation or her pack.

And the only other person who knew was David Whittemore. But if what her former confidantes said was true, and they had indeed worked together with marked ones from the Whittemore pack, David was probably facing the same problems. And if rumor about the illegal Biting of his son were true as well, he had even more to cover up than she did.

If played smart, Natalie had thought back then, she could even pin the blame on the Whittemore pack alone.

Stiles had the common sense to wait a few days to ambush him.

Something had changed between them, and it wasn’t only about the lack of physical contact, but the subtle aggression, quick temper, and mutual frustration they had developed towards each other. Even though Derek somehow made a better job of hiding it in the end, whereas Stiles just started to let it all out as soon as he was completely fed up with Derek’s sort of passive-aggressive attitude.

So when the brunette entered his bedroom and closed the door, the werewolf knew it meant trouble.

It was bad timing.

Derek had been on a roll with his project, had been amazed at the progress he had made despite the constant interruptions and his still sometimes unsteady hands. Now he just dropped the pencil, fairly certain that he wasn’t going to pick it up again for the rest of the day.

“I’m shit at these things, so I’ll just come out and say it,” Stiles started.

Derek wondered not for the first time who had taught the teenager to talk like that. Neither Scott nor Stiles’ parents had such a foul mouth and the werewolf had a problem imagining a personal teacher using that kind of language.

“I don’t want to be your anchor.”

The werewolf was silent for a moment. In fact, for the first couple of seconds he suspected he had misunderstood the words. Until he spotted the harsh determination reflected in Stiles’ eyes.

Derek wasn’t sure what he had been expecting.

But he knew it wasn’t that.

“I see,” he replied toneless, staring at Stiles with what he hoped was a blank, unreadable expression, before he picked up the pencil again, his grip so tight around the wood he was about to snap it in two.

“No, you don’t see,” the teenager accused, taking one step closer. “I really don’t know what wolf part in you decided that I would be a fundamental parameter to your well-being but it’s not what I want.”

“Yeah, I understood the first time,” Derek gritted out, taking a deep breath and tapping the pencil against the storyboard, leaving small imprints on the paper. “Don’t worry. I get it. I don’t need a detailed summary of why you don’t want to be my anchor.”

“Yes, you do,” the boy insisted.

“Stiles,” Derek growled in frustration, turning towards the brunette. His emotions were running wild, something hard was growing inside his stomach and it made him feel pathetic. “Just get out.”

“Listen Derek, I can’t be around you forever,” Stiles started to explain needlessly.

“I never asked you to.”

“What I meant—”

“You can leave,” Derek interrupted. “I’m not forcing you to stay here.”

“Shut up and fucking listen, you jerk!”

Derek glowered at the boy, but didn’t comment further.

Stiles was nervous, was running his hands through his hair, his eyes darting around. “It’s not like you want me to be your Anchor anyway. But here’s the thing,” Stiles stopped in annoyance, threw his head back and stared at the ceiling until he had gathered his thoughts. “I… I really… I want to be with you.”

The werewolf raised an eyebrow at that.

“But that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want to be responsible for you wolfing out whenever we are having a fight. I can’t do that to you. You can’t do that to yourself. You need something else, something that will always be there for you.”

“Which you won’t.”

“Something that’s good for you. And yeah, it’s obvious that I’m not exactly the best candidate for that requirement. I mean, we’ve done nothing but fight these last few days.” Stiles sighed, then suddenly dropped down on the couch. For the first time, Derek noticed how drained and defeated he looked. “You’re angry at me, no matter what I do. I get that you don’t want me around, but won’t you just let me help you for a while?”

Derek was being childish, he realized with an ounce of shame. Yes, Stiles was there to help him. He could have walked away and left forever and there was nothing Derek would have been able to do. But instead the teenager left the family he hadn’t seen in years to live with the Hales again.

Derek pressed his lips together, swallowing his own pride. “I’m sorry.” Stiles’ head snapped around and brown eyes stared at him in surprise. “I know. It’s not your fault.”

Stiles clasped his hands in front of his body, one leg nervously jiggling as he gnawed on his lower lip in concentration. “This might not be the best time,” he started after a beat. “But uhm…” One hand moved to rub the back of his neck and Stiles’ voice was merely a whisper by now. “I know I forced this on you, because everyone told me it would be for the best. I’m not a werewolf, but Deaton said that it’s better if an unstable werewolf has their anchor close. And I was just sort of glad, I could help you somehow. But I… but if you’re uncomfortable with me around, I’d understand. I mean, you had been sort of a dick these last few days, but that’s probably because you know that I still… feel, you know, that way about you. And if you want me to go because of that, because you… don’t like it, then I’ll move out right away.”

Derek frowned, took in the way Stiles averted his eyes, gazing at the door as if he was contemplating an escape route, while a light red blush crept up at the back of his neck, his fingers slightly trembling.

Sometimes Derek forgot how good Stiles was at putting up a front, how good he was at shutting people out. He had already been excellent at it even when he had still been more fox than human.

“I thought that had changed,” the man admitted quietly.

Stiles’ head snapped around as he blinked at him, before groaning in frustration. “What,” the teenager started, incredulous, “gave you the impression that that has changed?”

Derek felt uncomfortable under the scandalized glare. “You avoid me.”

“Avoid yo—I’ve been living here because of you! For days! I wouldn’t call that avoidance. I’d call that creepily and sneakily infiltrating your family!”

Despite the situation, Derek felt a small smile tug at the edge of his lips, before he frowned again. “You sleep in the guest room,” the werewolf continued. “And you… refuse to get too close. To me.”

Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose, took a deep breath, then threw his head back. “Can you really not guess why I don’t touch you?” he asked with an exasperated sigh. “When I told you… you know what I told you, you said you weren’t ready and that you needed time. And yes, back then I thought it was all about me. Because you practically told me I’m too young, despite saying ‘no’ when I asked you. And then you wanted me to date other people.”

“I never said that.”

“Oh yes, you did, and I quote because I’ve been replaying that conversation in my head a billion times: ‘I want you to meet people your age’.”

“I meant making friends,” Derek snapped, horrified.

“Then say ‘making friends’,” Stiles snapped back. “Do you even know—Do you—wait. No. Okay. This isn’t going anywhere.” The boy lifted his hands up in a surrendering gesture, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. I misunderstood you. Because for a fucking writer—”

“Illustrator,” Derek interjected.

“—you’re obviously really bad with words.”

“That’s where the illustrator comes in.”

“Don’t get snarky with me,” Stiles growled.

He was silent for a moment, eyebrows pulled down in contemplation. “Okay. Avoiding,” he collected his thoughts, before earnestly looking at Derek. “I’m not confident in myself, because I have all these flaws, and being a fox for a few years isn’t even the worst of them. And you were, you know, you. This incredibly kind, perfect creature and I mean, I always suspected something must be wrong with your head for choosing someone like me, but I was still happy. But then,” the brunette shrugged, looking away, “you rejected me. And I was angry at myself for getting my hopes up in the first place. But after I found out about… your situation, I had a lot of time to think about our conversation again. And I think I understood what you were talking about. That there was something else on your mind, that you had other problems to deal with then dating or whatever. And you said you needed time and space and well, this is me,” he flailed his arms in an all compassing gesture, “giving you as much space as I can while trying to help you. And trust me, it’s not easy to keep my hands off you, when it has sorta become a habit and you’re right there!”

Derek stared at the teenager for a moment, the cold heavy knot in his stomach slowly dissolving, while his whole body told him to move, to touch. Instead he stayed rooted to his chair, trying to sort his thoughts.

“I don’t know what else to do,” Stiles finished. “I mean, I know, I keep boasting that I’m really good at it, but I can’t read your mind. You have to tell me what you want. Otherwise I have to assume. And we both know that never ends well.”

“Okay,” Derek acknowledged, staring at the brunette in wonder, his vision fading into blurs as he repeated the words in his head, ignoring the strange sensation when he realized that Stiles had never changed his mind about him despite the fact that he was an NSFP.

“Derek.”

The werewolf blinked once, zooming back in on Stiles, who lifted his chin while watching him expectantly. “This is the part where you tell me what you want me to do.”

The man opened his mouth, before closing it again. It was obvious that it was Derek’s turn to make an effort. Even he knew that. Because Stiles had always been sincere with him, had always been the one to put himself out there and getting hurt while Derek kept hiding behind his unapproachable façade.

It was just difficult to figure out how to start.

“These past few days…,” he started, slowly, carefully. He really didn’t want to mess this up again. “I was angry with you. Because I thought, with me being like this…” he waved at himself, indicating his situation but leaving the sentence unfinished.

Stiles looked disgusted, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Yeah right. As if something like this could stop me from trying to be with you. I mean, if it were enough I guess you would have been right with your attachment theory. But you’re not.”

“I get that now.”

Stiles looked like he wanted to argue, before he frowned. “I thought you would fight me on that again,” he admitted sheepishly a moment later.

“I won’t.”

The teenager’s face softened as he slowly scooted to the end of the couch, close enough to touch Derek now, if he wanted. But instead only watched him expectantly. The werewolf was confused for a moment, until he realized what the brunette was waiting for, and then reached out, aborting the movement short before touching. Stiles smiled wistfully, wrapped his long fingers around Derek’s wrists and moved the hands to touch his cheek.

It was like electricity went through Derek’s body beginning at the fingertips; like seeing again after spending days in the dark. He knew he had missed being close to Stiles and touching him, but it wasn’t until now that he realized how much he had been starving for it.

“Can I…,” he started, and didn’t even know what he was asking for, but Stiles apparently did, because he suddenly got up from the couch and moved in the space between Derek’s legs, hugging his arms around the werewolf’s shoulder as he pressed him close. The man was surprised at the sudden full body contact for a moment before he returned the gesture, arms tightening around Stiles’ waist.

“I missed my strolls these last few months,” Derek admitted into the easy silence, not even sure whether the boy could hear him. “But I missed you more.”

Stiles was quiet for a few seconds, before his breath hitched almost unnoticeable. And then he chuckled as the meaning of those words finally sunk in. “You’re really not a writer.”

“Brat,” Derek growled, more fond than anything else, but then grew serious again as he pushed them apart, looking at Stiles who still had his hands on the older man’s shoulders. “I want to talk about this again. Later.”

“Yeah,” Stiles accepted easily with a crooked smile on his lips, that suddenly turned sour. “But we still have to talk about this anchor thing.”

Derek groaned.

They didn’t talk about their relationship status again after that, Stiles and Derek both aware that they had other things to focus on. Yet, it was Derek who eventually, blushing to his ears, asked Stiles whether they could sleep in one room… or maybe bed again. Stiles was reluctant at the beginning, but let Derek know that he would have to live with the consequences.

It didn’t go unnoticed that Stiles suddenly started to sneak into Derek’s room at night. The werewolf knew because Laura and Eric kept giving him inquiring glances, trying to communicate their questions to him via telepathy while Cora, not at all subtle, asked whether it would be better to wait a few minutes before opening the door after knocking.

Derek refused to answer and Stiles tripped over his own words as he tried to reply, but then just told her to shove it.

Braeden, who was by now practically living in Peter’s room—mostly on account of monitoring Derek—raised her fine eyebrows at him, but luckily neither she nor Derek’s parents or uncle felt the need to add whatever thoughts were on their mind.

It wasn’t like anything was happening anyway.

And Stiles was always dressed in a shirt and boxer shorts and facing away from Derek, so that they were mostly sleeping back to back. Derek didn’t care. For now it was enough for him just feeling Stiles’ presence and warmth, hearing his breathing and heartbeat again.

Stiles helped him figuring out his new anchor, which, stupid as Derek was, took longer than had been really necessary. They would have made faster progress if Derek hadn’t been busy pouting whenever Stiles said, “no, Derek, not me”.

It wasn’t like he didn’t understand when Stiles explained his reasoning. It didn’t make him feel any less betrayed at the beginning, though. Furthermore, it wasn’t easy detaching himself from something he hadn’t deliberately latched on to in the first place. But he managed somehow with more help from his pack than he deserved.

Deaton and Julia came over for meditation. Something the dark-haired werewolf sort of frowned upon. They shoved him into an empty room, spread incense and sat down next to him, with Stiles waiting outside. Derek listened to his heartbeat the whole time he had been struggling to keep quiet and focused while Deaton calmly and in a monotonous voice explained how to breathe and what to imagine.

It was weird.

Erica and Malia helped him the most.

Erica, who had struggled a long time to find an anchor in the beginning herself. And Malia, who had always been in tune with her coyote.

An anchor was a werewolf’s Achilles’ heel. To share it with someone was a sign of deep trust. Yet neither girls had shown any restraint, or any doubt when they let him know what they used to ground themselves with.

“It’s my parents,” the blond werewolf admitted, showing her softer side which she usually tried to hide beneath a tough attitude and a knowing smirk. “Boyd. My pack.”

Malia sat beside her, nodding her head to her words. “For me it’s my parents, too. And aunt Talia,” the blond girl said. “And you. And later your books.” Derek raised his eyebrows and she innocently smiled at him. It was the first time Malia let on that she knew who was behind the name Dee Haitch. “And everyone else, as well. It’s family. It’s pack.”

Maybe Derek shouldn’t be surprised to find out that in the end not only Erica and Malia, but also the rest of the Hale pack had the same anchor after he asked them.

The transition was slow and abstract and uncomfortable. Sometimes it felt like a nail was drilled into his skull, piercing his brain. Sometimes he felt nothing at all, his body numb. Sometimes he felt lost, stopping in the middle of a sentence because he forgot what he had wanted to say. It didn’t happen all the time, not even every day but it was enough to nearly drive him insane. But his family noticed immediately when something was off and they tried to make him refocus or take away the pain.

Stiles kept deliberately away at those times, well aware that this was part of the anchoring and bonding as well.

In the end, Derek himself couldn’t really explain how he did it. He only noticed when he went down into the cellar for the next full moon, more relaxed than ever, while everyone else waited upstairs.

Derek shifted, but he didn’t go on a rampage. Instead he realized that he could focus his hearing again, pick up every single heartbeat in the house. He could hear the low static of the TV, Stiles impatiently pacing in front of the cellar door, before Malia pulled him away and into the library.

He stared at the painting his cousin had drawn on the walls to make him feel more comfortable—a wolf and a coyote running next to each other—and instead of feeling bitter or angry he just smiled and looked around for some remains of the chalk.

Derek spent the night adding a background to the two animals, his claws sometimes scratching on the stone, and when he was done he continued to draw on the second wall as far as he could reach, and later on the ceiling, standing on his toes, until he ran out of chalk, colorful dust covering the tips of his fingers and even his face.

When Stiles hesitantly came down to open the cellar door the next day looking like he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep that night, he stared at Derek for a moment, before bursting into peals of laughter and pointing at him, chocking out the words ‘Rainbow Wolf’.

After that night, Stiles left the Hale house again.

Derek was worried for a while, but realized that he managed without a problem. Which might have something to do with the fact that they started texting each other about updates, or because Stiles was constantly visiting whenever he wasn’t lost in one of his research marathons. Derek usually received a message around three in the morning consisting of a gargle of letters that were most likely supposed to mean ‘good night’ or something.

Derek was more affectionate with his pack as well. Not just his immediate family, but everyone. Braeden was frozen to the place when Derek walked past her and, in an off-handed gesture, ruffled her perfectly styled hair. Julia checked several times for evil possession when he brushed his hand over her shoulder and after a negative result would mutter about ‘Werewolves being so utterly clingy’.

It wasn’t the full on body contact the rest of the pack had going on. Or the puppy piles Erica insisted on and Derek still refused to admit were even happening in his family, but it was definitely more than before.

He still couldn’t shift into the full wolf form, but he learned to get in and out of his beta shape without trouble, his mother shedding a tear or two in pride as she barked her orders at him. It was like a freaking circus when everyone got together and asked him to change back and forth like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

Which it wasn’t.

As promised, Allison called daily and came by at least three times a week. She took care of him, monitored his process and was surprisingly supportive after he had stopped grumbling at every suggestion she made.

Sometimes when Allison and Stiles both visited at the same time, she would use him to test Derek, seeing as the teenager was Derek’s only trigger anyway. The first time it happened, she did it without forewarning. One second they were sitting at the living room table, Stiles and Derek arguing about something, when the woman suddenly leaned over, pulled Stiles forward at his collar and pressed her lips to his cheek.

Derek wasn’t proud to admit that he almost lost it right then and there, with the woman smirking at the werewolf, while Stiles blushed furiously but didn’t make an attempt to get away from her.

Apparently, Derek was possessive.

Who would have known?

Stiles told him it was adorable, when he had collected himself from the surprise attack.

Derek kicked one of his chair legs away in response, making Stiles fall to the ground in a pile of flailing limbs.

If there was one thing Iolana Mahealani knew, it was the fact that even if people could hide their individual scent, it was nearly impossible to cover up the Alpha’s scent clinging to them.

Which was why, when she entered the Stilinski House the day the families vanished, she knew something was very, very wrong. She couldn’t detect a scent of an intruder, but neither of an Alpha that didn’t belong there. There was only the subtle scent of Natalie Martin lingering in the air, which wasn’t unusual as she was still the Stilinski’s Alpha.

It had been the same over at the McCall’s. Not a trace of a stranger, just the McCalls, with a hint of Whittemore Alpha.

The only conclusion was, that the ones who attacked the True Alpha pack were either unclaimed, or the Stilinski’s had been assaulted by someone from the Martin Pack, whereas the ones who attacked the McCall’s had been from the Whittemores.

And both packs would do their damnedest to hide their involvement.

“I detect nothing,” she stated, quirking an eyebrow at Deucalion, who rubbed his chin. It was obvious that the man had come to the same conclusion as she had, but was only waiting for a second impartial opinion.

But the Mahealani Alpha stood by her words, and turned around to leave.

Iolana had one rule only: ‘The safety of my pack comes first. Always’.

And she wasn’t going to antagonize two of the strongest packs in Beacon Hills for the sake of people who were either dead or gone by now.

Talia Hale might have said something, because the Hales were all about justice and rebellion.

But Talia Hale was busy with a family matter and unable to show up.

And Iolana simply didn’t care.

“So, what’s your anchor anyway?” Allison asked two months later as they sat in the same room where they had met for the first time, “if you don’t mind me asking.”

“My family,” Derek replied easily. “My pack.”

Allison was surprised for a moment, then smiled warmly at him before she hid her face behind paperwork. “I thought it would be Stiles,” she admitted with a cough, scribbling down notes on the report, while the werewolf watched her as he played around with what he knew was one of Stiles’ jeans. It was actually a little creepy how the woman came up with all those clothes just to trigger a reaction.

“It’s not.”

“Wise choice,” she stated, not condescendingly. “It’s never a good idea to base the anchor on an SO. I’ve seen enough Reds to know.”

“That’s what Stiles said.”

“Seniors, whose partners died are always the hardest,” Allison continued with a sad look in her eyes. “They mostly don’t make it. If you’re young, until your late forties, it’s manageable to change your anchor and learn to control it again, but the older you get the more difficult it becomes.”

Derek arched an eyebrow at her, then replied dryly: “Well, let’s hope Stiles makes it for another few years anyway.”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Allison called out, blushing when she realized how her words could have been interpreted. “Anyway,” she coughed into her fist, trying to downplay her embarrassment. “Congratulations Derek. I changed you to green. Another six months without any incidents and you are as free as a bird,” she explained, signing the paper and turning it over to Derek.

“Thanks,” the werewolf said dryly, but actually meant it.

“Anything you want to do, now that you can?” Allison asked, almost more excited on his behalf than Derek himself as she closed the folder, leaning forward in honest curiosity and practically beaming at him.

Derek thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “I don’t think so. But it’s good to know that I can.”

Allison nodded her head in understanding. “I’m happy for you. And please don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope I never have to see you here again.”

“You won’t,” he said confidently.

“Well then. Go get your Stiles. Bennett tells me he’s driving everyone nuts in central, asking for you every half second or so.” She held her pager up for Derek to see, though he couldn’t read the messages it was already beeping with a new one.

“Thanks for your help,” he offered when he stood up, holding his hand out to her.

Allison smiled when she took it with both hands. “Thanks for letting me help.”

When Derek stepped out of the room and the building, he had thought something would change. That some severe adjustments in the perception of the world would happen or an epiphany would strike him. But there was nothing. Just the late spring sun high above the treeline and the usual buzz of life around him.

“Show me, show me!” Stiles yelled from the fence at the entrance, frantically waving his arms at him. Derek walked over to him with a lazy smile, handing the brunette the certificate. Stiles whooped, pumped his fists in the air, before he flung himself into Derek’s arms. When he leaned back he covered Derek’s mouth with one hand and pressed an enthusiastic kiss to the fingers.

“So proud of you!” Stiles exclaimed, turning away abruptly, but the flush of his cheeks wasn’t lost on the werewolf.

“Now we only have to work on your full shift,” Talia called and Derek let his eyes drift over to the visitor’s parking area where the rest of his pack was gathered. Together with Scott, who had his arms around Kira, both dimpling at him. Malia was tipping from one foot to the other, shooting curious glances at him.

Derek shifted slightly in her direction, opening his arms in an inviting gesture upon which Malia perked up, then dashed towards him and hugged him tight. “Congratulations,” she almost yelled in his ear, then pulled at Stiles’ sleeve and hauled him into the embrace too. “And when you turn into a real wolf, we can run together in the preserve.”

“A coyote, a wolf and a fox. Sounds like a bad joke to me,” Stiles muttered dryly.

Derek playfully slapped the back of the brunette’s head.

“Hey, leave the S&M to people who enjoy it,” the human fake complained, pointing his finger at Peter and Braeden. “Like those two.”

The Hale’s collectively groaned and rolled their eyes heaven ward.

“That’s it. I’m out of here,” Eric said, twirling his car keys on one finger. “There’s a barbecue waiting for us at home. People who don’t make jokes that put bad images in my head are welcomed.” With that he marched out of the compound, followed by his sisters, who nodded in agreement.

“Come on, you brats,” Derek ordered, stripping free of their clutches and ushering them forward as well. When he reached his father, the man proudly smiled at him, before clasping his hand around Derek’s shoulder, dangling the keys of his car in front of his face.

“You want to drive?” Frederick asked. “Would be the first time without any of us worrying that you’d get arrested.”

“Why would someone arrest him?” Stiles asked curiously.

“NSFP aren’t allowed to drive,” Derek explained.

“Plus, he doesn’t have a driver’s license,” Cora added.

“What?” Stiles exclaimed in surprise. “But… you… you were always driving me around!”

“I’m not hearing any of this,” Laura sing-songed, plugging her ears with fingers.

“Because you wanted me to,” Derek shrugged.

“No worries, Stiles. I’ve taught him since he was thirteen and tall enough to reach the pedals,” Frederick stated proudly.

“It’s the only reason we encouraged Laura to join the police force,” Talia added, looking completely serious. “To bail us out if we ever get in trouble with the law.”

“Your family, dude,” Stiles hissed at him.

Derek just laughed.

Derek had felt uncomfortable in his own body when he wasn’t able to control his shift, yet he realized that it didn’t mean he didn’t want Stiles in every way possible. Just that he couldn’t. It was why he had become unintentionally hot and cold on Stiles the previous months, but the teenager remained inhumanly patient.

They weren’t dating.

But according to everyone else—and even Stiles—they sort of were.

Stiles claimed there was more to a relationship than sex, even if he had certain desires he took care of somewhere Derek wouldn’t notice. And when the urge to kiss the werewolf overcame him, he either ignored it or put a hand over Derek’s mouth.

It was a strange gesture, and it didn’t happen very often. Stiles usually didn’t touch him in any sexualized or romantic manner anyway, careful not to push even though Derek could tell that he sometimes wanted to.

Yet now that Derek was confident in his own shift and body, it was like a thread snapping. He just didn’t know where and how to start, so they were still sort of dancing around each other, trying to figure out the right timing.

If Derek had been waiting for Stiles, he knew the brunette would have just vanquished the gap with something along the lines of ‘Hey Derek, good news, I’m finally ready to have a proper relationship with you and make out, so let’s do it!’ or equally blunt.

Just picturing himself saying something like that to Stiles however gave Derek brain freeze.

“Hey Derek, is this yours?”

Pulled out of his musing, Derek turned to look at whatever was dangling between Stiles’ fingers. The key chain he had carved from the log of wood the brunette had given him for his birthday. His own talisman was broken during one of the full moons and he had thrown away the remains and never gotten around to making a new one from the pieces he still had left. He wasn’t sure if there was still enough anyway.

So the key chain—a fox head in a tribal circle—was the only finished pendant and he had taken to bringing it along instead. But he had always planned on giving it to the brunette, but never found the timing.

“No, it’s yours,” he replied, trying to act as nonchalant as possible. “Where did you find it?”

“In the cellar. But it’s not mine?”

“I carved it for you.”

“Really?”

“From my birthday present?” he elaborated.

“Oh! You never said anything so I thought,” he shrugged, then looked up to meet Derek’s eyes. “What’d you do for yourself?”

“A talisman,” Derek replied truthfully.

“Can I see it?”

“I broke it.” Stiles took a step back, most likely unintentionally, when he squinted at Derek in confusion. But before the boy could jump to any conclusions—and they were both prone to do that, no denying that—Derek elaborated. “I thought it might help with the shifting. I was always wearing it, even for the full moon. I didn’t do it on purpose or anything.”

The brunette glanced at him before he returned his attention back to the small wooden object in his hands. “You really want me to have it? Because I’m like super clumsy and I think it would be better off in your care.”

“I’ll make you a new one, if something happens,” Derek replied with a shrug.

Stiles looked up, before he smiled brightly and rushed towards Derek.

The werewolf knew what was going to happen, when Stiles reached out, but he stopped the teenager on his wrist. The brunette frowned in confusion as he raised his eyebrows, searching Derek’s face for any clues on why he interfered with his usual sign of affection.

Derek’s eyes briefly dropped to Stiles’ lips, before he locked their eyes again.

It was only the fraction of a second that showed Stiles’ understanding, tongue darting out to wet his lips, his eyes widening slightly. When a smile replaced the brunette’s confusion, Derek leaned in without any hesitation.

Their lips met in a chaste kiss and it was strange and a little wet but mostly just lips moving against lips and not enough air to breathe.

Derek’s mouth was gone before Stiles even realized what happened, blinking at him several times. The werewolf stared at the brunette, who licked his lips again, tilting his head to the side before his mouth curved into a lazy smile.

Stiles initiated the second kiss.

Derek’s lips were still tingling from the first press on them and Stiles inquiring glances changed into a tiny spark before he closed his eyes and leaned in.

This time it was harder, more urgent and needy, an abstract hunger simmering beneath the surface, and they both really didn’t know what they were doing but it was good.

“Wanted to try this for a very, very long time,” Stiles confessed after they broke apart between short gasps. “It’s strange.”

“How?” Derek asked, pressing their foreheads together, too close to really focus on anything.

“Not what I thought it would be like. But not bad.”

Derek opened his eyes again, when the brunette leaned his head against his shoulder, feeling a little bit lost.

“Really not bad,” Stiles repeated, pressing flush against Derek’s body. The werewolf refrained from commenting, just running his fingers up and down the other man’s spine, looking over the shoulder at the wall, pretending he wasn’t fighting the stupidest grin his face had ever been trying to build.

“So… are we together-together now? Officially together? Will you let me shout it from the rooftops and introduce you as my boyfriend? Can I brag about you? Because there’s lots to brag. Oh, and while we are at it—”

Derek laughed against Stiles’ lips and tilted his head for another kiss just to stop the flow of words. It wasn’t as they showed in the movies, even more awkward than their first attempt, but Stiles stopped talking, and was making tiny pleased sounds instead of complaining, so Derek counted it as a success.

Nothing really changed between them after that and maybe Stiles—and everyone else—had been right. Maybe they really had already been in a relationship before, albeit not physically.

When Nonno and Nonna found out about their official relationship, both squinted at the family in confusion through the camera.

“Am I the only one who thought they were already engaged?” Nonna asked, pushing her glasses up. Laura rolled her eyes and Stiles cocked his head to the side in bewilderment. Derek groaned into his hand and left the room, while the brunette stayed to chat with the old people, easily joking about adopting a whole football team after college—and for a minute there, Derek thought his grandparents would actually believe him but it was apparent from their equally exaggerated future plans that they knew he was joking.

At least Derek hoped they did.

And with ‘they’ Derek meant his grandparents and Stiles.

“They adore him,” Cora told him, bumping their shoulders together and smiling up to him. “Ever since he stayed in the cellar with you and refused to leave.”

“Before that,” Eric added, throwing one look into the living room where Stiles was gushing at the surroundings Nonno showed via webcam, listening to him talk about how he would love to travel the world like they did. “Or they wouldn’t have let him join our pack.”

Derek’s easy expression faded when he heard the words and Cora must have sensed his sudden mood swing when she turned to look at him.

“Eric,” he started with forced calm, while his brother just raised his eyebrows in reply. “He’s not part of our pack.”

The older man’s mouth dropped slightly open, before his eyes darted to their younger sister with a mixture of confused panic and disbelief, before he quickly focused his attention back on Derek and forced a smile on his lips. “Oh right, my bad. I completely forgot. Because he’s constantly here and all that.”

From the sound of it, Cora slapped her palm to her forehead at those words.

“Did you just lie to me?” Derek asked in confusion.

Eric looked like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck.

“You have never seen Stiles’ mark, have you?” Cora suddenly asked flatly.

“He never showed it to me.” And if possible, Derek would like to avoid seeing it. Because it meant that their relationship was as fragile as the one between Talia and Scott. Right now, Scott was looking up to the older Alpha, but soon he would be old enough to take care of everything himself and it wasn’t uncommon that packs grew apart in the process.

“And you never asked to see it,” his little sister concluded, sounding like she was about to pick a fight.

“Would you?”

It looked like she wanted to reply, but instead she huffed in exasperation and then left the room.

Derek stared after her in confusion and when he tried to establish eye contact with Eric, his brother slowly backed out as well.

“I think we need to talk,” Stiles opened the second he walked into Derek’s room, where the werewolf had tried to work on his project. Yet his thoughts always drifted back to the weird conversation with his siblings; and the thought that he suddenly wanted to see the mark kept nagging on his sub-conscience.

“I’m really beginning to hate that phrase,” Derek replied.

Without a response, Stiles steered him to the closet. The werewolf frowned at it in confusion but followed anyway. The closet hadn’t been used for talks for a long time and Derek had sort of suspected that the time for doing that was over, so Stiles had to kick a few things to the side, push hangers out of the way until they finally fit inside.

“We really have to talk about your obsession with my closet,” Derek stated dryly, his eyes trying to get used to the lack of light now. “What are we even doing here?”

“Hint,” the boy started, “it’s not ‘Seven Minutes in Heaven’.” He paused. “Though it could be if you wanted.”

Derek rolled his eyes, even though a fond smile stole its way on his lips. “Fine by me,” he replied, snorting in amusement. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Stiles stared at him with an open mouth, before he closed it and chuckled. “What the hell was that? God, we both have no game. At all.”

“Who cares?” Derek asked rhetorically.

“Yeah. You’re right,” Stiles smirked, wrapping his arms loosely around Derek’s neck as he leaned forward, his voice a seductive whisper.

Derek raised an eyebrow in mock provocation, before he placed his hands on the brunette’s hips. Yet before he had the chance to lean in, Stiles suddenly pushed him back. “Wait no. That’s not why we’re here.”

Derek had an idea what this was about.

Stiles had either heard Cora and him talking; or one of his siblings had told him something. He knew that there was something off about how blatantly Eric had gone about mentioning Stiles being part of the pack, Cora neatly connecting it to the fact that Derek had never seen Stiles’ mark.

But still, there was no way Stiles had chosen the Hale pack over the McCall pack.

“Scott, he loves your family. All of them, no matter how whacko you are.”

Derek silently judged those words by furrowing his brows. Then again, it was the truth anyway. His family consisted of one weirdo after the other. In comparison, the McCall pack had a barely nine-year old who acted more mature than all adults thrown together. Which, Derek had to admit, had probably something to do with the fact that the kid had grown up believing he had killed his older brother.

“You know that’s true, don’t you? I mean, he’s been visiting you all the time, even without me, right? And the way he treats everyone, especially you. Scott’s not like that with everyone.”

“What?” the werewolf asked wryly. “He’s not telling everyone he meets for the first time the story of his life?”

Stiles chuckled at the sarcasm dripping from the older man’s voice. “No. It’s just you. He treats you like family—like pack. In his opinion, the Hales belong to the McCalls and vice versa.”

“I think you have to take that up with my mother.”

“We did,” Stiles replied.

Before Derek could ask what he was talking about, the brunette leaned back and began to undress his upper body, dropping layer upon layer. When the last shirt finally came off, Derek riveted on the stark black mark on the collarbone.

Tattooed with the Hale’s Triskele, wrapped in the two entangled McCall’s stripes.

“I intended to show you the day I got it. But then, you know,” he shrugged like it didn’t matter. But both of them knew that the day was still a minor wound, even more now that Derek realized how long Stiles had tried to keep his mark hidden. “After that, I lost courage because I thought it would guilt you into something you didn’t want, so, yeah, it’s been there for a long time.”

Derek glanced up for the friction of a second, before his gaze was drawn back to the tattoo, then lifted his hand to touch his fingers to the marks—the mark—simply marveling at the art.

“You’re part of our pack?” he asked in confusion.

“Have been ever since you found me, Derek.”

Strangely, the first thought that came to Derek’s mind was that Stiles must be the most hated human in Beacon County; being a member of the most exclusive packs in the area.

“How did you—”

“Scott was easy,” Stiles interrupted wryly. “Most of your pack, too. Your grandparents… not so easy. Same as my parents for a fact. They tried to talk me out of it, told me I didn’t stand a chance against the Alpha Counsel, said I was going to regret it.”

“How did you convince Deucalion?”

“Oh, him,” Stiles replied easily, huffing out a laugh and squirming a little under Derek’s touch. “He’s a very reasonable man. If talked to long enough.”

Derek blinked.

“He actually told me he knew I was trouble the first time he laid eyes on me,” Stiles declared smugly. There was no other person in the universe who could say that being this proud.

“Details?”

“Believe me, you don’t want them.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Great,” Stiles breathed, rolling his shoulders and placing his hands flat on Derek’s stomach. “Now that that’s out of the way, I guess we can finally have sex, right? Because sharing a bed with you? Pure agony, you hear me? Agony! And there’s stuff I want to try. Lots of stuff.”

“Thought about it a lot, didn’t you?” Derek asked playfully.

“Every night in bed,” Stiles smirked.

Derek could feel the tips of his ears heat up at the honest reply, and a slight blush crept over the back of his neck. When Stiles noticed, his face turned red barely a second later, and he averted his eyes, suddenly shy himself.

Stiles was curious in all matters concerning his life and Derek wasn’t surprised to find out that the same amount of curiosity and energy applied to the bedroom. The werewolf wasn’t sure if the younger man searched the web for every sexual kink ever invented and filtered through what he would enjoy and what he thought Derek enjoyed to write it on a bucket list, but yeah, he wouldn’t put it past him.

Yet their first attempt at anything remotely sexual had been awkward and flailing limbs and Stiles elbowing Derek in the nose at which point they stopped, because blood really wasn’t a turn on for them. Which was a good thing to find out.

Their second attempt ended with Stiles chickening out, after which point they both were sort of insecure around each other.

It eventually happened, when they both had tumbled down on Derek’s bed after Stiles huge birthday party which Scott threw to make up for all the missed birthdays before. Derek was pressed against Stiles’ back, his hands wandering over the marred skin of chest and stomach just for contact as he pressed feathery kisses against the long scar between Stiles’ shoulder blades, sliding down, lower to reach the scars on his hips.

Stiles let out a soft moan and turned in the embrace.

When Derek looked up, his eyes stopped at the mark, where the healed bullet wound was concealed by ink before he caught Stiles’ blazing gaze, the younger man’s mouth open as he licked his upper lip, the movement immediately catching Derek’s attention.

He wasn’t sure why they had been nervous at the beginning, why they had walked around in circles. After all, as soon as they both stopped thinking and working so hard on making things perfect, it came quite natural to them.

“Can’t you just go for your GED?” Derek asked, looking out the car window and watching passing students in the parking lot of the local High School, while Stiles kept muttering something under his breath.

“Yes, Derek, I could, but,” the brunette replied after a moment of shuffling memo cards—probably the speech he was going to deliver in order to convince the BHHS principal to let him go to school. “Just once, okay? Just for once I want to be a normal high school student, go to school, worry about homework, complain about my teachers, go to prom. All that stuff teenagers do, but I never had the chance to? That’s what I want.”

Derek knew what Stiles was on about. He understood what the brunette meant when he said he wanted to be ‘normal’ just once. On the other hand, thanks to his own experiences Derek knew that High School was nothing to happily look back to and he had a feeling the same was going to apply to Stiles with his rather unique and quite public background.

“No offence, but you went to high school. You wouldn’t understand,” the human accused, throwing his hands and the memo cards into the air before slumping back against his seat, then after a beat crossing his arms over the driver’s wheel and dropping his forehead on them.

Derek watched him for a moment, then sighed.

The werewolf knew that Stiles had the tendency to act like a petulant, bratty child under stressful situations and he also knew it was usually better to simply avoid as along as he was in such a mood. Talking generally wasn’t a good idea under such circumstances.

But the brunette had taken him along for a reason. Probably. And he had yet to explain that one to him.

“Want me to come with you?” he asked. “I’ll try to help, even if I don’t understand.”

“No thanks,” Stiles muttered into his arms. “Paige told me you two had a reputation. And not a good one. I think you being there with me wouldn’t help much.”

“So you dragged me to my personal nightmare, because?”

“You keep my head up,” Stiles admitted slowly. “Just knowing you’re there kinda helps.”

The werewolf moved on reflex, reaching out to pull Stiles in on the back of his neck, but stopped mid-movement when he remembered where they were. And that they weren’t exactly inconspicuous in Stiles’ baby blue Jeep, especially considering who they were. Stiles frowned at the hesitation, then shrugged and leaned away from the touch he had been anticipating.

“If you’re ashamed—”

“I’m not,” Derek interrupted immediately. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Stiles drawled, opened the door and got out of the car, before the werewolf could say anything else. “Wish me luck. I need it,” he continued before slammed the car door shut and walked off.

The werewolf considered following him for a moment, to straighten things out, but it wouldn’t help the teenager if they started to argue right in front of the school building, which was so going to happen considering Stiles' current mood. Instead he listened to Stiles’ angry steps as he made his way to the office, and then to his slightly strained voice as he amicably talked to the secretary.

It wasn’t like Derek was big on showing affection. The brunette knew that and it had never been an issue between them before. But the teenager had been on edge ever since he had gotten the idea stuck into his head to go back to High School together with Scott. But the reason for his hesitation hadn’t been shame. Stiles probably knew that, too, but was simply over-reacting thanks to his already sour disposition.

After the brunette entered the sound-proofed office of principal Woodley, Derek waited a few minutes, before he left the car and entered the building, that he used to absolutely hate. Seeing it from the outside had been unpleasant, but being back into those hallways made him feel almost claustrophobic. Paige was the only one who had made this place endurable and now walking the halls, remembering the times people had tried to bully him, to get a rise out of him, he really should be grateful to her for sticking around.

His feet involuntarily lead him down to the locker rooms, past Finstock’s office and outside to the lacrosse grounds, where a couple of kids were throwing balls at each other.

The Coach wasn’t on the field, which was unusual.

It took Derek a second to make out Erica’s obnoxiously loud laugh in between the chattering of other students, then Isaac’s sarcastic drawl in reply to whatever she had been saying. The blond girl noticed him a moment later. The three teenagers were sitting on the stands, Isaac and Boyd in lacrosse gear, while Erica enthusiastically waved him over. Derek could feel people staring at him as he slowly made his way to the stands, greeting everyone with a curt nod.

“What are you doing here?” Erica inquired in surprise.

“Stiles is with Woodley,” Derek replied, stuffing his hands in his pockets and trying to hide his discomfort at the younger kids all around him, some of them watching him curiously. It was awkward. And they scared him a little. “He’s trying to get into Senior year this fall. Together with Scott.”

“I thought they’d just take their GED and be done with it,” Isaac said, raising his eyebrows.

“Who wants to go to High School anyway?” Erica asked.

Derek shrugged, but before he could elaborate what Stiles had told him, the girl’s eyes widened and she almost tripped over her own words. “Oh! That means they'll be in the same grade as us?”

That… was something he hadn’t considered. “If he gets into school, I guess, yes.”

“Are you doubting him?” Isaac raised his eyebrows, before shrugging to answer his own question. “Don’t worry. It’s Stiles. Even if he can’t talk Woodley into submission—which I doubt—he can just flash his fancy mark and remind him who he belongs to.”

“Stiles is not like that,” Boyd remarked. “You know that.”

“I’m just saying,” Isaac continued, “he should have asked Talia to do it. Woodley wouldn’t refuse her.”

Derek scoffed, shaking his head. “He won’t do that.”

Because Stiles was stubbornly and relentlessly trying to prove that he didn’t need to throw names, that he could do everything on his own. 

“Malia’s starting High School as a Freshman, too, next school year,” Boyd suddenly offered.

The other three were silent for a moment.

“This is going to be the best year of my life!” the blonde girl concluded.

“This is going to be awesome,” Isaac agreed gleefully.

This was going to be a disaster, Derek thought.

Stiles and Malia were a terrible combination. They were going to burn down the school within a week or two, after terrifying teachers and students alike with whatever mischief they were going to come up with. Stiles was fairly reasonable on his own, sometimes even quiet and calm. But that usually came to an abrupt end the second Malia entered the room and they engaged in petulant childish behavior even Linus frowned upon.

And Linus was nine.

“I just hope Scott can keep them in check,” Derek eventually supplied.

Boyd snorted in amusement and shook his head.

Even if it was going to be a pain, at least Stiles wasn’t going to be alone.

Derek had his sister as a Freshman, but even she wasn’t a big help. She had her own friends and he didn’t feel like sticking to her all the time. Compared to that, Stiles had his Alpha. He was fairly certain Coach Finstock was going to look out for him too and if someone got smart with him Stiles still had Braeden’s self-defense training and Erica, Isaac and Boyd as body guards.

Most importantly, he had friends.

“Your boo’s coming back,” Erica interrupted his thoughts suddenly.

The werewolf was surprised he hadn’t noticed, but when he turned around, he saw Stiles walking up to them in a sort of daze, frowning the entire time to himself. The man was amazed at how easy Stiles had found him in school—and at the same time realized that the discussion had been a rather short one. Which was either bad or really good.

“I think I got in,” the brunette said without preamble, looking up at them, waving lightly at the other three teenagers in greeting. “And I think I accidentally sold Scott off to the lacrosse team? I’m not sure.”

“You think?” Derek asked.

“Yeah, I guess we'll find it out sooner or later.”

"Why? What happened?"

Stiles scoffed “Hell if I know. I was just sitting there, making small talk, you know, to get the ball rolling. Suddenly Coach Cupcake bulldozed into the office and started one of his completely confusing tirades. We didn’t even know what he was going on about, until he started to babble something about freedom of choice and education and pointing pretty rudely at me. And after he was finished, Woodley just blinked, and asked ‘What are you trying to tell me, Finstock?’ and Coach goes ‘Let the kid enroll’ upon which Woodley turned to me and said: ‘Welcome to High School, Mr.—”

“Stilinski!” Everyone jerked at the enthusiastic voice, then tilted their heads to glance behind Stiles. Finstock walked up to them from the school building, harshly clapping the brunette teenager once on the shoulder, which made him slightly lose balance and stumble forward at the brute force. “I expect great things next year. From all of you,” the Coach started, making a hand gesture that included Derek as well, but the werewolf ignored it. By now he had become resistant to Finstock’s subtle attempts at forcing him back into lacrosse gear as an exchange student, or by stealing Greenberg’s identity or whatever ideas he came up with in his free time.

The trainer gave them all a big thumbs up in response to their awkward silence, before proceeding to yell at Greenberg for lacking grace, while dragging Isaac and Boyd along to the field.

“Congratulations, I guess,” Derek offered after a moment.

Stiles frowned, before his eyes slightly widened and he eventually caught up to the fact that he was going to High School coming September and hence started to bounce on his heels in excitement.

“It’s not official yet and Woodley said something about a test to make sure we’re up to Senior level or something,” the brunette replied, trying to keep his voice calm. “But yeah, it’s sort of, you know, strange.”

“I’m sure you’ll pass without a problem,” Derek assured, before pulling Stiles in on his sleeve and pressing a short kiss to his lips. “And I’m not ashamed of you,” he said firmly. “Remember that.”

Erica whooped and Isaac whistled from afar. Without seeing it, the werewolf knew Stiles was flipping them both off as he wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck. “I know that, you doofus,” the brunette replied, “And… uhm… thanks for coming with me. I mean, I know how much you hate it here. And I’ve been sorta… not nice.”

Derek arched his eyebrows.

“Alright, okay, I was a dick,” the brunette growled lowly, averting his eyes.

The werewolf snorted in amusement at the forced concession. They were still working on the whole ‘how to apologize thing’ that Stiles was seriously bad at, but the ‘I’m sorry’ was implied in the way the brunette couldn’t even meet Derek’s eyes in shame, which for now was enough.

After working his ass off, Stiles took the test in July and passed with flying colors.

In September, Stiles started his school life as a Senior.

So did Scott who also passed. Barely. The young Alpha had been home schooled by Claudia and Ken while the families had sought refuge with the Yukimuras, but upon returning to Beacon Hills had been swamped with Alpha duties so that he decided to take an intermit year. Scott didn’t mind being behind if it meant he could be together with Stiles, even if he occasionally whined or boasted about the fact that Kira was already in college.

As far as Derek gathered, Malia and Stiles really did become partners in crime of the legendary kind, while Scott somehow tried to control them and Liam acted like he couldn’t care less about anything going on but secretly enjoyed it. Even though Derek didn’t hear much about the shenanigans from the pranksters themselves, he was very well informed with sources like Erica, Isaac, Boyd and Scott at hand.

“I really don’t know why I wanted to go to High School,” Stiles complained one day, walking up and down behind the couch in the living room. Derek was absentmindedly humming in response while he was busy sifting through the first aid kit for a cold pack, as Scott continued to beat Cora’s ass in Street Fighter. “High schooler’s are all dicks!”

“To be fair, you’re a dick, too,” Cora replied, mashing the buttons at random. “And I’m 80% sure you either started the fight, or at least didn’t help the situation by mouthing back.”

“Shut up, what are you even doing here?” Stiles growled at the woman, pointing an accusing finger at her. “What about college and classes?”

Derek pulled Stiles around the couch by his index finger and the brunette stumbled onto the seat next to him, while the werewolf opened the cold pad and pressed it to the right eye, which would probably sport a nice the following day.

“It’s Wednesday. I only have morning classes, so I’m all free.”

“Life of a college student,” Stiles muttered, crossing his arms in front of his chest with a pout. “And I didn’t start it.”

“You did,” Scott disagreed, pumping his fist once in a small victory gesture when the fight on screen was over and his old Chinese man slammed the woman in camouflage with some kind of special effect to the ground.

Cora growled at the controller, then called for a rematch.

“I was there,” Scott continued, “You deserved that. That was A+ asshole behavior at its finest.”

“Stiles may be a spoiled brat sometimes, but he’s not an asshole,” Derek defended the brunette, rolling his eyes. He was sure that whatever the younger man did, it wouldn’t warrant a black eye.

Cora’s mouth dropped open in response and Scott hit pause in their new match, before turning around and staring at him.

“Brain washed?” Scott asked Cora.

“More like brain damaged,” Cora suggested.

Derek growled at them, before looking at Stiles who watched him with a soft and fond expression—and like he was maybe a little bit stupid. “What? You’re not.”

“Derek,” Cora started, dropping the controller and sliding on her knees closer to Derek to take his hands in her own like she was about to deliver bad news. “No offence in your choice of boyfriends or whatever, and you know I love Stiles as much as I love you, but he’s a total dick. A full blown jerk.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Derek scoffed.

“Nah, she’s kinda not,” Stiles admitted, kicking the girl’s legs. “But you weren’t supposed to know that.”

“You probably never noticed, because he’s baking you muffins and likes to cuddle with you,” Scott seconded, “but trust your sister on this one. Stiles is usually not that nice. Not even to me.”

“Excuse me?” Stiles exclaimed offended, “I'm always nice to people who are nice to me!”

“One time you sprayed aconite on my food because I wouldn’t let you play D4 on my Xbox.”

Derek lifted his eyebrows when he heard the word ‘aconite’, frowning at Stiles, who threw the cold pad at his best friend, which the Alpha flung right back at him. The human fumbled with catching it for a moment, before he turned to look at Derek with large innocent eyes.

“Derek. I would never. Look me in the eyes and tell me I’m lying.”

“Just now, there was a skip in your heartbeat,” the werewolf replied flatly

“Because I’m so in love with you!”

“You better stop talking, because just now, again—”

“Because of love!”

“Exhibit A,” Cora chuckled under her breath.

“This is what we’re talking about,” Scott seconded, then continued to play their game.

Derek sighed, simply pulling Stiles closer to his chest and adding more pressure on the cold pad, while the other three engaged in a heated discussion.

He probably still had a lot to learn about Stiles.

Maybe Derek shouldn’t have been surprised when Talia was called to the principal’s office after barely two months. Apparently Deucalion was called in, too, which implied that Scott was somehow involved as well.

His mother let Derek tag along but he had to wait outside the sound-proofed room. Whatever they were talking about, it took half an hour until the doors opened again. Deucalion was the first to pass him with a slightly sour-slash-pained look on his face. Talia followed, chin held high and facial expressions hard.

She had Stiles and Scott in tow, the latter looking like a lost, kicked puppy and the former with a determined audacity. Stiles’ face lightened the second he spotted Derek, but the werewolf glowered at him in disappointment which made every enthusiastic movement in his direction falter immediately.

Derek didn’t know what was going on, but his mother looked exceedingly pissed. It was an expression Derek had never seen before, not even after all the times she had to pick him up from the principal office. Woodley gave Derek a once over, a curt nod in acknowledgement and then closed the door to his office.

They walked back to the car in silence, Derek sitting in the passenger’s seat, the teenagers in the back. The werewolf briefly glanced at his mother, before he turned his head, quirking his eyebrows in silent demand at Stiles, who just snorted in contempt.

“Just so we’re clear,” the brunette started, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “That guy had it coming. Fucking Whittemore Wannabe Werewolf William. He had been out for us from the beginning. You know, I don’t care if he does shit to me, but I won’t let him drag Scott into this.”

Derek peaked up at those words.

Stiles had been very vocal about some guy trying to bully him. The teenager mostly didn’t care and ignored William. He had his friends, his pack around, so he didn’t bother, apart from playing little pranks in return. Of course, it was just like Stiles to go ballistic the second Scott was involved.

“And anyway, it’s not like I did something bad, okay?” Stiles continued unapologetic. Derek glanced at his mother, who was staring ahead, lips firmly pressed together. “Even Deucy thought it was funny! I think I saw his lips twitch once when Woodley told him what happened.”

“Deucy?”

“Deucalion,” Scott muttered under his breath in explanation.

“He wasn’t even hurt!” Stiles went on, flailing his hands. “Apart from his pride. And his school rep. And you know what they say, right? Idiots don’t catch colds, so it’s not a problem that he got drenched. I mean, come on, all I did was—”

“Stiles,” Talia interrupted him sharply. “Be quiet.”

Stiles scoffed and Scott winced, hanging his head even lower.

Derek had never seen his mother really, really angry before but right now, he couldn’t pick up any emotions. She was like a blank sheet. It was what a well trained Alpha was supposed to be capable of, but he didn’t know why she felt the need to hide her anger.

They dropped Scott off at his home, while Stiles tersely stated that he was going to stay with the Hale’s for the night. He was probably prepared to fight Talia on his decision, but the Alpha didn’t comment on it. For all Derek knew, she was giving Stiles the silence treatment, which she had never done before.

Stiles wiggled his eyebrows and Derek shrugged.

He didn’t know what was going on, couldn’t even figure out how bad it was, considering that he still didn’t know what had happened at school. Apart from the fact that maybe water was involved. At least he hoped it was water.

As soon as they arrived home, Talia slipped out of her seat, marched into the house and went straight for her office.

“Am I in trouble?” Stiles asked quietly, looking a little anxious for the first time.

When Talia suddenly burst into peals of laughter right before she was able to close the door to her office, drowning out the sound, Derek finally knew what she had been doing the whole drive.

His mother wasn’t angry.

She wasn’t even disappointed.

Talia just had to fight every fiber in her body to keep up the Alpha act she tried to maintain on the outside. Especially when she should probably punish Stiles for whatever the hell he did to that poor bastard.

“No,” Derek said, snorting in amusement. “I think you’re good.”

“Seriously? Because your mother was acting really weird right now.”

“She does that sometimes.”

“You know, that asshole deserved it. No one messes with my pack,” Stiles continued petulantly.

Derek looked at him with what he hoped wasn’t as fond an expression as he felt. “And I guess no one ever will again.”

Natalie Martin wasn’t sure how much David Whittemore knew about what had happened that night. She didn’t know who had been involved from the other pack but she didn’t notice any change in structure.

It wasn’t until after the funerals of the two families declared dead in absentia, that the attorney turned to her, after making sure that no one was around, and asked: “Why the Stilinskis, too?”

She didn’t show her surprise, simply glanced at him.

“You don’t know much about the boys, do you?” she replied calmly. “I won’t hold it against you. After all, it’s difficult to keep track of everyone, right?”

He nodded in agreement, and Natalie acknowledged his silent affirmation.

“The boys grew up like brothers. They weren’t predictable when it came to sleep-overs. The chance that Scott McCall was over at the Stilinskis was very high.” Natalie frowned at the grave in front of her, remembering the words of the ones that brought shame to her and her pack. “They only intended to check, but Claudia’s son saw them, so they proceeded to attack.”

The boy, Stiles—he was the only one who could link everything back to the Martin’s, the only one who could get dangerous in the future.

Natalie hoped that the Stilinskis were going to stay dead—wherever they were.

After Malia turned sixteen in November, she went to Talia and asked to join the Hale pack.

Talia accepted, which was not a surprise to anyone.

“It’s not that I don’t love you, mom,” the girl explained calmly, while she wrung her hands in her lap. The Shrew had a hard look on her face, but her emotions were in turmoil and on display for both the coyote and werewolf.

Malia had insisted that Derek came along for that talk, even though the man didn’t think that he was the best choice for this. But Peter wasn’t an option because his ex would insist that it was all his fault and they would come to no agreement at all. Talia wasn’t an option as well, because in face of that ‘despicable woman’, she wouldn’t be able to stay calm.

Yet Malia didn’t want to do this alone.

“You have to understand, I still love you,” the girl tried again, more gentle now. “But I belong to my pack. That’s why I want to live with dad and Aunt Talia. Please agree.”

Derek was sitting on the couch like, frozen to the place and afraid to even breathe, when the girl slipped the piece of paper over the coffee table to her mother. A simple agreement, that the Tates were willing to resign their parental rights and cede them to Peter Hale instead.

“I won’t sign that,” The Shrew growled furiously, not even glancing at the paper.

“Mom…”

“I always knew you would leave me for them,” she continued unperturbed. “I never stood a chance, because I‘m not a werewolf. But the more I tried to keep you away, the more you defied me.”

The woman glared at Derek and it was all he could do not to yield to the anger and desperation reflected in them.

“We all know Alpha’s orders takes precedence over family ties. So you can move out even without me doing something unnecessary.” With that the woman took the sheet of paper between thumb and index finger like it was something disgusting, then tore it to pieces and threw them on the table.

“Keep the key,” she said while standing up. “Your room will be yours. If you ever chose to return.”

With that she left the living room and went upstairs, slamming a door shut.

Malia stared at her trembling hands and Derek reached out to her, pulling his cousin into a hug.

Eric and Julia finally got together in February.

Derek didn’t comment on their slow progress, considering his own history.

But he did let Stiles crack some jokes about the fact that they got together on Valentine’s day.

Derek had avoided Jacob—Paige’s fiance—for years, simply because he couldn’t stand him. Not that he had ever met him in person, but what he heard from Paige was enough for the werewolf to dislike him. It took only one very drunken night to revise his opinion of the man.

The double date had been Paige’s idea. She knew that both Derek and Stiles weren’t the most sociable outgoing people, considering the way they were usually stared at. Though it appeared like Stiles wasn’t bothered about what other people said about him, he went completely furious every time someone badmouthed Derek in his presence.

It wasn’t made public what Stiles had been going through to become human, though it was commonly known that in the beginning he had behaved like a child raised by actual wolves. When it became publicly known that they were dating, it soon turned into a joke for some people; the previously retarded werewolf and the once feral human.

They weren’t hiding from the town, but if they could avoid large groups of people they would.

So going out to a bar with Paige and Jacob wasn’t on their top five lists of things to do, which was why they ended up at Paige’s apartment.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Derek,” Jacob greeted with a firm handshake and wide grin on his lips, while Stiles and Paige stood at the long island in the open kitchen, flipping through what looked like a cocktail book.

Jacob was a tall, blond man with a crew cut, green eyes and almost the same stature as Derek’s. Not at all what the werewolf had assumed the construction worker looked like.

Stiles and Paige had obviously decided to try every cocktail in the book and were soon giggling about everything that was said, while the TV droned on in the background. They were watching Wolf News and turned it into a drinking game. It barely took them an hour to get totally plastered. Though Derek didn’t know the rules, he did realize that they chucked more alcohol when something completely racist, narrow-minded, conservative and/or utterly stupid was mentioned.

By the time Stiles started to tease Derek with statements like ‘Did you dislike Jacob, because you wanted to date Paige?’ and ‘Are you jealous because you want to be like him?’ and ‘Maybe you wanted to date him?’ the night was mostly over for the werewolf.

Paige fell from the couch laughing at the last suggestion in combination with the utterly horror stricken look on Derek’s face.

The dark-haired man ignored both of them for the remainder of the night and bonded a little with Jacob as he seemed to have the same fond/pained expression on his face for his significant other as Derek had.

They continued to ignore them for the rest of the night and sat in companionable silence.

“This house feels so empty,” Stiles stated, staring at the ceiling.

Derek turned around, dragged an arm over the brunette’s hips and nuzzled his head under the other’s chin. “What?” he asked sleepily against the pale skin of Stiles’ neck.

“You know, when I started to live here, it was only quiet when everyone was out for work or school. But now, with Malia sleeping at a friend’s, Peter’s over at Braeden’s apartment. Eric’s with Julia, Cora’s partying somewhere, Laura does God knows what with God knows who—”

“Parrish,” Derek muttered. “Probably.”

“Right. Now it’s just your parents here. It’s… strange.”

“We’re here, too.”

“Yeah well, sound-proofed walls,” Stiles replied easily, knocking against the wall with one knuckle.

“Your mother still refusing to add a damper to the master bedroom?”

Stiles sighed once. “Yeah. She says she doesn’t like it if she can’t hear. I think it has something to do with that day we got attacked.”

“You can chose between different dampers,” Derek muttered after a moment, mind caught somewhere between falling asleep again and wandering through the local home-improvement market. “Different thickness. She was human before. She could install something that mutes sounds to human level for a werewolf. If that helps. Our walls are like that, too. Maybe a little bit stronger.”

The brunette was silent for a long time and Derek wasn’t sure if he had fallen asleep until he felt a hand running through his hair.

“Linus will kiss you for that. He’s getting to that age, you know?” Stiles laughed.

Derek simply nodded.

The Hale and McCall pack fused under the reign of Talia Hale. It was a slow process with lots of legal regulations but Scott hated being an Alpha, was busy with SATs and wanted to go to college, which was impossible for an Alpha without taking his whole pack along. The fusion was only supposed to be a temporary arrangement. At least Deucalion had insisted on that and both packs had to mutually agree to extend the contract every two years.

Otherwise the merger happened without a hitch. The packs got along well enough after all and Laura made a little joke about how Heather had finally made it into the Hale pack. It took some time before the joke sunk in, and then Heather stuck her tongue out and let her know she was just there for Stiles and Scott.

The only discussions had been about the mark and the name of the pack, because Talia wanted to add the McCalls, whereas Scott thought it was alright with just the Hales, considering they had the last call on every big decision.

Melissa was very supportive about the whole ordeal, while Raphael remained a little skeptical. He wasn’t sure whether two Alphas in one pack could work well together. Nobody knew what happened if Talia's and Scott’s interests ever happened to clash.

Talia agreed, but also emphasized that Scott right now, was not the best Alpha: he was overwhelmed, challenged, and out of his depth. The young man might be loyal, without a doubt. He was kind and even Stiles called him a moral compass but there were still uncertainties about his ability to protect and lead everyone.

Everyone knew, that if something like the attack from ten years ago were to happen again, Scott would defend his pack with teeth and claws. Yet the attackers would be prepared for a full grown Alpha this time, not a nine year old boy who was just getting the hang of controlling his shift. They would prepare more than just some measly hand guns to scare humans.

But whether temporary fusion or not, the Hales would always be there for the McCall pack, if they needed help.

At least of that Derek was sure.

Their relationship had become rocky after Stiles’ birthday in April. Derek knew Stiles was busy studying. He knew that the brunette was still working on catching up to his classmate’s levels, because there was always something teachers took for granted as it belonged to basic education, when Stiles didn’t even know what they were talking about.

He spent a lot of time working with Cora, Scott and Paige and even if he came over, he mostly buried his head in books or school work. Derek liked having Stiles around, but he wouldn’t mind receiving at least a little attention outside the bedroom.

“Just a couple months,” Stiles had told him quietly and Derek held on to that, working on his illustrations and adapting his schedule to Stiles’ so they could spent more time together.

Sometimes it felt like he was the only one working on that, though.

In the end, their relationship didn’t feel like a relationship anymore, with both of them barely seeing each other. Furthermore, with Stiles going to a college three hours away Derek wasn’t confident they could manage a distance like that, if they had trouble dealing with a twenty minute drive.

Stiles and Derek broke up in August, shortly before the brunette left for college.

It was mutual.

After the break up, they texted each other once or twice, but met only on Thanksgiving and some birthdays, which they spent with the whole pack.

Derek didn’t  date after that. Not because of a lack of trying, considering Paige and Erica shoved blind date after blind date at him. During those times Derek wondered if his two friends even knew him. The women were always too pushy and the men too forceful, some trying to grope him after barely exchanging names or getting up and close into his personal space after a few minutes of talking.

Derek usually left after enduring half an hour of awkward and stilted conversation, because even if he was able to get along fairly well with his pack, it didn’t make him interact better with strangers.

He had a feeling that Laura was behind it, when his self-proclaimed matchmakers eventually stopped forcing people at him with statements like “but you like pushy” and “Stiles was pushy, too!”

Derek kept himself busy with work; mostly illustrations, some woodwork. Apparently he had caught the attention of a rather well-known author, who had personally requested him for all her works; be it cover art or in-book illustrations. Around the same time, he got an offer as an artist for a new comic book project. Derek had never even heard the name of the author he was supposed to work with, but his editor had been rather excited and gushing over what a big chance this was for Derek to break out of the children’s book category and evolve.

Apart from the fact that he liked drawing for children, he blamed Stiles that his first thought upon hearing that, was about Pokemons.

After that he was busy pretending that he wasn’t pining after the brunette, who was somewhere off in Berkeley and probably had the time of his life. Derek was the one who broke up to begin with. It wasn’t like he had any right to feel down.

It was Claudia who urged Derek on to try out writing novels; who told him that he had potential.

He wasn’t sure where she had seen that so called ‘potential’, so he assumed she was messing with him. The thought never left him alone, though, and he spent a few days getting comfortable with the keyboard instead of his Intuos, while staring at the desktop. Then he googled ‘how to write a novel’, stumbled over something called NaNoWriMo, closed his laptop and went to do some wood work because that was more in his comfort zone.

He scrapped the idea a few days later.

It wasn’t like he even knew what he wanted to tell. There maybe was an idea nagging at the back of his head. Something he had thought about a lot but ruled out for anything artistic.

A few weeks later he cursed Claudia Stilinski for planting that seed in his brain when he got up around two in the morning, booted his laptop and opened a document.

The next day Derek couldn’t even remember what he had written and when he read it, paled at how horrible his writing was. But as bad as it was, he could still remember that he had fun; that spilling words to a hard drive was somehow cathartic.

Derek continued to write, though never let anyone see.

He could admit to himself that he was not an author and better at illustrations than anything else. He might have been good enough for some rhyming text in children’s books but that was about that.

When Stiles returned for summer break after his first year at college, Derek had the feeling he was meeting a stranger.

He was calmer, more confident, relaxed and genuinely happy when he met Derek again. That summer, they spent more time together than they had in the last months of their relationship.

It was gradually at the beginning, because Stiles was always somehow there. He was pack. It was normal. Derek knew that everyone was a little vary about any of their interactions but the werewolf forced himself to remember the fact that he was the one who broke up with Stiles, that Stiles was forced to meet the guy, who dumped him just to see his pack.

But Stiles made it easy.

He didn’t feel awkward around Derek, he laughed, he acted like everything was alright, like nothing had changed and they could pretend to be friends. It was like Derek was revolving around Stiles for a while before he was pulled in by his gravity again. They found each other talking more often, sharing stories, Stiles going on and on about his professors and lectures and Derek telling him about his projects, that he had decided to illustrate a comic series called ‘Moonflower’.

It shouldn’t have been so easy to get that captivated again, to feel so at ease with someone.

Thankfully, his family stayed completely out of it. Not even Cora was making any random remarks and Derek appreciated it. For all he knew, Stiles was just being nice or making an effort for the sake of the pack. After all, the brunette was studying Anthropology with main focus on Lycanthropology together with Criminology in a double major. He should know how important pack stability was.

“Why did you chose that combination?” Derek asked once, helping Stiles shelving the books he had taken from the Hale library over the course of his first two semesters at college.

“It’s, you know, my thing, I guess.”

The werewolf raised an eyebrow at that.

“And what did you need this books for?” he continued, turning one large encyclopedia about old werewolf tribes in his hand.

“For my bachelor’s thesis.”

Derek stopped, turning to look at Stiles who was trying to hide behind a tome about Ancient Rituals. Derek never went to college, but he was still pretty sure that it was a little too soon to think about something like a bachelor’s thesis. “What’s your topic?” he asked instead of the obvious question of why the brunette was already preparing material for something he was going to write in a year or two.

Stiles snorted. “I’m pending between ‘Fiction and Truth behind True Alphas’ and ‘The Great Riots of 1726’.”

“Sounds good,” Derek figured. And it was a smart decision, too. Even though there wasn’t much about True Alphas in modern books, Stiles had his walking and breathing example at hand. And there was a lot of superstitious nonsense in old tomes he could refute.

On the other hand, the Hale library offered many diaries of ancestors who had either instigated the riots in 1726 or lived through them. The Hales had never let anyone who wasn’t pack close to those books, and Peter was very protective of them even if pack was involved. Whatever it was, that Stiles had done to persuaded Peter, it gave him access to rare information.

Derek shouldn’t be so proud of his ex-boyfriend.

“Why did you chose criminology?”

Stiles froze at the question, his index finger slowly trailing down the spine of a book. “Sooner or later, I want to take a look at the McCall-Stilinski/Unknown files. And the Argent/Hale file.”

Derek swallowed. “Why the Argent/Hale?”

“This has nothing to do with you,” the human rushed out defensively. “This is about my family, and my pack. Ever since you told me I thought it was strange. What happened with Kate Argent here.”

“Stiles,” Derek warned. “Let sleeping dogs lie.”

“I’m not trying to reopen wounds,” Stiles started, his last words a whisper. “I just want to be prepared, okay? If there’s something going on, some, I don’t know, grudge, because of what happened in the past, I want to know. I want to be prepared. I’m not going to force you to press for further investigations or whatever. It’s not like I can even do that. But I won’t let someone attack my family, our pack again. I’m not going to lose everything again. Just because some power drunken assholes want to—do you know what they used to do with True Alphas?”

Derek shook his head at the onslaught and sudden jump in topic, taking a step back in surprise.

“They ate them. They ripped their hearts out while they were still alive. They had to be alive, so the heart was fresh and warm and still pumping. They ate it for power, a liver for a longer life, testicles for virility. They ground the bones to dust and used them as some voodoo medicine. They consumed the flesh in some obscure ritual for wealth and good fortune. They mixed the brains with alcohol and skull powder and drank their blood. There are still people who believe this shit can be used as a cure or for good fortune and pay a lot of money to get their hands on a True Alpha. I heard them talking—Derek, that asshole, he wanted to eat my best friend, my brother—” Stiles was hissing by now, when Derek pulled him into a hug.

“Shhh,” he soothed, ignoring the nagging voice in his head that told him that Stiles knew; that the brunette knew more about their attackers than he had ever let on. “Scott’s doing fine. You know he can defend himself, now. And we’re there, too. My mother won’t let anything happen to him. Or your family.”

It took Stiles a few seconds before he calmed down again, then buried his head into the other man’s shoulder. “Yeah, I know,” he conceded quietly. “And don’t worry, I let sleeping snakes lie.”

Derek nodded in acknowledgement, pressed a kiss to the brunette’s temple, even though he didn’t know who he was, but the snake comment made him wonder. David Whittemore was an ambitious man, but Derek had a problem picturing him as someone willing to eat a child just to rise in power. And Jackson, who was usually referred to as lizard or snake by Talia had been far too young back then. But whatever Stiles knew, it was clear he wanted to shoulder this burden alone. He knew who was behind the attack, but had decided to keep it to himself, because a fight probably wasn’t worth it. Least of all after such a long time.

It was the same with the Argents.

Derek could understand.

He just wished he could help Stiles a little with his baggage.

It was Derek who asked Stiles out again. He was nervous and anxious about whether he might have interpreted the brunette’s short glances wrong, whether this was a good idea, whether he was the only one who had felt the small shock of electricity every-time they touched, whether he was the only one who was still so unbelievably madly in love that seeing each other only once every few months was better than having nothing at all.

They had spent the last few days together, mostly just sitting beside each other, not even touching, simply talking, but Derek hadn’t felt that alive for a long time and he had tried to find ways to be with Stiles, even if it meant he had to offer stupid excuses like taking him home ‘to make sure that he got back alright’.

He expected Stiles to throw the front door in his face. To laugh it off. To get angry.

But he had barely finished when Stiles threw himself at the him, wrapping his legs around Derek's waist. “You dick,” he hissed, while pressing quick kisses all over his face. “But yes, fuck yes.”

Someone was whooping from inside the Stilinski house.

His eyes glanced over to the closed front door and Derek didn’t even need to imagine what was going on in the household right now, because he could hear Claudia relaying ‘he said yes!’ to her husband and Linus, who was singing a Lady Gaga song to drown his mother’s excited voice out.

“They are listening, aren’t they?” Stiles asked, following his gaze.

“Yep,” Derek replied flatly.

The brunette made a displeased noise, glancing sideways at the older man before a smirk stole on his lips. “Mom, I’m spending the night out,” he called through the entrance door. They received a quick ‘Yes, have fun, be safe’ in reply.

That night Derek tried to burn each and every one of Stiles' scars and moles to his memory, taking his time with slow kisses, the same way Stiles let his fingers run over every inch of Derek’s skin in unhurried touches.

“So… when are you going to introduce me to your family,” Stiles asked with a cheeky smirk, that Derek rather felt against his skin than saw.

“After everyone heard you moaning on the porch? I'm thinking of never,” the werewolf stated dryly, remembering the entire scene from the night before. To a degree, it was his own fault. He made the mistake of letting Stiles know that his family was home and about to jump them on the front door in greeting. He should have known the brunette would use it as an excuse to shove him against the front door, kissing him like he was starving. Derek’s lips were still swollen red after that attack.

Then again every werewolf in the house plus forced along human member made a direct u-turn and left to do whatever they had been doing before and therefore did not interrupt them on their way up to Derek’s room.

On the other hand, Derek knew no one would ever let this down, especially not Cora.

It wasn’t that Derek wasn’t used to Stiles shamelessly telling people to keep away with a straight-forward bluntness that was equal to a sock to a door. Which was mostly a result from Malia running in on them at least twice and neither Derek nor Stiles were particularly into an audience.

“Are you trying to keep me a secret?” Stiles continued, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Probably for the best,” Derek answered, frowning down at the brunette, who wrote what felt suspiciously like ‘Prof. Handerson is a total prick’ on his chest with the tip of his finger, which was a little inappropriate but also totally Stiles. “The last boyfriend I had got along pretty well with my family.”

The human froze at the words, heartbeat picking up in speed as his scent turned sour, but he overplayed it with a nonchalant shrug. “So?”

“It was probably a given. He lived here for a while, they got pretty attached and he became pack. It still annoyed me. Felt like he was spending more time with them than me. ” The brunette frowned at him, before punching him lightly in the shoulder, when he realized who Derek was talking about. “If I hide you from them, that won’t happen again.”

Stiles watched him for a moment, before he sighed. “Was that the reason you wanted to break up?”

“Partially,” Derek answered, quickly glancing at the other man before turning his gaze away again.

There were several factors that had made their way into his decision, among them the fact that he didn’t want to hold Stiles down, that they wouldn’t be able to maintain a relationship over distance, that Derek was sure Stiles would find someone else, someone who was more interesting, who could hold his attention longer for more than just sex.

“But you agreed.”

Stiles furrowed his brows. “Yeah well… you’re usually not very vocal with what you want. Felt like I was pushing you into it in the first place and then like you were just going along. As long as it’s not shaking your very foundations, you wouldn’t complain. So when you said you wanted to break up I figured it was something you really wanted to do. Maybe even for a long time. And I thought I’m leaving for college anyway, I’ll find a way to forget you. In case you haven’t noticed, my plan failed,” the brunette finished dryly with a wave at their current situation.

“No, that wasn’t… I thought we couldn't do it.”

“Do what?”

“Long distance.”

Stiles was silent, before he suddenly sat up. “Nope. This is not a discussion I want to continue in the nude,” he stated, crawling to the end of Derek’s bed where they had discarded their clothes. He got out to pick up his jeans and slid into them, before he sat down at the edge, his fingers drumming against the wooden frame and his shoulders stiff.

“We barely saw each other at the end,” Derek started to explain. Stiles nodded his head once in acknowledgment. “I thought it was your way of showing me you didn't want this anymore. And even if it wasn’t, it started to feel like I was only there for,” he shrugged, touching a hand to his neck, “sex. And I didn’t want that.”

“What?” Stiles' head whipped around, his face open and vulnerable. He looked completely gutted and Derek was taken aback by the sudden show of rare emotion. Usually, the human would hide how deep something really affected him behind smiles or smirks or anger. “You weren’t,” the brunette insisted. “Believe me, you were not. I spent more time wistfully staring at my phone just waiting for a message from you than actually studying. But I was the one who had to contact you and—”

“I knew you were busy,” Derek interrupted, explaining his lack of communication.

“Yes, I was busy, but I would have dropped everything for you,” the brunette persisted. “But you never called. Never asked if I wanted to come over. Nothing. Like you didn't even care whether I was there or not. And I was so sick of being the one who always came after you. And then you dumped me and I had my own pride...” The human stopped, then turned around and buried his hands in his hair.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, kicking against the frame with one foot. “I missed you so freaking much, after we broke up. Not the sex, you! I missed hearing your voice, talking to you, the way you laughed. Fucking everything. Yet the few times we met, you were doing great and everyone told me that you got new job offers and that everything was fucking perfect for you and I started to resent you so much, but I tried to be the bigger person. Every time on my drive home I would steel and tell myself that it would be alright if I saw you with someone else, that I would be able to fucking laugh it off and be happy for you. And when I finally thought I was getting over you, all it took was a simple ‘can we try again?’ and I was throwing myself at you. And I hate myself for it, because I thought I had more pride than that. And you think I was just in it for the sex?" Stiles emotional range was changing from dismay to anger and then to hurt as he ranted on before he suddenly stopped, looking drained and defeated, his voice shallow. "I must have done something horribly wrong to make you feel like that."

Derek hesitated. Because he must have done something wrong as well to give the impression he didn't care for Stiles, must have been so buried in his own concerns and insecurities that he missed how much Stiles had suffered in order for him to simply give up when Derek told him it would be better for them to go separate ways. In retrospect, he wondered how he could forget that Stiles had always been the one to wait patiently until Derek was ready to take the next step in their relationship, that it was Stiles who made an effort to talk and get them over whatever hurdle they had to overcome in the past.

"Me too," he admitted. "I did mistakes, too."

"So we're both stupid," the brunette huffed in an effort to lighten the mood. "I hope you were pining as hard as I did or I won't forgive you."

The werewolf knew Stiles wasn't serious, but he still reached under his bed, where he kept some sketch books. There were one or two close to the bed in case of sudden inspiration after waking up or before falling asleep. “You tell me,” he said, then threw one of his books at Stiles who caught it with his usual clumsy, flailing grace.

Derek had to be head over heels if he still thought that this clumsiness was one of Stiles’ best points and he was a little glad that it remained even after the whole confidence boost. After catching the book, Stiles squinted at him suspiciously, before opening it. He would have to go through a few wolf pictures, some foxes, some houses or other scenery before finding what Derek wanted him to see.

The man noticed the moment Stiles reached the page; when the human suddenly stopped, eyes fixed on a sketch of hands. Stiles’ hands to be precise, but it took the brunette a moment to realize that. His eyes widened slightly, before he turned another page. 

Derekhad drawn Stiles’ body over and over again; his back, his eyes, his face, his mouth; especially his fingers and hands; even weeks after Stiles had left for Berkeley. 

“I made those after you were gone,” Derek said quietly. 

The human slowly flipped through the sketches, a blush making its way over the back of his neck, spreading to the collarbone until he suddenly slammed the sketch book shut as he reached what was probably the only full body nude of him.

“Yeah, uh,” he started, coughing once. “Well... I didn't know you could draw humans. Like that. And that you... uh... knew me so well. I think there's stuff in there I don't even know about myself. And they are really artistic, too, though you could use a better model."

Derek arched an eyebrow, tilting his head a little to the side. "You're always confident, unless it's about your body," he remarked with a frown. Stiles had never outright said it, but this wasn't the first time that the brunette expressed some issues regarding his appearance; mostly with self-depreciating jokes or comments.

“Scars aren't usually a turn on.”

“I like them.”

“That just means you’re weird.”

Derek rolled his eyes, deciding to sit on his knees so he could reach out to Stiles. He placed his palm on a long, thin scar between Stiles’ shoulder blades and the brunette let him. The werewolf knew it was from the time when Stiles had been a fox and attacked by a lynx and barely escaped. “Not because I have a thing for scars. Because they are yours. And I made those,” he pointed at the sketches, as he moved a little closer, “because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Because I thought I would get you out of my head like that, but it didn't work. Nothing ever did.”

Stiles rolled his shoulders, took a deep breath before he let out a frustrated sigh, while ruffling his hair.

“You know, I tried dating,” He said it like it was an accusation. “But it simply didn’t work out. You ruined me for everyone else. No one laughed like you. Or smelled like you. Or was anything like you. And I eventually just stopped trying.”

Derek had to work hard to suppress the stab of jealousy, but it wasn’t like he could say anything. He was the one who had pushed Stiles away. Again.

“It wasn’t like I had that much free-time anyway. And Scott said if I wanted another Derek Hale I should date the original. But I thought it was definitely over between us because you dumped me and Kira told me you were seeing other people so I just,” Stiles trailed off, then shrugged.

“Blind dates,” Derek explained. “Paige and Erica kept setting me up.”

Stiles curled his lips.

“I wasn’t interested.”

“At all? Like in no one?”

“You wanted me to?” the werewolf asked, raising an eyebrow. Stiles’ heartbeat had been calm, but now it was speeding up like the brunette was working his way towards something that made him nervous. Or was simply unpleasant. Not that the whole conversation wasn’t something Derek would have preferred to have on a later date.

Or never, really.

“That’s not what I meant. I just mean… you never dated before me.”

“Yeah,” Derek stated and remembered all the times he had been awkward around Stiles because of all the firsts the brunette had to endure. The only thing that had made him less nervous was the fact that Stiles had no experience as well and couldn’t hold him to any expectations.

“Yeah, and you didn’t date after me.”

“Where are you going with this?”

“And I couldn’t do anything with someone else. And now we’re like… this,” the brunette made a gesture at the empty space between them but was probably referring to what had happened the night before.

“So?”

“Remember that theory? About why you didn’t have any control over your shift?”

“The one you never told me?” Derek muttered. “Or the Omega one?”

“Your mother never said anything?” Stiles asked in surprise. “I could have sworn she would let it slip even if I didn’t want her to.”

“She gave me what she probably considered hints.” Derek furrowed his brow, trying to remember the conversation. It had nagged on him for a while until he forgot about it, because he thought that Stiles’ Omega version had been pretty spot on. “Something about you doing some maths and asking if something weird happened when you were attacked. And that I shifted before, but she used to say I did that all the time as a child until it suddenly stopped.”

“Uh yeah, the stopping,” Stiles almost stammered, a flush creeping over the back of his neck. “This is just a theory, okay. And I don’t believe half of it, but I think it stopped, uh… maybe… around the time I was born? And, you know, you opened up a little to your family after that? Like talking to them?”

Derek furrowed his brow in bewilderment.

“And your mother told me that day we got attacked… you shifted into a wolf and tried to run away. Or maybe just, you know, trying to help me?”

Stiles was by now muttering into his hands, and Derek had to strain his ears to understand him. But he didn’t need to see the brunette’s face to know that the flush had reached his cheeks by now, his discomfort and embarrassment heavy in the air.

“And… you sort of chose me as an anchor, which is a little strange considering we only met a few months ago. Don’t you think? And you know, your hearing? That’s better than your mother’s? I read in books that abilities change sometimes to fit special circumstances.”

“Meaning?”

“You hear better?”

“Yes.”

“Because I was far away?”

Derek furrowed his brow.

“I mean, maybe at some point in time we came into contact and your body, or whatever noticed me and your ears unintentionally tried to follow me around but then I suddenly went away but you were still trying to reach me somehow?”

“Stiles,” Derek started and the human flinched at his voice. “Why was I able to catch you that night in the woods? After you had been in hiding for so long?”

The human rolled his shoulders again. “I smelled something… familiar. Something comforting. And when I followed that scent it lead me to you.”

Derek opened his mouth, but then closed it again.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what the brunette was playing at. But Derek didn’t believe in ‘mates’, didn’t believe that he was the one to grow up almost next door to his own. But then again, because this was Derek’s life, it made sense in a way that Stiles was forced to leave before they had the chance to properly meet; which somehow turned Derek into a social cripple and an Omega in his pack.

“So, what you’re trying to say is that you’re my mate,” Derek concluded slowly.

“I didn’t say that!” Stiles pointed out hastily. “I’m merely asking questions!”

Yes, Derek had noticed that; the way the brunette’s voice was rising with everything he said and Derek really shouldn’t think about how adorable he was in that moment, considering that he worked hard in trying to explain his theory, that apparently made him really uncomfortable.

“I thought human mates aren’t supposed to be influenced by that.”

“Maybe I am because I was a fox?”

“Fox don’t mate for life,” Derek replied in bewilderment.

“Some do,” Stiles argued. “Or maybe you just influenced me with your werewolf dick or werewolf vibes or what do I know? You think I was pleased to find out that I wasn’t even turned on when that super hot chick kissed me first month into college? No, instead I was disgusted and pushed her away which made me the asshole because I started the flirting, because I thought I had to start somewhere to get away from you!”

“So… you want to get back together because you can’t have anyone else?”

“No, I want to get back together because I’m in fucking love with you and—” Stiles abruptly stopped, his eyes wide when he realized what he had just said.

Ever since his first confession Stiles had developed some sort of complex, had never explicitly and earnestly told Derek that he liked him, least of all that he was in love with him. He used it sometimes to joke around but there had always been a hitch in his breath, a stuttering in his heartbeat that Derek had kept interpreting as a lie. But maybe it was just because he had been nervous, even when saying it jokingly. Considering how his first confession had turned out, it wasn’t that surprising. And to be fair, Derek had never said it himself.

“I,” Derek started, but before he could continue Stiles flailed his arms in front of him, pushing one hand over his mouth to stop what he was about to say.

“Don’t,” Stiles commanded. “Act like I’ve never said that.”

The werewolf nodded, but Stiles narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously for another few seconds before removing the hand.

“I don’t believe in mates,” Derek clarified. The brunette watched him expectantly. However the second part was a little trickier to say. Stiles probably knew because he kept patiently quiet. “And I don’t want you thinking I was only with you because of genetics. Or that I want to be with you because of that. It was my decision. You didn’t force me into anything. And neither did a superstitious magical connection. I want to be with you,” Derek shrugged in discomfort, fixing his eyes on a tiny hole in the wall, “because of who you are.”

Stiles’ face went through a myriad of expressions in a few seconds before it eventually settled on a tentative smile.

“Maybe… I shouldn’t have decided we couldn’t do it. Without talking to you about it.” 

“Maybe I should have snapped at you, instead of just giving up,” Stiles agreed.

They were silent for a moment, the brunette gnawing on his lips.

“So this time we should maybe communicate more. Be more honest to each other.”

“Probably,” the werewolf agreed.

Stiles nodded, then took Derek’s face between his hands, smacking a loud kiss to his lips.

“No giving up this time. No talk about we can’t do it or we shouldn’t limit ourselves or whatever stupid shit we told each other before I left for college. We’ll make this relationship work so hard, you won’t believe it. We’ll rock this boat, I tell you,” the brunette stated confidently.

“Yeah, we will,” Derek agreed without a shadow of doubt in his mind.

They wanted more honesty, more forthrightness.

It resulted in quite a few fights.

Usually Stiles was the vocal and loud one, while Derek remained stubbornly calm and tried to keep a level head in discussions. They were mostly petty fights: about how Stiles was too messy, leaving his clothes all over the floor; or Derek’s passive-aggressive attitude, whenever something wasn’t going his way; or Stiles’ libido which was apparently a little higher than Derek’s and even if Derek wouldn’t admit it under torture, he sometimes preferred cuddling over sex; or Derek’s over-possessiveness in regard to Stiles when it came to the Hale family.

Thankfully their pack left them alone for most of the time, well aware that they had to sort through some issues before Stiles was going to leave for college again. Even Malia, who supposedly had suffered more under the break up of Stiles and Derek than she had under the divorce of her parents didn’t come running the first day she heard that they were back together.

Stiles and Derek’s roles were reversed though, when they got really angry.

Whenever Stiles grew quiet in a discussion and shut down completely, it never bod well. Whereas Derek got loud, when he was majorly pissed about something.

Like that time he found out that Stiles had visited Kate Argent in the psychiatric facility she was housed in. Even his family had never heard Derek yell before. Stiles himself wasn’t a stranger to Derek’s outbursts, but that one was a new high point even for his standards.

The topic had come up randomly at the dining table, when Talia mentioned that Scott had told her Stiles had gone to San Francisco for the weekend before coming back to Beacon Hills for summer break. Maybe Stiles knew he couldn't lie about why he went there, maybe he felt like Talia already knew or maybe he just thought the Hales had a right to know; whatever the reasons, the brunette admitted freely that he had gone there to meet Kate.

Before anyone had the chance to scold the brunette properly for his reckless behavior, Derek exploded.

After their shock died down, the Hales left the living room quietly without a word and Stiles listened calmly to Derek’s raging until he eventually calmed down enough to cool his temper. But Derek still refused to listen to anything the human was trying to tell him, and instead stormed off to his room.

Stiles let him brood for an hour, before he followed.

“It was Gerard,” the brunette whispered into the dark room after closing the door. “I needed to know why, and Kate, she was the only one who knew. I’m not trying to start a war. I wanted to know if he was still a threat.”

Derek took a deep breath. He was sitting on the couch, glowering at the empty wall in front of him and letting his claws extend and retract.

“He was sick,” Stiles continued stubbornly in light of Derek’s silence. “He wanted Scott’s heart. He thought it would cure him without turning him into one of the monsters he hates so much. So he used the Martins, offered them money, manipulated them. They were the brains, the Whittemores were supposed to be the muscles and his hands would stay clean.”

“How do you know?”

Stiles didn’t move an inch from the door, his voice low. “I heard them talking,” he explained, then tagged on hastily: “You can’t tell anyone.”

Derek sighed, rubbing his temple.

The whole True Alpha thing was a mess. Everyone believed it had been David Whittemore, but without proof there was nothing the police could have done. But still, Derek knew what kind of man Gerard Argent was, knew that he had been sick around the time he had tested Derek.

And he knew that even if Stiles didn’t let it show, the attack had traumatized him, that he wouldn't lie about it. He could see it sometimes when the brunette looked at his friend with a painful expression whenever he thought no one was watching. But Derek was always watching.

“I won’t,” he assured, then stood up and opened his arms in an inviting gesture. Stiles hesitated for a moment, until relief flooded his features and he rushed into the embrace.

Maybe they both hadn’t been ready for a relationship back then, hadn’t known how much work it required, that it wasn’t all easy, that it could get rocky, that there were going to be hard times they had to fight through. But giving up wasn’t an option as they both had figured out.

The year apart had taught them well.

Scott had never hid the fact that he was confused over their break up, but also never meddled in any of their affairs. He never talked to Derek about Stiles, unless the werewolf asked and probably behaved the same way with his best friend.

But a few weeks after they got back together, he probably couldn’t hold it in anymore.

He was visiting Talia for some Alpha/Co-Alpha bonding time or whatever they were calling their meetings, when he spotted Derek in the library and made a bee line for him.

“I’m so glad you’re back together,” he started without further ado, pulling Derek into a crushing hug. “He was such a… such a bitch sometimes. Even Heather couldn't deal with him!”

Derek arched his eyebrows at the other werewolf.

“You are not allowed to ever break up again. I can’t deal with Stiles like that a second time,” the younger man continued, then broke away and added like an afterthought: “But no pressure” and continued his way to Talia’s office without further elaborating.

Linus and Derek’s relationship was like a roller-coaster ride.

The boy had accepted the werewolf at the beginning. After all, he had taken care of his big brother during the time he was vulnerable. Yet, Linus sort of started to dislike him around the time Stiles stopped visiting because Derek had told him to stay away, and really hated him by the time Stiles lived with the Hales again.

However, the blond had made an effort after Derek and Stiles started dating and the werewolf believed they both had reached a mutual liking for each. Until Stiles left for college.

After that, Linus didn’t even look at him anymore.

Holidays which were spent with the whole pack had turned into a disaster, with Derek more than once ‘accidentally’ spilling food all over his clothes, stumbling over nothing, slipping on the floor or spending a lot of time in the bathroom because various unpleasant momentary sicknesses.

He was fairly certain that misuse of magic was prohibited, but Julia was the only one who noticed but never said anything and the werewolf wasn’t going to snitch on a ten year old.

The first time Derek met Linus after he  had started dating Stiles again, the ten year old threatened him with something worse than an inflammation of his bladder or diarrhea if he ever hurt his big brother again. The kid didn’t specify, but he was learning under Julia and Derek was pretty sure she had some nasty tricks up her sleeve.

It took them a long time to get back to friendly terms. Awkward months in which Derek didn’t know what to do to make things right between them. Progress was usually made under Linus’ direction. The boy was fairly direct at what Derek was allowed to do and what not, and maybe sought a little too much pleasure from making the werewolf bid to his will.

Until Stiles eventually noticed and told him to stop.

Derek was just happy that he finally could spent holidays again without changing clothes three times an hour.

Lydia and Stiles became friends in Stiles’ third semester.

Derek wasn’t pleased. Mostly because Lydia was still dating that prick Jackson and Derek could deal with a lot of shit, but not with a double date involving the bane of his existence.

They met in college on accident, and Stiles wanted to stay very far away from the red head, but she pulled him into a café and sat him down for a good long talk. About what, Stiles never explicitly told him but from his demeanor and choice of words sometimes, he figured it had something to do with what lead to the Stilinskis leaving Beacon Hills. The brunette told him, that he used to have a feeling about Lydia, like she had tried to reach out to him that day they met in the Hale living room. That there was something burdening her—and that he had found out during their first conversation that he had been right.

Derek accepted Stiles’ tight-lipped attitude concerning everything around that topic, knew that the brunette didn't like to bring it up, tried to suppress the accompanying bad memories. 

There were times Stiles raved about Lydia in a way that made Derek jealous because she was there with Stiles and he was a three hour drive away and not allowed to visit. But it soon became pretty clear that the brunette was so enthusiastic about her because apparently the woman was the first real friend he had made at college.

It was sort of a miracle that they met on campus, though, because Lydia was usually in the Math Department. Which was why Derek suspected the woman had hunted Stiles down. Maybe simply to ease her guilty conscience.

Whatever the reason, though, she was a good friend, as Derek had to find out.

So everything was probably fine.

Stiles was in his fourth semester of college, when Malia got a little sister.

Stiles wasn’t joking when he said he wanted an exorcist present for the birth of the baby, because according to his logic a child born from Braeden and Peter could only be a spawn of evil.

Derek thought he was exaggerating.

The proud parents named the girl Abhay.

Stiles called her Wednesday as homage to the Addams family; what with her dark hair and dark eyes and surprisingly pale skin; and continued to do so even months later which made the name actually stick. Every now and then, at one point or another, everyone in the pack caught themselves calling the toddler Wednesday instead of Abhay.

Braeden hated it.

As it turned out, Abhay was a werejackal.

There was some playful teasing about what the heck Peter was doing with his children, Stiles even voicing the involvement of black magic.

Malia was the proudest older sister anyone had ever seen when she found out and collected Derek’s books to read them to her baby sister at night.

Nonna and Nonno were beyond themselves, promptly returning from Sri Lanka. After doting on the girl for a few weeks, they asked their grand-children who was next.

Derek didn’t know how their relationship had made it through Stiles’ undergraduate years unscathed, but somehow they managed. They had been apart for a year and that helped to realize, that a large distance wasn’t the end of life or their feelings.

Especially with someone who had as little shame as Stiles and was therefore not at all embarrassed to engage Derek in impromptu telephone sex, which Derek was bad at. Like really, really bad. Most of the time Stiles would end up laughing his ass off on the other end, while Derek pushed a pillow in his face, trying to suffocate himself.

In front of the camera however, it was usually Stiles who felt less comfortable, checking twice whether the door to his room was really locked and making sure that his roommate was out with his girlfriend or whatever for the next two hours or so.

Getting alone time with Stiles during breaks, when he came back to Beacon Hills wasn’t easy either, because he was either hijacked by Scott, Stiles’ parents, Malia or generally the pack. And as much as the werewolf loved and cared for all them, it was really grating on his nerves.

It wasn’t even like he could visit Stiles at college very often because, quote unquote ‘dude, I wouldn’t get ten minutes of cramming in with you around. Plus, you’d scare my roomy and I’ve had become quite attached to him because he’s clean and quiet and sticks to his side of the room.’

Derek had met Noah once, had heard about him more often than not over Skype. He was a submissive, people-pleasing person mated to an equally nice and therefore totally unfitting Alpha-to-be, so no, Derek wouldn’t even dream of scaring him.

Not like the other douches, who had given Stiles shit. Like that one kid that had found out about Stiles’ past via an inaccurate newspaper article—which was greatly blown out of proportion and full of false information—and spread the story around campus. Or that other asshole who had constantly implied that the only reason Stiles had been admitted to Berkeley was because of his pack relations.

Stiles never cared much about what they said.

Derek did.

Scott and Talia as well.

Stiles had to talk them down for an hour to prevent all three of them rushing up to college and show the prick what ‘pack relation’ was all about.

The one Stiles couldn’t stop was Lydia.

Three days later, the bullying stopped. However no one dared to even look at Stiles, let alone talk to him for a few days in fear they did something that offended him and therefore angered the scary woman from the Maths Department.

And even when Stiles was in Beacon Hills and not busy with other people there was still Derek’s Archenemy No. #1.

Pop culture.

“Do you know how much catching up I have to do? Supernatural was in season three when I was turned. Three! The last season of Lost aired and I heard it was horrible, but I have to live through this terror myself. And all those video games! You know I can’t watch shows when I’m at college because I wouldn’t learn so I can only do it during break. You understand, don’t you?”

Derek groaned in annoyance and turned a page in his book, bumping Stiles a little in his back while doing so. The brunette just chuckled in reply.

They were holed up in Derek’s bedroom, Stiles leaning against the older man’s shoulder, slowly tipping his head back, making pucker lips to mock him.

“You’re lucky you’re entertaining when you watch those shows,” Derek replied, shoving his head away. “And that Trickster you like so much? He dies in season five or six and never comes back.”

“You fucker,” Stiles screeched. “You know I hate spoilers!”

Technically, Derek wasn’t sure whether the guy was dead. At least Cora said she was sure he would return sooner or later, after all he was an archangel and Loki and whatever.

“Want me to go on?” he asked in a light tone. “I could start with How I met Your Mother should have really been called and stop with who dies when and how in Game of Thrones.”

“If you do, I’ll file a divorce,” Stiles stated, his voice and heartbeat steady at the threat.

Derek snorted in amusement. It wasn’t like he could actually follow through with it. Even though Cora and his dad combined had watched every TV show under the sun of the last twenty years, he had only witnessed the greater outbursts like the 'Lost Debacle from 2010', the 'HIMYM Outrage from 2014', the 'Dexter Kiss Discomfiture from 2011' or the 'Red Wedding Fiasco from 2013', that had left his dad sobbing in front of the TV until Talia picked him up, threw him over her shoulder and brought him upstairs to discard him in the master bedroom, chiding him that this wouldn’t have happened if he had read the books as she had suggested several times.

“Shouldn’t we get married for that first?”

“If that was a proposal, I’ll decline. I’m not marrying a walking spoiler.”

“Trust me, if I’d propose that person would notice.”

“Uhu, keeping it purposefully vague, are we?” Stiles continued, turning his head slightly so Derek could see the smirk playing on his lips as he wiggled his eyebrows.

“Just watch your show.”

Stiles stuck his tongue out, but then turned back to watch soulless Sam talking about UFOs with his brother. Or something like that. Derek barely payed attention to what was going on in the shows, more transfixed on Stiles’ face, how it portrayed everything he thought; his delight at banter, frustration at someone dying—sometimes again—pride when he caught a reference, or holding his breath at a particularly interesting scene.

“Derek, you know, right?” Stiles suddenly asked, pulling Derek out of his thoughts. The human’s eyes were still fixed on the screen, surprisingly serious considering the scene unfolding on TV. “No matter how busy I am, or who I’m with, or how far away, or what I have to do, if you’d say a word, I’d be there.” The brunette tilted his head further away, hiding his blush in the process but Derek could smell the awkwardness on him. “Because you’ll always be my number one priority.”

The werewolf smiled softly, reached his arm around to pull Stiles into a one-armed hug, resting his chin on the head of the brunette man.

“Yeah, I know,” Derek acknowledged. “Same here.”

When Stiles was barely a month into his first semester of his master’s degree, Laura made Jordan the most unromantic proposal in the history of proposals and that included their dad’s first attempt at asking Talia to marry him after getting drunk and into a fight with a stranger, who was hitting on her. He had been bloody from his mouth, because the other guy had knocked out a tooth. Frederick had been unsteady on his legs and even worse in his balance when kneeling down. The next day, he couldn’t even remember that she had refused.

According to eyewitnesses—and Stiles claimed he would forever hold it against his dad that he didn’t call him beforehand, even though he had known Laura had planned it for that day—it was along the lines of: “Do you want to join the Hale Pack? You know, there’s always a ring attached.”

And Jordan replied with: “Gee, Laura, I’m flattered, but Cora is a little too young for me.”

She threw a boot at his head.

They were planning a spring marriage.

A year later, when the pack found out that Laura was pregnant, no one wanted to tell Nonno and Nonna because they were stuck in a tiny village on Greenland due to a snow storm and everyone knew, came hell or high water, or in that particular case, a freezing gale, they would most definitely try to find a way back home even if they had to make it on foot or by swimming through the ocean.

On the other hand the soon-to-be-great-grandparents would be angry at them for keeping silent.

In the end the Hales decided via head and tail.

As suspected, Ada and Eugene found a way.

They left their faithful Ural in exchange for a sledge and made it to the other side of Greenland, where they hired a charted aircraft that brought them to Canada, where they boarded the next flight to California.

The Hales wordlessly, unanimously vowed to never tell the proud great-grandparents ever again when they were stuck somewhere.

Christmas had always been quiet. Or as quiet as was possible with a huge family like the Hales. Usually there were the common arguments about food or what games to play and whether or not to watch A Christmas Carol for the hundredth time.

The year Stiles and Derek got back together everything was still pretty sane. But the year after that, Talia probably couldn’t hold it in anymore and gave them the most horrendous, ugly, self-knitted—though certainly not by Talia—sweaters both men had ever seen.

Stitched on Derek’s was an arrow pointing to the right and the words “I’m with mate”. Stiles’ sweater read, an arrow to the left, “I’m the mate”.

They never called each other ‘mates’. Derek refused to acknowledge any of it and Stiles was pretty happy about that, because the whole ‘I destroyed Derek’s life for over twenty years’ made him a little uncomfortable.

Talia should have known better than to pick a fight with Stiles.

After that, Christmas turned into a competition about who could find the ugliest sweater with the dumbest lines written on them. Which wouldn’t have been so bad, if it had stayed just between Talia and Stiles. But soon everyone thought it was sort of funny and joined in.

The Hale men, meaning Frederick, Eric, Derek and Peter were the only ones who played nice and didn’t buy useless shirts or sweaters. It went on for six years until everyone finally decided to stop because they eventually realized they had a closet full of clothes they would never wear.

The year everyone vowed to stop, Frederick decided to give each and everyone a sweater reading ‘#DouchePack’.

Even Abhay and Emily, Laura’s daughter, got pink shirts reading ‘Mini #Douche-Pack’ with flowers and unicorns stitched on.

Peter just crossed his arms in front of his chest, shaking his head at the way Talia squealed at the cuteness that were her niece and grand-daughter. “If someone found out how Talia usually behaves, the reputation of the Hales would be completely lost.”

Derek, who watched Stiles cooing at the brunette toddler in his arms, shrugged. “We should be glad she can keep a straight face in public then.”

“I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again: I should have become the Alpha,” Peter went on, picking up his daughter who was tugging at his pant sleeves for attention.

“She’s a good Alpha. Just a horrible mother,” Derek claimed, glowering at the sweater his mother had bought him the year before and forced to wear for this year’s Christmas; a tight green and red monstrosity with a human hugging an ugly wolf, and beneath the words ‘Matey mate’. At least Talia said it was supposed to show that, because the wolf looked more like a disfigured bear and the human like a pink fish with legs.

Stiles had laughed so hard the first time he saw Derek wearing it, he had almost choked on his own spit. Even after a few hours his mouth still twitched every time he laid eyes on Derek.

Peter pondered his nephew's reply for a moment, while he scratched a spot behind his daughter’s ear, that made her immediately shift into a jackal with black beady eyes, too large ears and big paws, a goofy expression on her face. She yawned once and snuffed into her father’s arms, before she closed her eyes.

“I should have become the mother,” Peter finally decided earnestly.

“I’m sorry, Peter,” Frederick supplied, while Derek was still blinking at his uncle in bewilderment, “you’re just not my type.”

“I think I have a dress that might fit you,” Braeden stated, giving Peter a once over as she pretended to measure his size. “And Abhay would love to apply your make-up.”

Derek groaned. And decided that the hash tag #DouchePack was pretty accurate for them.

Derek never figured out what kind of friendship Deucalion and Stiles shared. He didn’t know if the Alpha liked Stiles, or hated him or maybe was afraid of the human. And if he was afraid, Derek wanted to know why. And wondered whether or not he should be a little scared, too, then.

If asked, Stiles always replied with ‘We’re bros’ and then chuckled maniacally.

Over the years it became apparent that they had some sort of rapport. It had started with the day Stiles had coaxed Deucalion into letting him wear a double mark and Derek was pretty sure the brunette had his hands in persuading the Alpha into agreeing to let the two packs merge, too.

Whenever Stiles and Deucalion met, the brunette smiled and wiggled his eyebrows and the older man grimaced like he was in pain.

However, they seemed to be on pretty friendly terms most of the time. They were meeting for coffee sometimes and the human helped out around the Alpha’s office every once in a while. To Stiles’ 25^th birthday, Deucalion came by to give Stiles a present consisting of an old, very expensive looking tome and a muzzle. Stiles saw the device, and spontaneously broke into bursts of laughter.

Derek was a little worried.

Apparently they had inside jokes.

When Stiles was home over spring break last year of his master’s degree, they accidentally ran into Deucalion on the streets while shopping for dinner. The Alpha stepped out of his car, adjusting his sunglasses, then stopped dead in his track the second he caught Stiles’ scent. They acknowledge each other; a curt nod from the werewolf, which the human countered with a dazzling smile.

Apparently the brunette decided that this was the perfect time to inform Derek that he was going to work in the Alpha’s office as some kind of researcher or adviser after college.

Obviously, that wasn’t just news to Derek, but also Deucalion who let out an uncharacteristically perplexed ‘What?’

“We both know you’ll hire me. I’m the best choice, after all,” Stiles drawled in response and then dragged Derek into the grocery store without further ado.

“I don’t get it,” the werewolf whispered after the doors automatically closed behind them. “Are you friends. Or does he hate you?”

“One thing does not rule out the other,” the brunette replied pseudo-philosophically. “But I guess we respect each other, if that helps.”

It didn’t, but it was the most the human had ever offered before. “Don’t cheat on me,” Derek established wryly, and Stiles grimaced in response, then elbowed him into the side.

“Like I would do that. That dude is like a hundred years old. And whenever he gives himself a pep-up talk before his speeches, he calls himself ‘demon wolf’. I’m sorry, but I can’t take anyone serious who calls himself ‘demon wolf’ in a completely none-sarcastic manner.”

“I knew it,” Derek deadpanned. “You’re blackmailing him.”

Stiles smirked, then picked up an apple from the fruit stand and threw it at the werewolf. Derek caught it easily, then looked over to Stiles and snorted in amusement when he spotted the mischief reflected in the buoyant brown eyes. The human scoffed, then threw an orange.

“Fruit salad for dessert. Because Malia likes it,” he decided, going for a banana.

“One day you’ll have to tell me,” Derek let him know. “And don’t forget the grapes.”

“Never,” Stiles replied, but didn’t elaborate further.

Stiles was probably sitting in one of his lectures when Derek sent him a message simply consisting of Run. In his defense, the werewolf didn’t have a lot of time for explanations considering that he was currently busy restraining Braeden and simultaneously tipping off a warning to his soon to be dead boyfriend.

They were in front of the Beacon Hills elementary school building, Braeden growling and snapping at him to let her go, until she eventually kicked herself free and Derek was forced to release his grip.

On the plus side, he now had two hands free to type.

Abhay introduced herself as Wednesday first day in school. Braeden out for blood. Peter doesn’t know yet. You have one hour.

The drive to Stiles’ college actually took three to four, but Derek was not going to underestimate the wrath of a woman like Braeden, who by now was on her way to the parking lot at a thundering pace.

Derek followed her, when his phone chimed with a reply. Fuck

He chuckled at the attached blurry picture that showed part of Stiles’ face—there was only one eye, cheek and jaw—mouth wide open as he left the lecture in a rush, the flabbergasted expressions of his classmates and professor visible in the background.

At least it’s not Laura’s, the werewolf tipped back, laughing quietly.

“This is not funny,” Braeden growled, heels stomping in the ground, as she arrived at her car—a black SUV sponsored by Argents Tactics as she was now officially Training Adviser.

Braeden had never taken on the Hale’s mark, and she wasn’t claimed anymore. According to her, claiming had always felt wrong and restrictive and she didn’t feel comfortable being bound by other people. Yet she would never deny her ties with the Hales—not that it was really possible. Peter and Braeden had a child and a second underway and were living together by now. They weren’t married, though, much to Nonna’s disapproval. It was another thing Braeden felt would strap down her freedom and Peter was happy with that arrangement anyway.

“Her name is Abhay,” the woman snarled, “She does not have the name of a dark, gloomy girl from a nineties movie,” Braeden continued with a manipulative tremor in her voice. “It was my grandmother’s name and it’s very important to me.”

Derek knew for a fact that was a lie. The woman just liked to say it to guilt pack members into using her real name.

The werewolf quirked an eyebrow at her. “Don’t kill him,” he pseudo-pleaded with a flat voice, “I won’t be able to pay the mortgage for our house.”

“You’ll find a cheaper one,” she assured consolingly, slamming the door to the black car shut, after climbing in. “And another mate while you’re at it.”

Derek shook his head, and got into the car on the passenger’s side. He had barely fastened his seat belt, when his phone vibrated again.

“And anyway, you made enough money with your YA novel that is based on Stiles and you but we all pretend it’s not so you won’t feel awkward about it.”

Derek ignored the heat in his face, while he busied himself with his phone. “Not as much as you think,” he replied, opening the latest messages.

“And your column receives good critics.”

“Yeah, it actually does.”

You’re not helping.

On a scale from She-Devil to Kill Bill, how bad is it?

Are you really comparing your situation to a scorned housewife and an almost murdered bride?

JUST ANSWER THE QUESTION

The tires screeched on the asphalt when Braeden started the car, engine roaring before it suddenly calmed down, the woman carefully checking left and right for any kids before she steered the car slowly out of the parking lot. Barely on the street, she hit the gas again.

Derek watched her from the corner of his eyes, before he wrote his reply.

Count of Monte Christo

Great

Is that worse or better than Kill Bill?

Depends on who you’re asking

I’m asking YOU, jackass!

Don’t be an ass

You’d stop her if you'd love me.

“Oh my God, stop smiling at your phone,” Braeden suddenly snapped, snatching the device out of his hands, glancing at him with a mixture of disbelief and disgust. “I can’t believe you two. How long have you been together? Eight years?”

“Are you counting our,”—as Stiles liked to say—“hiatus?”

“Seven years, eight years, it doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t be this disgustingly lovey-dovey anymore. Your love-stricken banter is nauseous. And even when you’re fighting it still looks like foreplay.”

Derek shrugged, not commenting on the words. Mostly because an angry Stiles was a turn on the werewolf had not expected, so he couldn’t even deny the last accusation.

“We don’t see each other very often?” he tried to reason.

“I hope that’s not your key to a working relationship,” she replied. “You’ll start living together soon and I’d hate to see you two break up again.”

Derek quirked an eyebrow at her.

Stiles was almost finished with his master’s degree and they had talked a lot about what was waiting in the future for them. Stiles had been very vocal about the fact that his family and his pack were important and he wanted to stay with them again. In Beacon Hills. The years he had spent at college had shown him that; had almost seemed like torture and he was lucky that he was double majoring and therefore barely had time to think about how much he missed everyone and instead stuck his head in his books to study or was busy with work to pay for tuition.

And anyway, the job for Deucalion was a pretty sure bet. Derek had asked once or twice what he was supposed to do in the Alpha’s office, but the brunette just replied with something vague that somehow implied fraud and extortion, but the werewolf was pretty sure Stiles was messing with him.

Derek on the other hand used the time to get ‘Moonflower’ released, which started off slow but by now had an impressive readership.

He wrote a column called ‘The DouchePack Chronicles’, in which he described the life with his pack to let off some steam mostly. He had sent it in to the New York Times on a whim and was surprised when he actually saw it in print with his pseudonym—and even more surprised when they wanted to make it a weekly series.

By now speculations on the internet were running wild which pack was behind that mysterious and obviously completely crazy ‘DouchePack’. Thankfully, Derek never worked with real names and had left out information that could give them away from he beginning. The Hales, though very famous, came up only once in a forum and that was more as some kind of joke, apparently. After all, Talia Hale was a reputable Alpha with a tight grip on her pack, famous for her stoic attitude.

Derek couldn't stop the laughter after reading that.

So yes, they sort of had a future and they were planing to finally build it together in their own house, which was why they bought a shabby, run-down cottage situated in the preserve so they could enjoy some peace and quiet in their lives. It was reclusive, but still easy accessible, and about the same distance away from the Hale mansion and the Stilinski house alike.

The cottage required a lot of work and Derek was mostly working on it alone. But he enjoyed the woodwork and alone time.

Stiles came home every couple weeks to help out during the day and work on his master’s thesis at night.

His topic was 'The Great Riots from 1726 in Ireland'. Mostly because Peter had been majorly peeved after finding out that the brunette had only used the Hale diaries to gather information on the Argents and their relationship to the Hales; and that Stiles had never actually planned on using them for his bachelor thesis—which had been Truth and Fiction about True Alphas, which caused quiet a stir among historians and narrow-minded, old fashioned conservatives.

To appease Peter—and because Stiles had really gotten interested in that particular period of time—the student chose to go with that for his master’s thesis.

Derek suspected the only reason Peter was actually angry was the fact, that Stiles had successfully lied to him without him noticing.

So Stiles used his time back in Beacon Hills not only for working on the house, but also to talk with Peter, Ada and Eugene via skype about his thesis, which lead to a rather tight schedule: pending between Berkeley and Beacon Hills, studying for his classes, working on his thesis and on the house. Derek told him to he didn’t need to strain himself, that he would be fine to take care of the cottage alone, but the brunette made it fairly clear that this was going to be their home and he wanted to help even if that meant that the painting was a little off at the edges, or the gesso wasn’t even.

Derek was sure, their future was going to be okay even if they now had an imprint of Stiles’ nose and cheek in the kitchen wall.

“This is even worse,” Braeden interrupted his thoughts suddenly, though Derek didn’t know what his face or body language were doing to elicit such a reaction. “Here, have it back,” she growled, throwing the phone in his lap. “You’re internally pining, I can feel it.”

Derek snorted, unlocked his screen. There were already two new messages.

What? No reply?

OMG YOU REALLY DON’T LOVE ME

I love you, he typed back, marveling a little at the fact how easy these words came to him now. But this is Braeden we’re talking about

It didn’t take long for Stiles to answer. Good point

if you happen to drop by with the maniac, I’ll bring chinese takeout from that restaurant you like so much

Derek chuckled at the last message, pocketing his phone away as Braeden made an illegal U-turn.

“Think we could get Linus out of school and pick Malia up on our way?” he asked the dark-haired woman. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes, before a small smile slipped on her lips and her grip around the steering wheel relaxed a little.

“I call Peter, that he has to pick up Abhay,” she replied and took the exit in the direction of the Beacon Hills High School in the traffic circle.

They wanted to move into the cottage right after Stiles graduation, but Derek had run into some trouble with leaky pipes and rusty water, which threw off his whole schedule. The brunette didn’t mind, yet instead of celebrating his graduation, he spent the day getting the masters bedroom ready, while the whole pack helped to make last finishes to kitchen and bathroom, and get the water running. After that it was inhabitable, though still a work in progress.

But they had a large walk-in closet now.

And three bedrooms.

After all, Stiles and Derek were in for a very long ride.

And they didn’t intend to make it alone.

Stiles never got rid of his nesting habit.