Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Derek first learns that a crush has a specific scent when he’s six years old. He’s been playing on the lawn in front of the house, dicking around with the ball more than throwing it into the hoop, when a car pulls up and unloads Laura and three of her classmates.

“Class project!” Laura announces cheerfully as she ruffles his hair when Derek runs up to greet her. They are werewolves, and he’s still at that age when physical affection from his elder sister isn’t embarrassing.

Derek is bundled up with the group as they head inside, Laura yelling loudly for their mom, asking if there’s any lemonade. They are all in the kitchen, when Derek looks around, confused, sniffing, and finally fixes on Andrew.

“Why do you smell like cotton candy?” he asks, almost hopeful that the boy has some on him. “Oh, but… you don’t now. But you did! You just did! When you looked at Laura, you—”

Andrew has gone red in the face and is coughing into his lemonade, while the other two girls giggle. Laura turns almost purple and hisses at him: “Shut up! Oh my God, Der, you’re the worst!” Then, she runs out of the kitchen, the others following, still giggling.

Utterly confused, Derek looks at his mother. “Mom?”

Talia Hale, heavily pregnant and looking a lot softer for it than usual—a lot more like Derek’s mom and not the formidable alpha of the presiding pack of Beacon Hills, laughs at his puzzlement.

“He likes her,” she explains, picking up the glasses from the table and setting them in the sink.

“So?” Derek asks, brows furrowed. “All her friends like her. They don’t all—oh! You mean, he likes her like he wants to kiss her?”

Talia chuckles. “Yes, sort of like that. Andrew has a little crush on your sister. Now, Derek.” She fixes him with a stern look. “This isn’t something to tease him about, okay? In fact, if you ever catch anyone smelling like that, the polite thing to do is not to say anything.”

“Why?” Derek asks, bewildered.

“First of all, because not everyone has a wolf’s nose.” She pinches the tip of his nose playfully. Derek bats her away. “And second, because people can’t help how they feel. It’s not nice to tease them about it, because you don’t choose to feel a certain way about someone and you can’t just stop. When you’re crushing on someone you already feel…”

“Bad?”

“Well, not bad, necessarily, but you do feel vulnerable. You know, like… like you don’t have any clothes on, and everyone can see it.”

“Ew.”

“Yes, well. That’s love for you.” Talia laughed. “The polite thing would be to offer them your jacket, so to speak. Pretend like you don’t notice.”

Derek looks at her dubiously. “That won’t work with werewolves.”

“Yes, but not everyone is a werewolf,” Talia says and ruffles his hair. “Just don’t be mean, okay?”

“I’m not mean,” Derek says, his attention already slipping, as his eyes fall on the plate of cookies on the counter behind her. “Can I have a cookie?”

“You can have one if you bring the plate to your sister’s room and behave.”

“I will, I will! Gimme!”

Andrew blushes scarlet when he sees him, and Laura glares at him. Derek very prudently says nothing. He has taken two cookies though, and that feels like a way more important secret to keep than someone’s stupid crush anyway.

--

Crushes don’t always smell like cotton candy. The scent varies from person to person, but it’s still distinctive by the emotion it stirs. Derek often thinks of it afterwards in terms of that plate of cookies. It’s like he can see them, he can smell them and they smell amazing, and he knows they’d be chewy and warm inside, but they’re sitting just out of reach, and he’s not allowed to have them, and if he steals one, he’d feel kind of guilty.

The scent of a crush encompasses all of that. Derek becomes familiar with it, encountering it every so often when he’s with Laura, or some of his elder cousins, or even, shockingly, with his mom. He’s been good about not saying anything. He kind of gets it.

He’s sixteen when he detects the scent again, he realizes that it’s directed at him. That’s the first time it’s ever happened.

Initially, Derek is surprised that it is indeed the first time. He’s not arrogant, but he knows he’s attractive. Hell, he’s sixteen, and he already has a couple of break-ups under his belt. Paige, a quiet girl one year his junior, who shared her love of music and a few sweet kisses with him before her family moved. And Rob, Peter’s friend, who was giving Derek a crush course on exactly what his body was good for until Derek’s parents discovered them, and Peter was banished from the house for a while and Rob sent away by his own alpha.

Derek is excessively familiar with the scent of physical attraction, is used to have it aimed his way when he walks the school corridors. But no one has ever been crushing on him before, especially not like this, when all the emotions are there but not a drop of arousal. It’s confusing, and it makes him… not entirely comfortable, considering the source.

It starts when he comes home from school one afternoon to find a frantic-looking woman with curly black hair talking to his mother. Derek knows her. It’s Melissa McCall, head nurse at the local hospital. Derek remembers how great she was not mentioning his fear of needles when he had come in to update his vaccinations. Apparently, while werewolves couldn’t get sick with most human ailments, it was still undetermined if they could be carriers, and Talia Hale took her duty to protect the town under her care very seriously.

But right now, Melissa isn’t displaying any of her good humor or the ability to talk to her patients on their level without appearing condescending. She’s a mess, she’s been crying, her mascara is in rivulets on her cheeks, she’s wringing her hands anxiously, and she smells overwhelmingly of fear. Derek’s mother shoots him a glance, but doesn’t banish him from the living room. She’s the kind of alpha who prefers to keep as few secrets from her pack as possible, those old enough to be able to handle it, of course. Derek preens a little at being tacitly allowed to stay.

It turns out, Melissa’s eleven-year-old son was bitten by a rogue alpha passing through town and, judging by the fact that the bite had healed overnight, the kid has turned. Talia is scowling which is putting Melissa even more on edge. Derek knows, though, that the scowl has more to do with the rogue alpha passing undetected through Hale territory and an innocent kid having been harmed on her watch. Derek’s dad, human, but no less cognizant of Melissa’s emotions for it, wraps a comforting arm around her shoulders and sends his wife a pointed look.

Talia deflates slightly and looks instantly apologetic. She moves closer on the couch and takes Melissa’s hands in hers.

“Scott is a part of my pack now, if you and he both consent to it. I will give him all the training and protection he needs. We’ll catch the rogue or break the bond between them if he eludes us. You don’t have to worry, Melissa. We take care of our own.”

Melissa sobs in relief and all but falls into Talia’s arms. His mother is a powerful alpha, who views the entire town of Beacon Hills as hers to protect. People know this and respect her. The two women had barely spoken a handful of times before, yet it was the alpha’s house where Melissa ran to in time of crisis. Derek can’t help but feel proud of that, of how much people trust his mother.

Melissa leaves eventually to go get Scott, while Talia makes calls to have the entire core family assembled. Many people are part of the pack by extension, but it’s not every day that they take a new wolf in, and it feels right to have all the Hales present for it. Even Peter is allowed in the house for the occasion.

Melissa comes back with not one, but two kids in tow. One is undoubtedly Scott. He has her coloring, her eyes, and a certain air of sweetness around him that is his mother’s defining trait. The other kid is very clearly not a blood relation, though by the way Scott is clutching at his hand, he might as well be.

He’s skinny like a stick figure, with dark brown hair that no one clearly had the patience to cut in any sort of fashion so it was simply buzzed instead. His big brown eyes are distinctly reminiscent of Bambi, if not for the way they are taking in everything around him with a sort of protective fierceness that sweet cartoon woodland creatures never hoped to have. He’s looking at the assembled werewolves as if he’s taking down their number and is marking down the position of escape routes.

“Yeah, sorry. This is Stiles,” Melissa says, making a helpless gesture at him as if there is no way of explaining him other than that. Derek will learn in years to come just how accurate that observation is.

Talia doesn’t bat an eyelash, though Derek can tell she’s hiding her amusement. But he can also see that his mother respects the show of solidarity the two boys demonstrate. She comes over to stand in front of them, holding their eyes in turn.

“Welcome, Scott,” she says and touches his shoulder briefly.

Scott tenses, looking down, and muttering something like “Thanks” under his breath.

Talia turns her gaze on the other boy. “And you, Stiles. What are you here for? Are you seeking the Bite to be a wolf like your friend?”

There is no way, of course, that she’d be giving it to him without his parents’ consent or until he turns eighteen and can petition for it. But the kid goes rigid all the same, Scott looks up abruptly, glaring at the alpha, and even Melissa looks alarmed, stepping closer.

Stiles, though, Stiles jerks his chin up, staring down the alpha defiantly, as if none of them can hear the panicked-fast beat of his heart.

“No,” he says very clearly, his voice, still decidedly a child’s voice on the edge of breaking, carrying effortlessly. “I’m here to make sure my best friend isn’t locked up in some dungeon, hooked to some torture device and used as… as… as some sort of chew toy for you guys!”

He’s red in the face by the time he’s finished, visibly trembling, but still tracking down every werewolf in the room and clearly challenging the alpha. Scott looks at him in alarm, while Melissa covers her face with her palms.

“Stiles…” she groans.

Cora growls lowly and starts forward, but Derek easily grabs her shoulder and holds her back. His father is clearly amused, Peter is smirking, a gleeful expression on his face, Laura is obviously struggling to hold in her laughter, and even Derek feels his lips twitch. The kid’s got balls.

Talia doesn’t laugh, though, looking at Stiles with a thoughtful expression. “I can assure you, Stiles, that I only want what’s best for Scott. He’s a werewolf now, and he will need training and a pack to be healthy and stable. There is no… er, torture dungeon in our house, but I can give you a tour so you can check for yourself if you like. I cannot guarantee, however, that Scott will not end up… being a ‘chew toy’ at some point. Werewolf training is messy, but that’s how we learn control. My kids all went through the same thing. You can see for yourself that they have turned out all right.” She tilts her head at them without taking her eyes off Stiles.

“Oh, I don’t know, Mom,” Laura drawls, grinning. “I think Derek still isn’t quite housebroken.”

Derek elbows her in the ribs, and she kicks his shin in response. It devolves quickly into the werewolf version of a slap fight, until Peter takes them both by the scruff of their necks and forcibly separates them.

“I see what you mean,” Talia says drily, sparing them an unimpressed look before turning back to Stiles. “This, I cannot protect Scott from. But if he’s anything like this lot, he’ll be perfectly capable of giving as good as he gets.”

Stiles chews on his bottom lip, looking torn, but the immature display has clearly settled something for him.

“That’s fair, I guess,” he says, slightly more subdued. “Sorry, I’ll… I’ll butt out. Leave you to it. Um. Thanks for not ripping my throat out.”

Before Talia can respond, Scott jerks him back to his side. “You’re staying!” he declares, his heartrate spiking in a way that makes every werewolf in the room freeze. “If I’m pack, you’re pack.” He turns to Talia, glaring, baring his teeth without knowing what he’s doing. “I’m not staying without Stiles! If you kick him out, I’ll go too!”

The level of noise goes up suddenly, as everyone seems to be talking at once. Talia saying that no one is kicking anyone out, Melissa, terrified, chastising Scott, Peter commenting on insolent brats, Cora, feeling insulted, growling. Scott, though, Scott seems to be breathing too rapidly, and Derek can see his shift coming over him quickly. His teeth elongate, his eyes flash amber, his face ripples, reshaping itself. He’s not in control, not even close, and this can turn nasty at any moment.

Derek shifts closer unconsciously as does Peter. Any second now, Derek is expecting his mother to flash her alpha eyes at Scott and growl, forcing him into submission. He’s bracing himself because he’s never unaffected by her alpha roar, even when it’s not directed at him.

What happens instead is Stiles grabbing Scott’s shoulders, turning him forcibly toward himself. Scott’s arms flail in panic, his claws slashing through Stiles’s arms. Stiles hisses in pain but doesn’t let go.

“Scott! Scotty! Hey, buddy, listen to me. It’s me, it’s Stiles. You don’t want to eat Stiles, do you? Just pull it back, I know you can. You’ve done it before, remember? Just listen to my voice. Remember we talked about your heartrate? It’s way too high, buddy. Just take deep breaths, just breathe for me, okay? In and out, in and out, that’s it. Good. Good. Just calm down. Just pull it back, yeah? Come on. Just like we practiced. Just breathe. Think of not eating me. Er… think of—oh! Think of your mom. You don’t want to eat her, do you? She’s your mom, she makes great cookies, though her pasta is shit—ouch! Sorry, Ms. McCall! That’s it, buddy. That’s it.”

He keeps on talking, barreling on ahead with any kind of nonsense that springs to his brain. Derek stops listening and watches Scott instead. Scott’s breathing evens out gradually, and, while he doesn’t change back, he’s calmed down enough to look down at his hands in puzzlement. There’s blood on the tips of his claws, and there’s blood staining Stiles’s t-shirt, bright red spots blooming on the white cotton.

“Oh my God, I hurt you,” Scott whimpers, and just like that he’s back, the shift releases him, and he’s once again just a confused kid, standing in the middle of their living room, looking bewildered and scared.

Talia pulls him gently away from Stiles then, talking to him in a low, soothing voice that Derek knows so well, while his dad tugs Stiles into the kitchen, muttering about first-aid kits. The tension dissipates quickly after that, and by the end of the day, the Hale pack is larger by one wolf and two humans by extension.

“Your mother should have bitten that one, whether he wanted it or not,” Peter says later, as they watch Scott and Stiles throw the ball around with Cora, while Talia and Rick are giving Melissa a crash course in pack dynamics in the kitchen. Stiles is abysmal more often than not, mostly because he keeps getting distracted.

“It’s because you say shit like that that Mom banned you from the house,” Derek replies.

“Tsk. Language, dear nephew. There are ways to do that and cover it up, you know.”

Derek turns to look at him. “Haven’t you heard him? His dad is the sheriff. I really don’t think he’d let something like that go.” He doesn’t say anything about how not only illegal, but immoral such a thing is, because he knows perfectly well that Peter really doesn’t care.

“Is he now?” Peter lifts his eyebrow. “So he’s even more useful to us. I’m just saying. He’d make a good wolf.”

Stiles chooses that moment to not only drop the ball, but somehow trip over his own feet and fall on his ass. Derek snorts.

But as Stiles and Scott are apparently a package deal, Stiles is around the house since that day as often as Scott is. At first, he watches as Scott trains along with Cora and a few younger Hale cousins. For all that werewolves are common these days, especially in places like Beacon Hills, Stiles seems infinitely fascinated with them and doesn’t tire of watching them shift.

When the novelty wears off, however, he can be most commonly found somewhere in the house doing his homework to bide the time, frequently doing some of Scott’s as well. When that gets boring, Stiles raids the library for books on weres of all kinds, supernatural law, magic, herb lore and whatever else strikes his fancy. His constant presence becomes familiar, his scent blending in with all the others to the point of not really registering.

So it’s all the more surprising to Derek when, a few months in, he notices that Stiles’s scent changes to something bittersweet and intangible, whenever he runs into Derek.

It’s a crush. Derek knows it’s a crush. It’s there in the way Stiles’s eyes go wide in surprise or the way his heart starts beating faster. His heartbeat does this tiny little flip whenever he sees Derek. It’s barely noticeable unless one is to specifically listen for it. Derek doesn’t know why he does, but he does.

‘Don’t be mean,’ his mother had once told him.

And he can’t. He can’t even imagine being mean to Stiles about this. It’s absurd, because Stiles is just a kid, but Derek feels—flattered. Not in the way he does when someone finds him attractive. Rather, he’s kind of awed that he of all people can inspire something so sweet and innocent and trusting. It’s not sexual yet, and part of Derek kind of hopes it wears off before Stiles hits puberty and it becomes awkward. But the other part of him selfishly doesn’t wish to part with this, the emotion directed at him too precious to lose.

They are right on the verge of that awkward age, though, and Derek is pretty sure that either Scott or Cora says something to Stiles, because suddenly he’s at the house a lot less. He swings by with Scott once a week maybe and begs Talia’s permission to take some of the books home with him instead of reading them at the Hale house.

“Was I mean?” Derek asks his mother, dismayed, when Melissa drops off Scott yet again sans Stiles.

He doesn’t think he was. He likes talking to Stiles and never passes an opportunity to chat with him, Stiles’s keen mind always taking him in for a ride despite the age gap between them. Derek started guarding Stiles’s favorite cookies before his siblings could get to them so Stiles could have some by the time he made it to the house. Derek even tried to teach him some self-defense, though that was really a disaster, because Stiles was somehow even more clumsy than usual. Still. Derek was trying to be nice.

“No, honey.” His mom shakes her head. “You were very kind to him. Maybe a bit too much, so he noticed. You just have to give him some time. It’ll pass. Remember that summer when all you could talk about was your cousin Jaime? You followed him around everywhere like a tail, remember that?”

Derek flushes and nods. He was maybe ten at the time and thought that his cousin Jaime was a superhero.

“And then you went back to school, made new friends, and forgot all about it. It’ll be the same with Stiles. Just don’t make a big deal out of it, and when you’re older you’ll both laugh about it.”

Jaime, now that Derek thinks about him, had been really cool to Derek. Very patient, too. He doesn’t tell his mother that Jaime is still something of a role model for him. It puts things in perspective though, and Derek is pleased. He can totally be Stiles’s Jaime.

He doesn’t really dwell on the fantasy of being someone’s hero long. The summer rolls around before he knows it, and then Derek is suddenly busy with his summer job with the Forest Service, while Scott is shipped with Cora to train with a friendly pack in Mexico and Stiles goes to visit his grandmother who lives somewhere around Boston. Derek and Laura then fly over to Brazil to visit and train with their distant cousins, and it’s a flurry of new scents and sceneries, new interesting people—like their cousin Alex, who makes Derek’s own heart do somersaults, obstacle courses that are really spooky even for Derek, and spicy local food. And did he mention his cousin Alex? Alex is hot.

By the time the new school year starts, Stiles and his little crush have been firmly relegated to the background of Derek’s mind, accepted and stored as just a part of his everyday reality, not needing any special attention. He does still notice the peculiar little flip Stiles’s heart makes every time he sees Derek and smiles a little to himself every time.

--

High school is notorious for being one of the most stressful chapters of anyone’s life, but for someone like Derek, it’s a breeze. He’s set up to be popular, though not in a douchey way. He doesn’t need to exert any effort. He’s more than averagely attractive. He’s good at sports. He’s a Hale, core-family Hale at that. People flock to him easily, hanging onto his every word, endlessly supportive. He’s the king of high school, just as Laura had been queen during her time.

The difference, though, is that Laura has always been social and outgoing, whereas Derek is pretty introverted by nature. He’s fully aware that, if he wasn’t as good looking or a Hale, he wouldn’t have been nearly as popular, and some days he almost wishes it were true. His friends are great, and it’s not a hardship to be liked by everybody, but there are days when he wishes he wasn’t the center of attention so that he could enjoy a few quiet hours reading a book or running in the Preserve by himself or just staying in his room listening to music. He’s never alone though, and it’s tiring. He’s moodier than usual when he’s around the house, and it’s always only been a matter of time before his parents have had enough.

His mother listens to his stream of complaints without judgment, but also without much yield.

“I know it’s not what you’d prefer,” she says when he’s done, her tone compassionate, but firm. “But you’re going to have to find a way to deal with it. Derek, you’re a Hale. You’re the alpha’s son. This community relies on us. You can’t afford to not be friendly with its people. Your classmates will have families some day. Families that will live here. They must learn now that you will always be there for them. I’m sorry, honey, but you simply can’t afford to keep your distance. You’re a Hale. It’s your job to be visible, approachable, and helpful. And it starts now.”

He can’t argue with that, but he feels defeated. What’s more, his social circle takes up so much of his time that his grades begin slipping, because he doesn’t have time to study. He’s on the basketball team, and the track team, and the swim team. There are endless parties, movie dates, and ‘hanging out’. Everyone assumes that he’ll be relying on his athleticism to get him to college, but a career in sports is not what Derek wants for himself.

He likes history. If he ever had the luxury, he could lose himself for hours on end reading about ancient civilizations and medieval court politics. He is, however, at the risk of failing the class, and his teacher looks at him like he doesn’t expect any better.

Derek finds himself ranting about all of this to Stiles on a Sunday afternoon that he is spending at home, miraculously, only because nobody wanted to go out in the rain.

Stiles listens to him with an expression of tentative disbelief as if he’s not certain he understands correctly, but it becomes more pronounced with every passing moment. They’re in Talia’s office, vacant while his mother is busy elsewhere. Stiles is sprawled in an armchair, skinny legs hanging over the armrest, a thick book on magic law that Derek is sure he’s too young to read open carelessly across his lap.

“Dude,” Stiles says when Derek falls silent. “I’m going to cry. Any second now. Real fat, big, crocodile tears. Like, I feel so sorry for you, my freaking heart is breaking.”

Derek blinks. “I don’t… what?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Are you seriously whining about having a social life so full you never get a free night? People including you in everything and inviting you to things and you never even have to lift a finger? You’re seriously complaining about that?”

“Look…” Derek pinches the bridge of his nose. “I know, it might sound… arrogant, but—”

“You think?” Stiles’s voice gets a little shrill and he coughs, then laughs incredulously. “Have you tried being a loser with no friends who begs his teachers for extra assignments because he has nothing to do with himself otherwise? I’ve beaten every video game I have twice, and it’s like, October. You want to swap?”

Derek sighs. “Look, I know, all right? I just wish I was more like Laura.”

Stiles rolls his eyes again. “You don’t have to be like Laura. Derek.” He leans forward, and when that doesn’t quite work, he sits up straight, feet on the ground. “You’re the freaking king of high school. You can do whatever you want and get a standing ovation every time. Look, it’s like this.” He sets the book aside, absently careful. “You can tell them you need a couple of afternoons to yourself—to spend with your family, or do some super secret werewolf training no one’s supposed to see, or to, I don’t know, mediate, and they will respect that. Maybe throw in every other weekend, too. I swear to you, no one is even going to question it. Hell, your buddies will probably start protecting your precious alone-time. And please. You need to study more but people want to hang out? Tell them you can hang out in the library. Tell them you need to study and they are welcome to join you. Have them quiz you. Get them to make you flash cards. I bet they’d fight for the privilege.” He snorts. “Just seriously, dude. Don’t you get it? If you showed up to school painted green tomorrow, by the end of the week everyone would be trying to look like Hulk. You can do anything. You can make studying freaking mainstream. People will follow your lead—so just lead them where you like them. You don’t have to become anti-social; you just have to take charge already.”

Derek sits there for a while in stunned silence. He’s silent for so long, in fact, that Stiles begins to look uncomfortable, anxiety spiking his scent.

“Look, I didn’t mean to… uh…”

“It’s not that simple,” Derek speaks over him.

Stiles bites his lip. “I think it really is. But uh… please don’t eat me.”

Derek studies him. The boy still looks apprehensive, as if he’d forgotten who he was talking to when he was telling Derek off. If it was anyone else, it might have pissed Derek off, but being angrily told off by a twelve-year-old has put him into a state of mild shock. It’s a humbling experience.

“I’m not going to eat you, Stiles,” Derek sighs, placing a hand on the back of Stiles’s neck and shaking him a little. Stiles is all skin and bones, too pale by far, with dark circles under his eyes. “Do you really have no friends?”

Stiles shrugs, stares down at his hands. “I have Scott,” he says. “At least I don’t have to sit by myself at lunch. But he’s always busy doing wolfy things after school, and we don’t really hang out that much anymore.”

“No one else?” Derek asks. He doesn’t mean to be a dick, but he can’t really picture it. People have always been after him. Part of him envies Stiles a bit.

Stiles gives him a wry grin. “Cora might deign to acknowledge my existence on an odd Tuesday. But I have to ask—do you guys force her to wear hand-me-downs? Eat all the food before she can get to it? Because I got to tell you, dude, that one’s one angry puppy.”

Derek laughs, surprised. Shaking his head, he pulls his hand back. “No hand-me-downs, no. But she’s the youngest. Every time she accomplishes something new, she finds out Laura or I have done it better or faster or differently somehow. Mom is nice about it, but it’s hard for her to act impressed after all this time. And Cora is really competitive.”

“You don’t say,” Stiles drawls, dry as dust, which sets Derek off again.

It’s only later, when he remembers the conversation in a few days, he realizes that Stiles had changed the topic so smoothly, Derek hadn’t even noticed. He doesn’t think much on it, except to acknowledge that Stiles is one sneaky little shit and leaves it at that.

He does, however, announce to his inner circle at school that he’ll be taking more time to study, and people are welcome to join him, but that’s non-negotiable. He’s met with such a staggering amount of support, it’s suffocating. It really is that easy.

--

Derek eventually goes to UCLA, thanks not only to his prowess at basketball, but also to the fact that his grades are that much better. It’s a compromise with his mother. He is allowed to get his first choice of college if he studies sports medicine and business instead of history. The Hale Gym is a staple in Beacon Hills, and someone will need to run it after Uncle Clive retires.

Derek grumbles and protests. He’s eighteen. He wants to leave. He wants to spread his wings, to travel for a bit after college, to study whatever the hell he wants to, and to get a job somewhere in New York, or Seattle, or even San Francisco. Not for good, he knows. The pull of the pack and their land is too strong to let him roam forever or settles somewhere else, but for a while? Hell yes, he wants to.

He doesn’t really fight his mother on this, though, even if he does show his displeasure by being moody and difficult around the house. He’s the alpha’s son. He has responsibilities to the community. After all, Laura hadn’t been dreaming about becoming a lawyer when she was a little girl, either, but she went to New York obediently to forge and enliven pack connections on the East Coast and to get a degree. Derek remembers the conversation when their mother told her which schools to apply to. Laura had looked sad, but resigned, and had only nodded. They were the Hales. They knew their duty.

Derek doesn’t hate sports medicine too much. He’s always been athletic, even by werewolf standards, and it’s fascinating to learn about how everything works in bodies with accelerated healing and without it. His pre-business school classes are a lot less enjoyable, but he grits his teeth and soldiers on.

All the same, college is freedom. There are plenty of werewolves on campus, some from prominent packs, and Derek finds himself no longer the sole star in the solar system. It gives him a measure of something he’s always craved but never had—anonymity. Or as good as anyway. He doesn’t skip class, turns in his assignments on time, but other than that he enjoys college. He goes out with friends, he goes to parties, gets drunk on wolfsbane-laced beer (it’s not for the first time only because Peter had taken it upon himself to introduce him to the taste when Derek was fourteen).

He discovers how one-night-stand, semi-anonymous in the what-the-fuck-is-your-name-again kind of way sex. He finds out that, beyond the initial thrill of the chase, he doesn’t really enjoy it. So he dates for the fun of it. He gets a boyfriend his junior year who might be a bit more serious than the rest, but they break up before Derek has made up his mind if he wants to introduce him to the family. He mopes for a few days, but he’s not really heartbroken.

His visits home are a combination of showing his parents that he’s very much an adult now (‘Just look how good I am with Ethan and Aiden, Mom’—the orphaned twins whom Talia had absorbed into the Hale pack and claimed as her own while Derek was away) and throwing wild beach parties at the lake that he hopes his mother will never find out about. He gets pulled over for speeding a few times, once by Sheriff Stilinski himself, and manages to look suitably apologetic, but his shit-eating grin might be somewhat in the way. He reconnects with Cora, who’s both relieved that she’s no longer the youngest sibling and jealous of the kids at the same time.

His mother doesn’t restrain him much. They both know that, once his education is complete, he’ll never get the chance to be young and wild again, so she lets him get it out of his system. She even excuses him from pack duties for one memorable spring break so that he can take a road trip to Mexico with his buddies. It’s exactly as stupid and as fun as one might imagine.

In short, college is amazing, even with the dreary prospect of business school on the horizon, and Derek is the happiest he’s ever been.

--

He’s twenty-one and about to get his BA when the ground is jerked from beneath his feet.

--

He meets Jennifer that year. She’s different from everyone he’s ever dated. She’s a few years older, already in grad school, making a name for herself in the English Lit department. She’s exceptionally beautiful, intelligent, with a kind of soft-spoken charm that makes people lean in and listen.

They meet when she’s TA-ing one of Derek’s general requirements classes, and he’s amazed that she takes an interest in him. He’s a werewolf studying sports medicine; he fits the ‘dumb jock’ stereotype to a tee. But Jennifer asks him out for dinner before the semester is even over, and Derek jumps at it, dazed with how lucky he is.

He’s never met anyone like her and he falls hard. Jennifer never calls him stupid, amused more than anything by ‘how charmingly naïve’ he is. Her friends are a different matter, looking at Derek like he’s a bit of gum stuck to her shoe. Most of them are professors already, and Derek doesn’t understand half of what they’re saying, even when they aren’t doing it on purpose. He hates hanging out with them, but Jennifer is determined to make a good impression on the faculty, and drags Derek along. He hates the way they ogle him, the way they treat him like a piece of meat, too dumb to have feelings.

He tags along. He struggles to keep up. He doesn’t want to lose Jennifer, because he’s absolutely mad about her. There are days when he can think of nothing but the scent of her hair, the way her body moves when she rides him, the slightly distant look in her eyes that he can’t seem to break. He’s so dazed, he’s on the verge of failing two classes he needs to graduate.

His mother is not amused when he calls her to say that he has to retake one of his finals.

“Then you’re not coming to New York with us,” she says, a note of finality in her voice.

Derek is seething. The New York trip has been planned for months. Laura is graduating from law school, and the entire family is flying out to be there. They have two weeks of activities planned, and Derek has been looking forward to it all year. He even bought a ticket for Jennifer, hoping to surprise her. He wants to spend time with her without having to share her with her pretentious friends. More than that, he wants to introduce her to his family. She’s the one, after all. Derek has been eyeing engagement rings for weeks now.

And now he can’t go. It’s not the first time his mother has imposed her will on him as an alpha, but somehow it’s the worst. Mostly because he can sense she’s angry at him, and possibly disappointed. Derek is angry, too. He’ll propose to Jennifer on the day Laura graduates, he thinks. Show them.

Anger has always been his friend. Anger helps him focus. He studies for his final like his life depends on it, because it helps him not to think about how his mother had allowed Cora to fly out a whole week earlier. How every Hale in Beacon Hills must be packing right now, brimming with excitement. How even Peter will be joining them, flying out from Monte-Carlo where he’s been wasting family money for the last few months. But Derek—Derek is not allowed, and it’s so freaking unfair, he can’t see straight.

He doesn’t see a lot of Jennifer in those two weeks, spending all his time at the library, studying non-stop. He does, however, make the time to buy the ring, twenty carat gold and a huge diamond. He takes it with him when he goes to retake his exam.

He does well, he thinks, and even finishes a good hour early. A spring in his step, he runs over to Jennifer’s, fingering the ring box in his pocket the entire way. He lets himself into her apartment and immediately trips. When he looks down, uncomprehending, he sees a discarded pair of sneakers tangled in a pair of jeans. The scent hits him at the same time, and Derek sees red. He marches over to the bedroom, kicking the door open with no finesse. He knows what he’ll see before he sees it, but it doesn’t make it easier, seeing his girlfriend, his almost-fiancée, riding a guy Derek doesn’t really know but thinks might be on the soccer team. Jennifer loves her men muscly.

He doesn’t kill either of them, though that might have more to do with a wolfsbane pepper-spray Jennifer uses on him than anything else. His wolf is furious, wanting to tear and maim, and he nearly blacks out from trying to hold it at bay.

“Derek, we weren’t exclusive,” Jennifer tells him later with a mixture of concern and pity. “Half my hookups are werewolves, so I take a scent-canceling shower every time, because it drives you lot mad otherwise. But I never said you were my only lover. I know how werewolves are with commitment. I thought you understood…”

Derek can’t talk, but he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the ring. Commitment.

Jennifer laughs. It’s involuntary, and she slaps a hand over her mouth almost at once.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Giggles break through as she shakes her head. “But this is like a comedy of errors, you have to see it…”

Derek leaves. He keeps it together until he makes it to his apartment. Whatever control he had is gone the moment the door is closed, and he trashes his place, breaking furniture, ripping shelves off the walls, smashing everything in sight. He thrashes and howls, throws himself against the sharp metal railing on the balcony again and again, the excruciating pain never quite enough to eclipse his emotions.

His landlord calls the police, and Derek is finally put out of his misery by means of a high-voltage taser and a heavy shot of wolfsbane.

He’s in lockdown when he comes to. He has to pay a hefty fine in addition to losing his deposit and paying for the damages. Derek only nods and signs the paperwork without a word. This will go on his record, they tell him. He nods again, too numb to care. They give him his phone back, and as Derek reaches for it, it starts ringing.

It’s Laura. Derek stares at the phone for a while, forcing himself to answer. He’s not in any state to listen to her joyful chatter, or worse, to overhear his entire family being together, loud and happy without him. His mother was right. Derek fucked up. Derek was—is stupid. So, so stupid. He was so angry before, but now all he’s feeling is an overwhelming sense of shame. He’s drowning in it.

It’s in an effort to alleviate it by being hurt some more that he finally does pick up.

“Der…” Laura says, and Derek freezes. He knows instantly something is wrong, more wrong than even a minute ago, however hard it is to imagine.

“Laura?”

There’s an agonizing pause when all he hears is her breathing. She’s holding back sobs. Derek feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

“Turn on the TV,” Laura manages at last and hangs up, like she’s hurting too much to keep talking.

They’re all gone.

His mother. His father. His adoptive twin brothers, only six years of age. His Aunt Meredith. Both her daughters, Derek’s cousins, sixteen and fourteen. His Uncle Andrew. His cousin Sam, who was Derek’s age, studying over at UC Davis.

His pack.

His alpha.

His mother.

Their plane disappeared from the radars somewhere over Utah. People reported burning debris falling out of the sky. It exploded in midair, killing everyone onboard.

The next phone call he gets is from Peter. Together with Derek, he, Laura, and Cora are the only ones of the core family left. The Hale Pack will survive. It should make them all feel better.

It doesn’t.

“Come home, Derek,” Peter says, his voice flat, lifeless. “Get someone to drive you. Come home.”

Derek gets to Beacon Hills the next morning to find his house full of people. The entire extended pack is there, quite a few friends and allies. Derek greets everyone, hugs them, accepts their condolences. But it’s not until Peter, Laura, and Cora get in the next night and Laura’s eyes flash red at him that it hits him fully.

His mother is gone. Three quarters of his immediate family are gone.

He tilts his head to the side, offering his neck to Laura, but she just sobs and launches at him, gathering him into a hug that is too tight and too forceful by far. Her arms are filled with new strength, she smells like family, and feels like alpha, and that’s the closest he’ll ever come to remembering what it was like to be held by his mother again.

There are no bodies to bury. They were incinerated in the explosion which pretty much rules out any sort of accident or technical failure even before a group of human supremacists called the Silver Bullet takes responsibility for the crash. Of the one hundred and fifty-two passengers on board, forty-three were supernatural, including thirty-eight werewolves, three werejaguars, one werecoyote, and one half-dryad. Apparently, it was enough to justify taking down an entire plane full of innocent people.

Derek is livid and mad with lust for vengeance. So is Peter, with Cora not far behind. But Laura very firmly says no. They have a pack to look after and a whole community who relies on them. They will put pressure on the FBI and the Supernatural Investigative Service, but they won’t go out on a hunt, no matter how much they might want to. Supernaturals in general and werewolves in particular had spent centuries fighting to be granted equal rights as humans. The Hale Pack will not be responsible for setting them back a hundred years.

The full moon rolls around in two days, and the entire pack goes out into the Preserve, wolves and humans alike. They howl. It starts with Laura somewhere deep in the woods, rolls over down the hills, along the roads. It echoes in the town where people come out into the streets with candles to stand in solidarity, because Talia Hale was loved. The two neighboring packs join in, and it spreads out throughout the entire Northern California, the sound of deep mourning. It settles something inside Derek, though it’s hardly enough to fill the void.

There’s a more traditional human wake at the house the next day. People come and go, bringing lots of food, offering words and, if they dare, hugs. A number of prominent people in town bare their necks to Laura in acknowledgement of her new status. She looks stiff and uncomfortable as she accepts, and Derek feels useless watching her. His sister has a burden to shoulder that he can’t help her with. Cora has made herself scarce long ago, and eventually Derek excuses himself, too, leaving the schmoozing to Peter.

He sneaks into his favorite room, his mother’s private library. It welcomes him with her scent, still lingering, but fading. Derek inhales greedily, his eyes prickling. He should be grateful for this, he knows. But it just feels cruel.

There’s a plate of cookies on the coffee table in the middle. The house is filled to the brim with sympathy food, but this room has been off limits. Derek comes closer, taking the cookies in. They are almond, all slightly misshapen with not a single perfect circle among them. They smell delicious though, and when Derek, who’d had no appetite for days, bites into one, it’s perfect, not too sweet and chewy inside. He absently picks up a second one.

“You like them? I can make more.”

He doesn’t flinch even though he does startle. Stiles is standing in the doorway, wide-eyed and awkward, his heart beating too fast in his chest. Derek relaxes.

“They’re good,” he says.

Stiles exhales in relief and comes in fully into the room.

“They were my mother’s favorite,” he says softly, eyes on the plate.

That’s right, Derek remembers belatedly from the haze of his own grief. Stiles’s mother had died, too. When he was seven or eight or something, before Scott was bitten and became part of the pack, dragging Stiles along with him.

When Derek looks up, Stiles is looking at him.

“How… how are you?”

It’s not what he was expecting. The first thing everyone said to him today was: ‘I’m sorry.’ Stiles’s question makes him pause. The answer should be obvious, and yet it’s not coming.

“I—don’t know,” Derek says at last, shaking his head. He looks up at Stiles from where he’s sitting. “How are you?”

Stiles gives him a small smile and shrugs, hands stuck in his pockets. “I’ve been better,” he says. “But, you know.”

Derek offers him a plate. “Cookie?”

Stiles comes to sit next to him on the couch, though he doesn’t actually take one. He smells sad and nervous, like clean laundry that has been in the closet too long and strangely enough a bit like machine oil. His hair is still cut cruelly short which looks odd now in contrast with his suddenly long limbs and body. His eyes are as expressive as ever, and when he looks up Derek braces himself.

“So can I ask you something?” Stiles blurts out, his heart managing somehow to start beating even faster.

Derek doesn’t have it in him to even nod, just waits.

“You’ve had Harris when you went to school here, right? Was he always such a dick or am I special?”

Derek blinks and then snorts, responding to the words before they even register. “He was always a dick,” he says, relaxing marginally. “Though he mostly didn’t bother with me, because I was quiet. It’s the mouthy ones that keep him going.”

“Great,” Stiles groans. “My one reliable talent and it’s working against me. Maybe I could train myself out of sassing him…”

That prompts a small laugh out of Derek. “Stiles, you mouthed off at my mother, the alpha, the first time you met her. I doubt you could restrain yourself with Harris.”

Stiles grins at him, his eyes soft. “I kind of did, didn’t I? I was so sure she’d bite my head off. You were glaring at me pretty intensely, too, there, buddy. And Cora still mostly looks like she wants to rip my throat out, so hey, sarcasm and wit are my only defense.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “You’ll do fine.”

“So how about Lewis then? Is there any way to get on his good side? I think you were doing pretty well in physics, but boy, is it kicking my ass.”

Before Derek knows, they’ve spent a couple of hours discussing school, teachers they had in common, Stiles being on the lacrosse team but not being able to make first line. He doesn’t quit though he never gets to play because this way he can spend time together with Scott, who’s not only first string, but, sensationally for a freshman, a co-captain.

“He doesn’t let them kick my ass too badly in practice,” Stiles says with a shrug, munching on a cookie. “So it kind of evens out.”

Derek finds himself talking about his days as captain of the basketball team, recounting some of the most memorable games as well as some intense locker room squabbles. It can’t possibly be a fascinating subject to Stiles—or anyone, for that matter—but Stiles is with him all the way, listening with rapt attention, his heart, now that it’s slowed down some, is doing that familiar flip thing every now and then.

It’s the most relaxing time Derek has had in forever. Since he’d met Jennifer, probably.

They are both startled when there’s a knock on the door. Sheriff Stilinski appears a moment later. He gives Derek a sympathetic look, then fixes one of disapproval on his son.

“Now is not the time to be bothering Derek, Stiles. Let’s go.”

“I wasn’t!”

“He wasn’t—”

They look at each other. Derek stands up. “He wasn’t, Sheriff. Really.” His hand has somehow found its way to Stiles’s shoulder. He squeezes it gently.

Flip. Flip. Flip.

The sheriff looks from one to the other, and his expression softens. “Well, as relieved as I am to hear that, it’s time we got out of your hair. Come along, Stiles.”

Stiles gets to his feet reluctantly and shuffles over to his father.

“Derek,” the sheriff says, his tone gentle. “If there’s anything you or your family need—”

Derek nods, the weight of the last few days returning full force all of a sudden. “Thank you.” His shoulders slump as he begins to turn away.

The next moment, Stiles is in his space, hugging him tightly, startling Derek with the sudden realization that they are almost of a height. He hugs back before he knows it, burying his face in Stiles’s neck, and muttering again, right in his ear: “Thank you.”

Stiles presses his forehead against Derek’s shoulder firmly in response. Then he pulls back and walks up to his father, who’s waiting with an unreadable look on his face. After nodding again at Derek, they leave.

--

The summer that follows is more hectic than gloomy, as all of them try to pick up the pieces. The transition from being ‘just kids’, even though Laura is twenty-five and Derek is twenty-one, to being in charge is the furthest thing from smooth to say the least. By the time they manage to untangle enough threads of Talia’s seemingly endless responsibilities and lines of connection, there are barely two weeks left in August.

Derek doesn’t want to go back to school, but Laura insists.

“If you don’t go now, you never will,” she says. “I’d rather wait a couple more years for you to come back with a degree that would help than have to manage the pack and the business all on my own.”

She isn’t lying, but it’s not the whole truth, not even the main reason. She doesn’t want him hanging around all the empty rooms in the house, brooding. There were weeks where he hardly managed to say a word to anyone, despite the many tasks they were shuffling. If left to his own devices, Derek might not resurface for years, and Laura isn’t taking that chance.

Cora is a different species of trouble. Her grief comes with a dose of anger that is far beyond what is reasonable to sustain when one is in possession of a body that doubles as a killing machine. The third time she gets caught while destroying property or defacing something, the sheriff brings her to the house himself, and Laura has had enough. Just like that, Cora is suddenly going to Brazil to spend a year with their related pack.

Cora, of course, takes it about as well as could be expected.

“I hate you! Mom never would have sent me away!”

“Yes, she would have,” Laura replies, actually sounding tired, even as her expression is a combination of determined and patient. “We all had to do it for training. Derek and I went a few years back, remember?”

“Then why isn’t Scott going?” Cora yelled. “He’s got way more trouble with control than I!”

Laura opens her mouth, then closes it, then gets Melissa on the phone. She pays for Scott’s fare, since Melissa can’t afford it and it’s pack business anyway. Cora seems mollified, even a little cheered. She’s always liked Scott.

It’s not until the day of their departure that Derek realizes that this was not, in fact, a perfect solution.

Melissa drives up to the house to drop Scott off so that Peter could take him and Cora to the airport. Scott does the rounds saying goodbye to everyone, hugs his mother, and then positively clings to Stiles, who’s hugging him back just as desperately. They take a long time. Long enough for Cora to start huffing impatiently. Eventually, Peter intervenes, calling out, not unkindly, that they have a plane to catch.

Stiles watches the car until it disappears behind the curve of the road. His eyes are shining too brightly, but his expression is so completely blank it looks like it’s painted on.

It hits Derek then that, in order to give Cora a friend, Laura has taken one away from Stiles. Not just a friend, in fact, but his only one.

Derek watches as Melissa comes over to Stiles slowly, wraps an arm around his shoulders, and pulls him gently back toward her car. Stiles doesn’t turn back, but Melissa does look over at Derek and Laura before getting into the driver’s seat, and her eyes, while not openly accusing, are hard.

They watch the car leave.

“He’s pack,” Laura says eventually, more to herself, Derek thinks, than to him. Her scent is sharp with guilt. “He’s pack, and he has the entire pack right here for him. He’s welcome here anytime. He’ll be fine.”

Derek doesn’t say anything.

--

He goes back to school and it’s a whole different experience. Derek doesn’t party, doesn’t date, doesn’t play sports. He gets another apartment, further away from campus, and spends all his time studying. He’s never been the smartest person in the room, but he’s by no means stupid, and he’s very determined to graduate in two years instead of three.

He’s so efficient, in fact, when he’s focused, that he still has time to get his gym instructor certificate on the side and starts logging hours at the local fitness joint. It’s mostly catering to the guys who like to lift weights, which is fine with Derek. Men flirt with him less and aren’t as upset if he doesn’t talk much to them.

The first time he runs into Jennifer on campus, he freezes, white noise filling his ears. He stands still long after she and her current buff hookup have passed. Somehow, after everything he went through last summer, he didn’t think this would still hurt him, but it does. Personal betrayal, a different kind of pain.

He’d told Laura everything over the summer. Laura said: ‘I want to punch her lights out, but I also kind of want to buy her a beer.’ When Derek looked at her, uncomprehending and slightly hurt, she said: ‘If it wasn’t for this whole mess with her, you’d have been on that plane, too.’

Derek can’t really see it like that. He accepts, on sufferance, the remote possibility that his feelings about what happened would change at some point, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever be grateful to Jennifer. He breathes out a quiet sigh of relief when he hears a few months later that she has transferred to a different school.

--

Derek visits home every break. He does what he can to help Laura, determined to pull his weight. By Christmas, it’s clear that they have suffered a blow, but they rallied. By summer, Laura’s name gets a lot of recognition, the flavor of the town gossip is relieved. Laura is a good alpha, they say. She’ll make Talia proud.

She’s different enough from her mother, though, and a younger, more vibrant alpha attracts a younger, more vibrant crowd. By the time Derek comes home for his summer break, the whole town is abuzz with new energy.

The fact that Laura is doing so well allows Derek to finally get an actual break. He reconnects with friends and pack, haunts his favorite spots in the Preserve, and even has the time to visit the library, lose himself for an hour or two in some historical monograph. He’s there one day, mid-July, when he catches a familiar scent and follows it around, smiling.

Stiles is camped out at a huge empty table by the window, surrounded by a virtual bastion of books and notes. The tip of his tongue is pressed against the corner of his mouth in concentration as he stares at his nearly submerged laptop intently, comparing whatever is on the screen with a hand-written note.

“Don’t tell me they held you back a year,” Derek jokes as he steps closer.

Stiles jumps in his seat, startled, and the moment his eyes fall on Derek, he flushes.

Flip. Flip. Flip.

“D-Derek. Uh. Hi.” Stiles blushes even deeper and clears his throat in a desperate bid to shut down his embarrassment. “Um. Sorry, what?”

Derek chuckles, pulling out the chair opposite Stiles, turning it around and straddling it. “Homework?” He nods at the book fort between them.

“Oh.” Stiles swallows, eyes wide. His heart is near frantic. “No, that’s um… That’s actually something for Laura.”

Derek’s eyebrow lifts. “Oh?”

“Yeah, uh. She’s got me looking up stuff for her sometimes. Pack laws and traditions, court precedents, that sort of thing. I’m kind of like a supernatural paralegal.”

Derek rests his elbows on the table, craning his neck to read some of the titles. It’s a hot afternoon. His t-shirt is clinging to him, not quite soaked through but getting there, and he’s rolled up the sleeves some time ago. He can feel Stiles’s eyes lingering on his arms, before the boy looks away, cheeks flaming, his scent spiking with clear physical appreciation.

Derek smirks a little, glances up at Stiles from under his lashes, wondering if he can make him blush even deeper. He’s not being mean, but it’s hard to resist. Stiles looks so adorable while flustered.

“Paralegal, huh?” Derek says, leaning a little closer, ostensibly to look at his notes. “She should be paying you for this. I mean, it’s summer. You should be enjoying your freedom.”

Stiles shrugs, swallowing, clearly unable to look away from the dip between Derek’s collarbones, where Derek can feel a droplet of sweat tickling skin. Derek shifts his shoulders a little, making it run down into the V of his shirt.

“Guh—sorry, what?” Stiles blurts out, sounding strangled. The scent of his arousal gets louder. It’s fresh and almost sweet and hits Derek like a glass of wolfsbane-laced champagne, making him light and bubbly.

“Freedom, Stiles,” he says, grinning, barely able to hold back his laughter. “Summer. You should be out there, playing ball with your friends, getting ice cream with your girlfriend, skinny-dipping in your neighbors’ pool or something.”

All right, so ‘skinny-dipping’ was a low blow, and Derek should really stop teasing him. Laura would have smacked him by now, even if she’d be laughing.

Stiles gapes at him for a moment then squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head forcibly. He refuses to open them as he blurts out, in a rushed jumble of words, “Right, freedom. I’m no good with a ball and have no friends to play with anyway, I don’t have a girlfriend to take out for ice cream, and anyway, lame, I’m not five, and I’m not subjecting any of my completely innocent neighbors to the sight of my skinny pasty ass if I can help it. The world is not ready. I mean, Mrs. Jenkins is kind of evil, what with stealing our last freaking garden gnome—and yes, I know it’s ours, it’s got the tip of its ear chipped from when I knocked it over that one time—but I don’t think I can have her dying of a heart attack at fifty-three on my conscience. So um. No.” He opens his eyes and keeps them resolutely on the books in front of him. “And this stuff is actually fascinating, and I mostly volunteered my services, I’m good at this sort of shit, and your sister is nice.”

Derek pulls back, feeling a little bad about himself now. He notices a bottle of water on the table and hands it to Stiles like a peace offering. Stiles takes it. He twists the cap this way and that, his long fingers seemingly possessing more grace than the rest of him combined. He takes a swig at last and seems to settle. His heart still does its little flip when he chances a look at Derek.

“I run,” he says suddenly. “You know, in case you were worried I wasn’t getting enough exercise or fresh air or something. I run the trails in the Preserve most days.”

“Really?” Derek eyes him, his interest piqued. “For how long?”

“Uh.” Stiles blinks. “Like, I didn’t measure it or anything, but I think a couple of miles maybe?”

“No.” Derek shakes his head. “I mean time-wise, how long?”

“Oh. I don’t really know? Maybe an hour or so.”

Derek nods. “Most people think the distance is the most important thing about running, but it’s not. It’s how long you run for and your pulse rate throughout. You have a fitness watch or something? You should be monitoring your pulse.”

“I don’t.” Stiles is looking at him like he’s never seen him before. A slow grin spreads over his face. “Dude, are you trying to train me?”

Derek shrugs. “If you’re running anyway, you might as well do it right, get something out of it. Are you trying out for the track team?”

Stiles makes a face. “Technically, I’m on the track team, but they suck so much, nobody really cares if I drag ass.”

Derek straightens up in his seat. “I could set you up with a training plan. Run with you a few times, make adjustments.”

Stiles is staring at him, mouth open slightly.

“Only if you want to, of course,” Derek backpedals. “I didn’t mean you should—”

“Yes!” Stiles blurts out a little too loudly and blushes again. “I mean, that would be amazing, thank you. But you don’t have to, dude. It’s your summer, too.”

Derek shrugs, smiling at him. “I need more experience training people, and I run most days, too, so. What do you say? Meet me by the house at six tomorrow?”

“Six?” Stiles groans, then claps a hand over his mouth as the librarian aims a disapproving look at him. “Ugh, fine. You know nothing about what summer is all about, dude. It’s for sleeping.”

Derek leans over as he stands up, clasps Stiles’s shoulder. “You’ll live.” He smirks. “See you tomorrow, bright and early.”

Stiles groans again.

--

The first time they run together, Stiles trips over his own feet no less than five times in the span of ten minutes. He gets adorably flustered again and swears up and down that he’s usually not that much of a spaz. Derek sort of believes him, his nose and ears telling him clearly what the reason for Stiles’s outbreak of clumsiness is. He hopes prolonged exposure will help with that, and it sort of does.

“Or, you could try wearing a shirt around him every once in a while,” Laura remarks dryly, a week in, as Stiles drives off. “That poor boy is going to explode soon, Der. You’re being kind of horrible.”

Derek smirks. “Stiles doesn’t mind.”

“Of course, he doesn’t.” Laura rolls her eyes then fixes her brother with a look. “Is this really the best way for you to be getting your kicks? Why don’t you try dating again?”

Derek flinches, all mirth evaporating. “No.”

“Aw, come on. I know what happened sucked, but it’s been over a year, Derek. You can’t close yourself off, it’s not—”

“So help me if you say it’s not good for the pack.” He glares.

“Well, it’s not,” Laura huffs. “I’m not pulling the alpha card yet, but I will soon, if you don’t shake it off already. I’ve given you time and space, but you haven’t moved an inch. If torturing Stiles is the most fun you’ve had in a year, that should really tell you something about your life choices.”

Derek keeps on glaring at her, but she’s right, loath as he is to admit it. Not about torturing Stiles. But running with him, teaching him the proper running technique, chatting with him about whatever comes to mind—all of that has indeed been the most fun Derek has had in a long time.

He’s relaxed around Stiles. And never bored—God, definitely never bored. Stiles is sixteen, he’s crossed the threshold into adulthood, and Derek isn’t humoring him anymore. Stiles’s mind is a wonder that keeps Derek constantly fascinated, alert, and engaged, whether he’s talking about annoying tropes in superhero movies, or the history of witch hunts, or the nutritional value of his dad’s diet. Derek has no idea why Stiles claims to have no friends. He’s the most interesting sixteen-year-old Derek has ever met.

He’s cute, too, although, Derek acknowledges ruefully, probably not in the way that’s appealing to most girls. Guys, on the other hand… If Stiles ever put on a simple monochrome t-shirt and better fitting jeans instead of his usual layered plaid ensemble and showed up at any of the clubs in downtown L.A., he’d be snatched up within five minutes and have many dirty things done to him. Those huge Bambi eyes alone, coupled with that mischievous smirk, would…

Derek shakes himself. His point is, Stiles is smart and cute, and he doesn’t know why his peers aren’t queueing outside his door for a moment of his time. Ugh, teenagers. Idiots, the lot of them.

He gives Laura a sour look. “I’ll try dating again when I go back to school, how’s that?”

Laura grins, lifting her hands up. “Good enough, baby bro. And put your goddamn shirt on the next time you go to whip Stiles into shape.”

Derek smirks. “No promises.”

He does wear his shirt after that more often than not, though if he takes it off mid-jog when it becomes too hot for him, Stiles doesn’t complain and Laura doesn’t need to know.

--

He regrets his promise to Laura the moment he gets back to L.A. for his final year of business school. Dating used to be fun before, back when it basically meant stopping by for coffee or sandwiches before holing up in someone’s dorm room and fucking each other’s brains out. Dating became a never-ending nightmare of trying to impress people back when he was seeing Jennifer. Now, Derek doesn’t know where to begin, and the worst thing is that he’s just not interested.

Sex is easy. Bars and clubs exist, and Derek doesn’t have to put any effort into having his pick. Even that seems too much of a hassle lately, though he does usually go as the full moon approaches, because it makes him feel itchy and restless and he can’t shift and run wild in the city. A good lay usually relieves some of that, though more and more it just leaves him feeling dissatisfied on a level he doesn’t understand and vaguely disgusted with himself.

But dating is a different beast. Dating implies he has to like someone enough to want to spend time with them. Derek feels that his quota of people he likes is full at the moment, and he’s resentful that Laura is forcing him to make the effort.

He tries, but it’s half-hearted at best, and he doesn’t have much luck. It’s exhausting. He eventually acquires a couple of friends-with-benefits, heavy on the benefits, light on the friends part of the equation, and leaves it at that. If Laura has a problem with that, too fucking bad.

He grins every time Stiles remembers to send him his running log. Surely, that has to count for something.

--

He lucks out shortly before graduation. He actually kind of knew Michael before, since it’s not really possible for two werewolves taking the same class to not be aware of one another, but they never really connected until now. Michael is tall, blond, blue-eyed, and kind of looks like Thor’s younger brother, complete with an uproarious laugh.

They start talking when he comes to work out at Derek’s gym, and it rolls down from there smoothly. Enough so that Derek invites him over to spend the summer with him in Beacon Hills. Michael is from a big and well-established pack, not in line to be the next alpha, and can pretty much do as he pleases. He agrees.

Laura is polite enough with him, but the look she gives Derek is more on the sad side. Derek only shrugs. She wanted him to put himself out there, so he did. No, Michael will not be staying forever, everyone is very aware of that, but his lightness and good humor and a complete lack of any sort of ambition in regards to Derek are soothing and even healing to him. This might be the one ex he gets to keep as a friend when they eventually part ways.

In two weeks since Derek came back, he hasn’t seen so much as a glimpse of Stiles, although both Cora and Scott are around. A year in Brazil seems to have done a ton of good for Scott, whose control is now near perfect. And Cora loved it over there so much that she’s planning to return there at the end of summer.

Stiles, it turns out, is busy with a summer job at Mary Wright’s coffeeshop. Derek grins as he learns this, and makes a point to stop by when he’s showing Michael around Beacon Hills.

It’s a Thursday afternoon, and the coffeeshop is pretty quiet. A few people are around, but most prefer to have their drinks to go, and Derek agrees. The day is too nice to waste inside.

Stiles is at the till and looks up when the door opens.

“Derek!” He beams.

Derek grins at him, doesn’t need to strain to hear: Flip. Flip-flip.

“I heard you were back,” Stiles says, fingers twisting in the straps of his apron. His eyes slide over to Michael, who’s smiling at him politely. “Um.”

“Oh.” Derek turns and tugs Michael over by the waist. “This is Michael. Michael, Stiles. He’s pack.”

“Nice to meet you, man,” Michael says—well, booms, at Stiles, reaching out to shake his hand.

“Yeah, you too,” Stiles replies, but his smile becomes tense. He takes in how close Derek and Michael are standing, and his posture goes stiff. “So, uh. What will you guys have?”

It’s hot, so Derek orders an iced coffee and Michael goes for a frappe. They both reach for their wallets.

“You paid last time, now’s my turn,” Michael insists.

Derek tries to shove him away from the counter. “No, I asked you out, remember? I pay.”

“I’m staying at your house, man. Buying you coffee is the least I can do.” Michael shoves him back. His hand slides over Derek’s ribs and Derek lets out an involuntary laugh, ticklish.

“Stop, you,” Derek orders, breathless, still laughing. “Stiles won’t take your money, he’s pack, he’ll do as I ask, won’t you, Stiles?”

“You’re not his alpha, why should he listen to you?” Michael snorts, elbowing him back again. “I’m paying, that’s final, you can—”

“One iced coffee, one frappe,” Stiles cuts in, sliding the drinks over to them. “It’s on the house, guys.”

Derek and Michael stop their mock fight.

“Um,” Derek says, feeling suddenly sheepish as he looks up at Stiles and over his shoulder at Mary, who’s watching them, eyebrows raised. “Er, are you sure that’s—”

“Perfectly fine.” Stiles beams at him. Derek doesn’t need to smell the air around him to know that it’s completely fake. “Are you guys just walking around, seeing the sights?” Stiles babbles. “I heard Edward’s gallery reopened, if you’re into that sort of thing. Some nice wild nature photography. Or, if you’re up for some movies, they’re having a classic horror marathon at Cinematix. Or—oh, I can’t believe I forgot this—they’ve put up a new adventure trail at the Preserve. It’s got a really high climbing wall and everything. Just, it’s nice outside, is all I’m saying.”

“Stiles…” Derek starts to say in confusion, because it’s not like he needs a tour, but Michael booms over him.

“That’s aces, man! Thanks, we’ll check it out.” He turns to Derek, leans into him. “What do you say? Rock climbing then movies?”

Derek forces his eyes away from Stiles, but he doesn’t think he misses the sigh of relief from him as he says. “Sure. Sounds great.”

“Sweet.” Michael kisses his cheek and lifts his cup in salute to Stiles. “See you around, man.”

Stiles flashes them his horrible fake megawatt smile again. “You two have a great day!”

Derek collects his cup and leaves. It doesn’t sit well with him. He didn’t think it would be like this. He should have, now that he thinks about it. He really should have, but he didn’t.

Teasing Stiles about his crush was all well and good when he was just a kid, being sweet. But he’s seventeen now. Crushes hurt at seventeen. Derek remembers. And Derek being completely thoughtless about it, just because he missed Stiles and wanted to see him, doesn’t help.

He hesitates on the sidewalk, unsure what to do. Fortunately, at that moment, Michael’s phone starts ringing. He glances at the screen and makes an apologetic face at Derek, mouthing: ‘Alpha.’ Derek waves at him to take his time. Without a clear idea of what he’s going to say in mind, he slips back into the coffeeshop quietly.

No one looks at the door as he enters, and Derek pauses behind a dessert display, ostensibly studying the selection, as the first words he overhears make him freeze.

“…on the house, my ass,” Mary is grumbling as she wipes the inner counter. “Those are coming out of your paycheck.”

“I know,” Stiles replies morosely. He’s cleaning the coffee machine that seems to be clogged up.

“You do realize,” Mary goes on, relentless, “that you just bought coffees for him and his date?”

“I know.”

“Kid, that’s a whole other universe of pathetic. You get that, right?”

“Look, I know, all right?” Stiles snaps, and Derek winces. “I just—I couldn’t take it. They were right in front of me, being all cute, and arguing who should pay, and so obviously into each other, so freaking adorable, I couldn’t… I couldn’t take it one second longer. I just wanted them out of here, so I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. I know it’s pathetic, all right? I’m pathetic. I just wanted them gone.”

He's radiating misery and humiliation to such degree that any werewolf within a block must be cringing right now. Derek feels terrible.

“Argh,” Stiles groans in frustration. In a softer, almost pleading voice, he says: “He looked so happy. I haven’t seen him look so happy since… you know. I should be happy he’s happy, and instead I chased them off because I couldn’t stand to look at them… God, I’m a terrible person.”

“You’re not a terrible person, Stiles,” Mary says in exasperation.

“I’m so selfish.”

“You’re human. Congratulations. You make a decent cup of coffee, too, kid, so you can’t be that bad.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Look, kid,” Mary says. She’s not known to be particularly sentimental, but it’s hard not to feel bad for Stiles right now. “You’re a good boy, Stiles. You’ll find someone. You would have already, if you’d just stopped fixating on Hale and looked for someone—”

“Less out of my league?” Stiles interrupts sullenly.

“I was going to say your own age, but… Look, you’re not bad looking or anything, kid, okay? It’s just, people like Hale, they… well, they’re sort of in a league of their own, you know? You saw the guy who came with him. And all the girls he used to bring by when he was still in school, they were all… well, like that. Guys, too, I think, though he mostly went for girls back then. And you’re… well, you’re not like them. There’s nothing wrong with that! You just need someone who will appreciate your humor and your wit—someone more your speed, you know?”

“Right. More my speed. Gotcha.”

“Stiles…” Mary sighs. “What about that cute blond girl that comes in after her yoga practice? She always blushes when you chat with her.”

“What girl?” Stiles asks, obviously puzzled. “Oh, you mean Erica? Nah, it’s not like that. She’s just shy. She’s like that with everyone.”

“I don’t think so. She gets all flustered when you joke with her. I’m sure she’d say yes if you asked her out.”

Stiles sighs. “I’m not desperate for a date, Mary. Can we just… stop talking about this? You’re an awesome boss, I swear, I’m cheered right up. Let me pass now, I need to throw these out. Got to keep up my awesome coffee-making skills, since I don’t have much more going for me.”

“Don’t know why I bother,” Mary grumbles, stepping aside, as he heads for the kitchen doors, a tray of dirty filters balanced between his hands. “I’m still charging you for the coffee!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Derek waits until the kitchen doors swish shut behind Stiles and walks out from behind the dessert display, making sure to make noise. Mary turns toward him, a professional smile on her face.

“Hi, what can I—oh.” She bites her lip, her cheeks coloring slightly.

“Don’t charge him for the coffee,” Derek says, handing her a fifty. “The rest is tip. And don’t tell him I was here.”

She takes the money silently, watching him with a befuddled look on her face. Derek turns to go, but pauses again just at the door.

“You’re wrong, you know,” he tells her quietly. “No one’s out of his league. He’s just…” He fumbles for words, gaze lingering on the kitchen doors. He doesn’t know what he was going to say. He’s just—young? He’s just—Stiles? What the hell would that even mean? In the end, Derek shakes his head, and walks out, saying nothing.

He nearly smashes into Michael who was about to reenter the coffeeshop. Michael takes a step back and laughs.

“You’re about ready to go?” he asks, grinning.

Derek grins back, slings an arm around his shoulders. “Yep.”

Michael is fun. He likes working out with Derek about as much as he likes fucking him, and he sticks around for almost two months, giving them plenty of time to enjoy both.

Derek doesn’t go back to the coffeeshop that summer, though he misses their coffee. Mary was right, Derek has been their faithful client since he was still in high school. But he can’t make himself go in, even when he’s on his own.

He catches glimpses of Stiles as weeks go by. Sometimes in the Preserve. Stiles still runs, apparently, though he hasn’t been sending Derek any updates. From what Derek can see, he’s in good shape, his heartrate always steady, his breathing under control. Derek is tempted to fall into step with him, share a run, find out how he’s doing. But Derek is usually with Michael, so he steers clear. He’s not that much of a jerk.

Sometimes Derek sees Stiles around town. Once or twice he’s in the company of a pretty blonde girl who looks to be his agemate. Never once are they alone though, a couple of kids usually hang out with them, so those are probably not dates. But Stiles looks like he’s having fun, laughing, talking, gesticulating wildly as usual, and Derek is happy to see him like this, even though the tug of something unpleasant deep inside, something that tastes uncomfortably like guilt, never quite fades.

Maybe because Stiles’s heart still does its usual flip whenever he drops Scott off for training and happens to run into Derek.

Derek does not think about how that makes him feel.

--

Autumn brings foul weather and more responsibilities. Michael leaves, which is just as well. Their relationship has run its course, and Michael ended up bonding more with Cora than Derek by the end of it, since Derek’s patience has never been that strong. They part amicably, and Derek breathes out a quiet sigh of relief.

The one good thing that definitely comes out of it is that Laura backs off about him needing to date. It’s a combination of factors. For one thing, she never really took to Michael for some reason. For another, as an unattached alpha, she is being constantly approached by representatives of other packs seeking their way into an alliance with the Hales through her bed. There’s etiquette to these things, and she can’t just tell them to leave or refuse to meet, but she’s getting fed up with it, Derek can tell. He is selfishly happy he doesn’t have to go through that.

So Laura lays off. Derek is busy anyway, having finally taken over the management of the family gym. It’s in dire need of an overhaul, starting from the building itself, the ancient machines, and the training options that used to be all the rave back in the eighties. It’s not his dream job by far, but it’s the one his mother had intended for him and it beats sitting on his ass brooding. He doesn’t hate it or anything. And he gets to stay in town and help Laura out with the pack, so that’s a plus.

He goes to Stiles’s graduation. Well, more precisely, they all go to Cora, Scott, and Stiles’s graduation. Cora ended up not leaving after all, though Laura would have come anyway, same as their mother would have.

When the three of them jump off the stage, flushed and happy, Laura hugs them all in turn, runs her hand over the back of their necks, scenting them. It’s automatic for werewolves, and every wolf in the pack does it, almost unconsciously. One could always tell how close a member of the pack was to the core family by scent alone.

Derek follows Laura’s example and his own instincts, offering his congratulations. Cora giggles in his ear, hanging off of his neck in excitement, demanding to be twirled. She punches him in the arm when he refuses, calls him a Grinch, and runs off to her friends.

Scott beams at him, mutters: “Thanks, man! Can’t believe I didn’t fail.”

Derek shakes him playfully. “They would never have held you back because of one class.”

“I guess.” Scott shrugs, but he looks relieved all the same. He’s never been ahead of the curve academically, but he’s been doing alright, until he accidentally asked a girl out and she said ‘yes’ back in October. The entire pack had to suffer him being completely loopy over her ever since.

Stiles is the last to hop down from the stage, what with being near the end of the list. He grins at Laura as she hugs him, and Derek sniffs the air surreptitiously. These days, Stiles smells mostly of Laura and Scott, occasionally, to Derek’s utter displeasure, of Peter. Derek’s own scent is almost non-detectable. It’s nowhere near how strong it was last summer, when they went for a run together nearly every day. Derek has no idea why he’s thinking about it.

Stiles is in front of him suddenly, and his blinding grin becomes cautious. There’s hesitation in his eyes and he’s looking at Derek as if gauging if he should go for a hug or if he’ll be rejected. Derek rolls his eyes and pulls him in, palm pressed to the nape of his neck. Stiles’s heart stutters as usual and he inhales sharply, accepting the embrace, but the tension never quite leaves his body. When he pulls back, Derek lets him, though he keeps his hand where it is, rubbing softly, unable to resist the urge to mark Stiles, too.

“So,” he says to make it look like an absent, instinctual gesture, “Valedictorian, huh?”

Stiles blushes with pleasure, but rolls his eyes. “Co-valedictorian,” he corrects, looking at someone over Derek’s shoulder. “They had to split the title for the first time in sixty-four years. Lydia is still pissed about that.”

Derek lifts an eyebrow, following his gaze to where a very bossy and very gorgeous redhead is pouting at one of her classmates. The boy is staring into space with a sullen expression.

“Isn’t that the girl you took to prom?”

“Yeah,” Stiles replies, clearly surprised that Derek knows. “Uh, just as friends, though. And it was really more her taking me, since she was on the outs with her boyfriend again—that’s him, by the way—and he hates me, so she wanted to piss him off. And I only dreamed about going to prom with her since third grade, when I realized just how smart she was, so.” He shrugs. “It wasn’t quite how I pictured it would happen, but I’m not complaining.” He smirks. “Jackson’s bitchface was epic.”

Derek is… surprised. That’s surprise he’s feeling.

“You like her?”

Stiles blushes, though he tries to appear nonchalant, and his heartbeat remains steady. “Well, I mean, there were an odd fantasy or two… okay, or dozen, but frankly, she’s a goddess and who wouldn’t? But it’s like… I don’t know. You meet someone, and at first, it’s just instinct, and hormones, and all that, but then you get to know them, and you start to respect them, and suddenly they are a person, you know? And I’d rather keep her as a person, because she’s awesome, than keep fantasizing about her like she’s just a face.”

‘Am I just a face?’ Derek almost asks, but manages to bite his tongue at the last moment, which is fortunate. He knows he isn’t and never has been, for one. For another, he refuses to feel jealous of an eighteen-year-old girl because he doesn’t like to share being the object of Stiles’s crushes. That’s beyond ridiculous.

“That’s very mature of you,” Derek drawls instead, smirking, shaking Stiles a little by the hold he still has on his neck. “I can almost believe you’re as smart as your diploma says.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Stiles laughs, squirming from under his touch and knocking his shoulder into Derek’s instead before running off to hug his father.

There is a celebratory dinner for the pack, or, more precisely, a good excuse to have an open-air picnic while the weather is so good. They set up by the lake, and the mouth-watering scent of barbecue spreads over the woods, along with the sound of chatter and laughter.

Derek drifts from group to group, touching base, though mostly he hovers at the outskirts of the party by himself, watching with a smile as the younger pack members get tipsy while the adults pretend not to notice just this once. The sheriff seems to be especially unobservant, though Derek knows that will change if anyone under legal age reaches for more than two beers.

Night falls, and someone sets up the speakers, putting on some music so people can dance. Derek watches Laura and Cora dance like they used to when they were just kids, though when Cora tries to stand on Laura’s feet, Laura whines and pushes her off, both laughing. Scott’s girlfriend is there, and they are slow-dancing even though the music is upbeat, and that’s a heartbreak just waiting to happen, because she’s moving away for college, and Scott is staying practically in the neighborhood.

Derek watches his younger cousins show off their dance moves, mocking each other and trying to outdo one another, and thinks that this is almost like it used to be when his parents were alive. They had a party just like that when Laura graduated, and they had one in the house when it was Derek’s turn, because of a freak rainstorm.

He catches Laura’s gaze over the fire, and they look at each other, seized by the same memory, the sharp pain of loss that is always with them, hovering just below the surface. After a long, suspended moment, Laura’s lips quirk and she gives Derek a small, tentative smile. He lifts the bottle he’s been nursing all night in return and nods at her.

Some time later, when most of the adults have gone on home, taking the younger kids with them, Derek feels someone’s warm shoulder press against his own.

“Hey, stranger.”

Derek doesn’t turn, but has to hide his grin by taking a swig from his bottle. “You’re drunk,” he says, when Stiles doesn’t pull back.

“Hm,” Stiles hums, watching the fire. “Not really. Mostly just”—his arm flails as he gestures—“it’s just all this, you know?”

Derek knows, but doesn’t say so. He doesn’t push Stiles away, either.

Stiles peels himself off anyway and looks at him. “Hey, you like to dance?” he asks, his words slurring around the edges.

Derek winces. “Not unless I’m drugged.”

It’s only when Stiles giggles that he realizes he’s misunderstood. “I… sorry, did you mean—”

Stiles just keeps on laughing softly, swaying in place a little. “What else could I have meant?” He shakes his head, grinning. “It’s all right. I just… was psyching myself all night to ask, so I had to do it.”

“Do you want to—” Derek turns toward him, ready to set his drink aside and move into the circle of light. He’s surprised how ready.

But Stiles is shaking his head again. “No, no, it’s fine. It’s just one of those things.”

Derek watches him, confused. Stiles catches his look and sighs.

“Some things,” he says, clearly struggling to articulate, “there are some things you just have to do at some point, or they just remain forever, like… like… like a doctor’s appointment you meant to make, but never did, and then bam, bad news, sir, you’re dying, it’s too late now, and—oh my God, this is a horrible analogy, just, I need to stop now. Uh. But you know. It’s like that. Things. You have to find out at some point, or…”

Derek realizes that his own heart is beating too quickly as he listens, and his palms are sweating, but he doesn’t know why. He’s confused, more than anything, because he thinks he does know what Stiles is talking about, and Derek had ‘those things’ too, but it was with Jennifer, and he went for broke, and it ended horribly, and now Stiles is asking him to dance, and…

Stiles is shaking his head and smiling sadly as he watches Derek’s face, and it feels like he’s not drunk, and a lot older than eighteen, and he can see things that Derek can’t.

“It’s all right,” he murmurs gently, and he’s suddenly in Derek’s space. “I didn’t think you’d say ‘yes.’ I just had to ask, you know? For me.”

Before Derek can reply, Stiles leans in and kisses his cheek. The scent of him, fresh grass and old books and apples, mixed with pack, Scott, Laura, Derek, envelops Derek like a cloud, making his head spin.

Hot breath against his ear.

“Have a nice summer, Derek.”

It sounds strangely final. It sounds like Stiles is saying something else entirely, but before Derek can process, Stiles is already gone, pulled back into the crowd by the fire, swallowed from view.

--

Derek’s confusion over that night isn’t lifted the next morning. Nor is it any better in a week when he accidentally discovers that Stiles has already left for Stanford. The news catches him completely off guard.

Stiles goes early, the sheriff explains when Derek runs into him at a grocery store, to settle in and to find a job that will work with student hours. His scholarship covers tuition, but not living expenses. The sheriff, Derek knows, can’t help him much, and both of them would rather die than take money from Laura, no matter how many times she emphasizes that they are pack and it’s supposed to be that way.

It’s all very reasonable and makes perfect sense, but it’s also unsettling. When Derek discovers that Laura had known all along and didn’t say anything, he realizes he’s pissed.

“How was I supposed to know you wanted to know?” Laura snipes back, unimpressed, when he corners her in her office. She’s been working as a public defender for a year now. “How was I supposed to know you didn’t know, for that matter? Stiles wasn’t keeping it a secret.”

“He didn’t tell me,” Derek grumbles.

“Well, you’ve hardly said two words to him in a year. Why would he think you’d want to know?” Laura rolls her eyes, and then her gaze narrows. “Why the sudden interest? No, don’t make that face. You haven’t paid any attention to Stiles since that summer two years ago when you suddenly decided to make him your running buddy. Why is this bothering you now?”

Derek glowers at her. “He’s pack. It’s a big change. I just—I need to know these things.”

“Aha,” Laura says flatly. “Derek, you’re my brother, and I love you, but until you’re ready to pull your head out of your ass, kindly take your tantrums elsewhere. I have a case.”

Derek is not too old to flip her off, but that’s all right, because Laura is not too old to stick her tongue out at him.

Gradually, the demands of everyday life occupy more and more of his attention, and Derek forgets, sort of. It becomes a confusing moment among many other vaguely confusing, slightly awkward moments he’s had with Stiles over the years, and he puts it out of his mind. His conscious mind, at least.

He gets even more distracted when one of Laura’s rejected suitors takes it badly, and the entire pack is forced to take a stand against a minor guerilla war he unleashes on them. They handle it with minor werewolf-only casualties, and everyone heals fine, but it’s messy enough that the Conclave gets involved anyway, sending an inspector to investigate and possibly assign reparations, and Laura gets extremely short-tempered for a while.

Derek doesn’t see Stiles again until Christmas, and then suddenly his confusion is back full force.

The Hale Pack is big. Not as huge as some, but still big enough to make gathering everyone in one place a feat. Usually, everyone spends Christmas Eve with their own families and then comes together for dinner at the Hale house. It’s not a religious celebration, since many pack members follow different beliefs, but it’s the easiest time for most of them to get time off work, so the tradition sticks.

Derek knows Stiles is back in town, knows that he and his father will be at the party before he arrives from a last-minute grocery run. The house is full of people, chatting and laughing, exchanging news, and generally basking in each other’s presence. Derek knows Stiles is in here somewhere, but he’s still unprepared for the moment he actually sees him.

Oh, Derek thinks, his mind going blank. Oh.

Stiles is the same yet different. Derek can’t put his finger on what has changed, but it feels like suddenly, instead of the boy he never really had to look at anymore to see, there’s an unfamiliar young man standing in the middle of his living room, painted in vivid technicolor, and it’s impossible not to stare.

Stiles is tall. Derek knew that, but it feels like news. His hair is a bit longer, messy in the attractive way that only a really good haircut can achieve. His jeans look new, and, what’s more, they fit, they really, really fit, in a way that is making Derek vaguely uncomfortable. The sweater he’s wearing is thin and soft and does nothing to conceal the definition of muscles in his arms and shoulders or the firm flatness of his stomach. The charcoal grey color somehow makes his eyes look bright like amber, almost beta-gold without the electrical sheen of supernatural to them. He laughs easily, lips pink and generous, long-fingered hands as expressive as ever.

Derek feels ambushed. Completely blindsided.

Stiles has been talking with his father, but as someone calls the sheriff over and he excuses himself, Stiles turns and comes face to face with Derek.

“Stiles,” Derek says, surprised at the way his voice drops, but even more surprised that he has any voice at all, his throat feels so dry.

Stiles’s smile doesn’t falter, only softens slightly around the edges.

“Derek. Hi.”

“Hi.”

And then they are just standing there, smiling at each other like idiots. Derek should scent him. It’s what pack does, everyone, even humans, whenever they run into each other, a greeting and recognition, both. It’s instinct. Derek has never been shy about it with someone who belongs to him in that sense, but he’s seized by some strange hesitation now, unsure if he can touch.

He can sense Stiles’s mounting confusion behind his smile, and reaches out hastily, awkwardly, to run his hand lightly down Stiles’s arm. Stiles actually follows the movement with a puzzled expression on his face before glancing up at Derek. Whatever he sees makes him roll his eyes and then he’s pulling Derek into a hug, pressing his nose into Derek’s hair, inhaling deeply.

“Don’t be such a weirdo,” Stiles murmurs straight into his ear, and Derek only manages to suppress a shiver, because he uses the energy to pull Stiles close, pressing his cheek against the soft skin of Stiles’s neck.

He smells good. He smells familiar and new at the same time, and Derek wants to keep him right here for a while until he can puzzle out that contradiction, but that really would be weird, so he lets him go.

Stiles pulls back, still smiling. His heartbeat is fast, perhaps slightly accelerated than it was a few moments ago, and Derek is waiting for that familiar flip it always does, and it feels like it’s just about to do it when—

“Stilinski! Get over here you loser!”

Malia barrels into Stiles, making him stagger back two steps as he catches her. She wraps herself around him with her usual disregard for her own strength and buries her nose in his neck. Stiles is laughing, wrapping his arms around her even as he is complaining.

“Ow, seriously, watch the claws, squishy human here!”

She pulls back, grinning, completely unrepentant. Derek feels a sudden urge to smack his cousin upside the head, hard. Malia’s eyes are roaming up and down Stiles like she’s ogling a particularly appetizing cut of venison.

“Damn, Stilinski, when did you get so hot?”

“I’d thank you, if you didn’t just try to maim me,” Stiles says, rubbing at his shoulder. “And what do you mean, I was always hot.”

And that’s… not untrue, Derek realizes, startled. Stiles hasn’t changed that much. Different clothes and hairstyle aside, he’s more or less the same he’s always been. But it feels like some sort of switch has been pushed into the ‘on’ position inside him, and suddenly what was easy to overlook before became impossible to ignore.

“No way,” Malia says, and, with no regards for boundaries, jerks his sweater halfway up his chest. “You’ve got abs!” she crows, managing to run her fingers down the definitely visible muscles before Stiles bats her hands away. “You never used to have abs before, that’s—”

Stiles jerks his sweater down, blushing furiously, still fending her off. “Ugh, Malia! You’re as horrible as ever! Stop!”

“I just want to take another look—”

“Malia,” an amused voice cuts in, breaking their puppy fight. “Stop pawing at the human or at least drag him somewhere else first. Hello, Stiles.”

“Peter.” Stiles rolls his eyes. “I did not miss you at all,” he says, but still obediently hugs him.

Peter takes his opportunity to run his hands all over Stiles, before Stiles pushes him away, amused and embarrassed at the same time.

“My daughter is right,” Peter concludes, smirking.

“Why,” Stiles groans, “why do you always have to be such a creep?”

“Ignore him, haven’t you learned by now?” Laura says, joining them, slinging an arm casually over Stiles’s shoulders. Peter bares his teeth at her playfully, making her roll her eyes.

Derek is almost relieved to see them like this once again. When his mother’s alpha spark had first descended on Laura, as it was supposed to, her relationship with Peter got strained for a while.

“No, seriously, what gives?” Malia asks. “You joined some sort of fight club?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “No. This is simply what happens when you work at a bar where the owner is an asshole and, despite being a werewolf, leaves all the heavy lifting to us, puny humans. I think I hefted more crates of whiskey than I poured drinks my first three months there alone.”

“You bartend?” Malia boggles. “You? You drop whatever happens to be in your hands for over a minute.”

Stiles sends her a mock glare. “Not when it comes out of my wages. I make a mean margarita, I’ll have you know. And I’m an absolute riot on shot nights.”

“I can believe that,” Laura says, ruffling his hair, an evil glint in her eye. “You work at Moonrise, right? I went there the last time I visited Josh in San Francisco. Is it still two-for-one every Friday night, and if you order five, the bartender serves you shirtless?”

Everyone cheers, as Stiles blushes deeper than ever and looks around wildly. “Shut up before my dad hears you!”

“Aw,” Malia drawls, sidling up to him on the other side and slipping her hand under his sweater again. Stiles jerks back, but Laura holds him steady. “You must get really good tips.”

Stiles stops his struggles, giving up, and turns a shit-eating grin on her. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Everyone laughs as they tease him, and Stiles, recovering, gives back as good as he gets. Derek watches from the periphery of the group, feeling vaguely disgruntled at those glimpses of a life he’s not a witness to. He drifts away, after intercepting a look Laura sends him and realizing he’s been growling subvocally in irritation at Malia’s usual lack of tact and personal boundaries. They are werewolves; they are not savages. Laura lifts an eyebrow at him, still half-draped over Stiles. Derek chooses to retreat.

But he keeps on hearing things all night, seemingly unable to tune out whoever’s talking to Stiles. He learns that Stiles is double-majoring in social anthropology (understandable, considering he’s part of a werewolf pack) and environmental studies. The latter sound so complicated when Stiles describes with great enthusiasm all the research he’s been studying to Gill and Meghan that Derek loses track pretty soon.

Stiles still talks with his hands, as animated about the subject as he used to be about the new Spiderman comic book, and Derek never had the slightest inclination toward natural sciences, but he feels enraptured all the same. He’s distracted whenever anyone tries to talk to him, to the point where Scott frowns and asks if Derek is okay, and Laura keeps watching him from across the room, lips teasing the possibility of a knowing smirk.

Derek has no idea what it is she thinks that she knows.

He’s happy to be left alone by the mostly clear drinks table and is contemplating how he can pull Stiles aside for some catching up without making it look like a big deal. He’s frowning at an empty glass sitting in front of him, wondering why whoever drank from it thought it acceptable to just leave it there, when he feels a shoulder press against his own.

“Hey, stranger.”

Derek’s head snaps up. Stiles is standing in front of him, looking somewhat more rumpled and smelling overwhelmingly of pack. He’s grinning.

“Any particular reason you’ve been brooding here in the corner for half the night?”

Derek glowers at him, then back at the room. “It tends to get a bit much.”

“Hm.” Stiles’s shoulder presses against his again, this time in solidarity. “I guess. I’ve just been so happy to see everyone. It’s been a while, and it’s… nice. Though a little weird, too.” He frowns slightly. “Everyone’s treating me like… I don’t know. Like I’m Scott or something. Janine asked me to strip for her. And Roberta asked me out.” He shudders.

Derek lifts an eyebrow. “Roberta—my cousin Roberta? Isn’t she fourteen?”

Stiles gives him a completely bewildered look. “Yeah. What’s up with that?”

Derek can’t help a snort.

“Yeah, laugh it up, big guy, it’s hilarious.” Stiles elbows him in the ribs. “Her mother was standing right there, growling at me like I was trying to steal her daughter’s virtue or something.”

Derek outright laughs. “Roberta,” he pushes out through the giggles, “has always been assertive.”

“Ugh,” Stiles groans. “You’re the worst.”

“We could be actual relatives soon.”

“Shut up.”

“Unless Roberta fights her mom for you.”

“Seriously, the absolute worst, oh my God.”

Derek just grins, pressing his shoulder back into Stiles’s. Stiles leans into him.

“Hey, Derek?” Stiles asks after a while. “Do you still run?”

“Sure.”

“Me too, but not as often as I’d like, what with my job and classes… You want to go for a run with me in the morning? See how bad I am, maybe make a new training program for me?”

Derek pulls back to look at him, surprised and pleased. “Of course.” He smirks. “Six a.m. works for you?”

Stiles rolls his eyes, but just grins in response. “It’s a date.”

--

The Stiles he sees the next morning is a lot more like the Stiles he used to know. In a pair of old sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt that has seen better days, with his hair still curling slightly after his shower, he looks younger and softer, his sleepy grin making something clench in Derek’s chest at the familiarity of it. But the aura of confidence around him isn’t at all diminished, and he becomes almost visibly brighter and more ‘on’ as the run wakes him up.

He talks about his classes, about his idiot roommate, about a professor in one of his social anthropology courses who wouldn’t believe Stiles is in a pack, let alone in the Hale Pack, and is giving him a hard time because of it. He tells Derek about his campaign to woo everyone who works at the library with baked goods so that they’d give him unrestricted access, about a guy on a freaking skateboard who knocked him over that one time and then asked him out, about whether or not he should join the track team, because it would be nice, but he doesn’t really have the time, and—

They’ve been running for nearly forty minutes, when Derek, who’s been listening not only to Stiles’s stories, but to his heartrate and breathing, shoots an arm out in front of him, halting him.

“Slow down, let’s walk.”

“What?” Stiles stumbles. “Why?”

“You’re panting. If you can’t talk and run—”

“—you’re running too fast,” Stiles finishes, grinning, and obediently slows down. “Shit. Forty-two minutes, huh? I guess I really am out of shape.”

“Stiles.” Derek gives him an odd look. “You’ve been matching my speed.”

Stiles blinks, then grins, then lifts an accusing finger at Derek. “You were testing me!”

Derek shrugs. “You asked me to write a new program for you. I had to know what I was working with.”

“You’re a sadist.” Stiles groans. “Oh my God. I can’t believe you let me run at your level of cardio for forty minutes! No wonder I feel like I’m about to keel over!”

Derek smirks. “You would have noticed if you’d—”

“—paid attention to my body, yeah, yeah.” Stiles waves at him vaguely. “Whatever you say, Master Yoda. You’re still evil.”

“Stop whining, we’re back to running in thirty seconds.”

Stiles groans.

Derek doesn’t realize he’s been waiting since the moment he spotted Stiles at the house the other night until they’ve reached the end of the trail. Stiles’s breathing is elevated, but he’s not panting, and he’s grinning, drunk on the endorphin rush. Derek reaches out instinctively to squeeze the nape of his neck, shaking him a little, pressing in both his scent and his approval for a job well done.

That’s when he hears it, finally, that tiny little sound he doesn’t know he’s been missing.

Flip.

Derek grins.

--

Derek likes spending time with Stiles. Not that he didn’t before, but it was different. Age difference means a lot when it separates adults from children. But once the magical barrier is crossed by all parties, it has a tendency to simply dissolve. Stiles is an adult now, and Derek no longer feels responsible for him the way he would for a younger sibling or packmate. They are equals now, and Derek can simply enjoy his company.

Stiles keeps busy, even on holiday. They go running every morning, and, while the renovations at the gym have been paused for the holidays, leaving Derek free, Stiles has picked up a few shifts in the coffeeshop he used to work at. Mary is happy to have him, since a lot of kids take time off for the break. The sheriff tries to object, but Stiles assures him that it’s fun and gives him a perfect opportunity to catch up with everyone.

Later, he tells Derek that he’s determined not to ask his dad for money unless absolutely necessary. Derek says nothing, even though he badly wants to. He can respect a prideful stance, even if he knows, has known for a while already, that no one really gets through life all on their own. He knows, too, that Stiles wouldn’t take a penny from the pack funds unless he was desperate. He never says it, but Derek knows, has caught enough abortive comments over the years and has certainly seen enough of Stiles to know. Stiles still believes, deep down, that he was only accepted into the pack on sufferance, and hasn’t been kicked out yet because everyone is too nice or got used to him.

Derek wants to set him right, but he’s in no position to do more than he is already. The rest is up to Laura, and Derek trusts her to take care of it eventually.

For now, Derek simply enjoys hanging out with Stiles and his friends and pack—most often it’s Scott, Isaac, and, surprisingly, Cora. His younger sister is still giving Stiles suspicious looks every now and then, but Derek can tell that Stiles is winning her over little by little, when he talks about organic farming and cruelty-free economy.

On Thursday, they all go to the skate rink. Derek isn’t sure how it comes to be, because all he remembers is Scott making an offhand comment that he’s never skated. Stiles and Cora exchange malicious looks, and just like that, they’re queueing up for the rental.

Scott is terrible. Before he sets a foot on the ice, he claims that his superior werewolf reflexes will make it a cake walk. The moment he does set foot on the ice, Cora collapses in a fit of laughter, wheezing as she holds herself up against the rink board. Isaac isn’t doing much better, clutching at his stomach, as Scott tries getting up and ends up falling again. And then again. And again. Stiles looks torn for all of five seconds, but then there’s a cluster of girls cooing over Scott, subtly fighting each other over who gets to teach him. Stiles rolls his eyes, grinning, and takes off.

Stiles is… not bad. In the sense that he can skate in a straight line, turn when he needs to, and generally maintain his balance. The rink isn’t very crowded, it’s California, not Vancouver, but there are still plenty of people for him to avoid, arms flailing.

Derek would swear up and down that he doesn’t do it on purpose. His skates forward cautiously, arms splayed for balance, as he concentrates on carefully moving his feet. Stiles catches up with him within half a minute.

“Dude, relax, you’re way too tense,” Stiles says, grinning, and reaches to take a hold of Derek’s arm. “Woah, definitely too tense. You need to relax a bit, or you’ll end up like the wolfy ice mop over there. Come on, bend your knees a little bit. Seriously, none of you done it before?”

Derek tries to follow that advice, biting his lips hard enough to draw blood. His back remains rigid.

“Okay, get over here, easy, there you go,” Stiles instructs softly, as he herds Derek to the side of the rink, away from the crowd. “Now, slowly… okay, that wasn’t slowly! Derek, you’re okay?”

“Fine,” Derek manages, after he’s done flailing. “This isn’t very relaxing, Stiles.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not even trying,” Stiles complains. “Okay, just hold there. How about this?”

He slides away, and then Derek feels arms wrapping around him from behind, Stiles pulling him carefully in until he’s plastered against Derek’s back. Derek grins, knowing Stiles can’t see him. He covers Stiles’s hands with his own, leaning into him a little.

“Jesus, you’re like a brick wall,” Stiles mutters into his ear. “Just let go a little bit. I swear I won’t let you fall.”

“Hm.”

Derek does relax at the proximity, enjoys it for a few moments longer perhaps than is justified. Then, he holds Stiles’s hands firmly in his own, twists around in his arms and slowly starts skating away. Backward. Stiles, moving perforce with him, gapes.

“What—how?”

Derek can’t hold a grin back any longer, lets Stiles have one of his hands back, and starts gathering up speed, as the end of the rink draws nearer.

“Derek, stop!” Stiles squeals, his eyes wide. “We’re going to crush! Slow down! Dammit, turn! Turn! I don’t want to die, Derek, let me go—oops, sorry, Miss! Derek!”

Derek uses his hold to tug Stiles closer as they make the turn, and Stiles yells in fear even as he laughs.

“Derek, I swear to God, if you launch me into a quadruple salchow or something, I’m going to kill you!”

Derek wasn’t going to, but now that the idea is in his head, he spins them, tugging Stiles closer against his chest all the while, until he inevitably starts losing control of their rotation. He has just enough coordination to push them toward the soft board surrounding the rink, just before they collapse on the ice in a heap of limbs. He ends up on top of Stiles, who screams as they fall, and then just lies there, not even trying to get up, shaking with laughter.

Derek beams down at him. “I played hockey when I was in high school. Only for a year, but…”

“Bastard.” Stiles is laughing. “The worst, you’re the absolute worst, I hate your stupid face. Why am I on the bottom? You heal, I don’t. I think I hurt my elbow.” He thinks about it, then adds, “Ow.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Well, you promised you wouldn’t let me fall,” he says, as he carefully lifts himself off of Stiles then gives him a hand up. “That was very chivalrous of you.”

“Dick,” Stiles says as Derek more or less lifts him to his feet. “You’re such a dick, honestly, I don’t know why I—”

“Tag, you’re it, losers!” Cora yells as she breezes past at an unreasonable speed, tapping Stiles on the shoulder hard enough to nearly knock him over. “Last one buys hot dogs!”

Stiles’s eyes narrow. “Oh, it’s on,” he yells after her and gives chase.

And Derek—Derek does, too.

--

They are all having coffee after Stiles’s shift has ended the next day, when Stiles pulls out his phone and winces as he reads the text.

“Danny’s asshole boyfriend dumped him,” Stiles informs them, scowling. “We’re all his wingmen tonight at the Jungle, or he posts photos of us from middle school to Facebook.” He shows them the screen so that they can see the message by themselves.

“Crap,” Scott says. “Not that this is bad news. The guy was a douche.”

Apparently, everyone has an opinion on Danny’s ex, and while they are happily abusing him, Stiles turns to Derek.

“What do you say, man?” he asks quietly. “You’re in?”

Derek doesn’t really know Danny all that well, but he’s curious to see Stiles in a club setting. The last time Derek saw Stiles dance Laura had to hit him hard in the kidneys to keep him from laughing. Granted, it was seven years ago, but still.

Derek nods. “Sure.”

Stiles beams.

He has to make his own way to the club. Cora ditches them. Stiles, Scott, and Isaac are still technically underage, and Stiles says something about having a friend get them in. Derek should be more surprised that Stiles is, apparently, Facebook buddies with all the local drag queens, but he’s gets too distracted for that when he finally gets inside.

Stiles is wearing tight skinny jeans, and a shirt that clings to him like it’s molesting his torso. His hair is artfully styled, and he’s… Derek gulps. He’s wearing eyeliner. Derek doesn’t know how to deal with that.

“Let me buy you a drink,” Derek says before anyone else can, because he can already see all the eyes following Stiles around, and he doesn’t want to have to hurt anyone tonight.

Stiles grins at him. “Awesome, thanks!”

Derek watches him knock back a shot, then another one. He leans over, gripping Derek’s shoulder to yell in his ear over the music, even though Derek would have heard him anyway.

“I’m going to go dance with Danny for a few, okay? He’s really not taking this whole thing well.”

So Derek watches him dance. Scott and Isaac are there too, and for a while they all dance together, a tight protective circle around Danny, the tall boy in the middle, who’s smiling at them gratefully and leans into their touches. Scott splits after a while and goes to sit by the bar, but before he can so much as try convincing the bartender to serve him, there are three drinks in front of him. Derek laughs, watching Scott stare in bewilderment then blush then accept with a grateful nod. Derek is keeping an eye on him, but Scott’s a werewolf. He can’t get drunk, and human roofies won’t work on him.

Back on the dancefloor, Stiles and Isaac have Danny sandwiched between them now, hands all over each other, and no, it doesn’t look ridiculous at all. Derek is watching, his mouth dry, his heart beating loud enough to deafen him over the music. He’s not the only one. Half the club is enjoying the show, and the three in the middle obviously know that.

It’s not awkward. It doesn’t make Derek want to laugh. It makes him tense and alert and slightly pissed off for some unknown reason.

Isaac is all sinuous movement and easy grace. He probably was like that even before he’d requested the Bite from Laura. Danny is the kind of guy who doesn’t need any impressive moves and can seduce half the club by simply shuffling from foot to foot and smiling. And Stiles—Stiles is almost sizzling with energy, the movements of his body uncomplicated but raw and honest and so full of life that it makes Derek shiver.

He has to turn away, because he can’t watch. He flashes his eyes and requests a wolfsbane-laced shot of whiskey. He doesn’t intend to get drunk, but he can’t face this sober.

He doesn’t know how much time he spends at the bar nursing drinks, only occasionally glancing at the dancefloor. People keep hitting on him. Humans, mostly, though a couple of wolves passing through town try, too. Derek tries not to growl as he rejects them, but he suspects he doesn’t always succeed. He doesn’t know what’s happening. He hasn’t had that much trouble reigning in his temper since… well, since Jennifer.

When a pair of arms wrap around him from behind, he tenses, ready to strike, because that is absolutely it, but then relaxes within a moment.

“Dance with me, Sourwolf,” Stiles breathes in his ear, and yes, that. Derek didn’t want to dance, but yes. Yes.

He slides off the stool and Stiles leads him into the crowd by the hand before turning around, facing him, a smirk on his face, his thin t-shirt nearly translucent with sweat, his eyeliner smudged and blurry around the edges. He smells overwhelmingly of other people, even though the scent of the pack is stronger than the rest. Derek feels a rumble start in his own chest, and before he can think about what he’s doing, he grabs Stiles by the waist and pulls him closer. He’s not gentle and has no excuse for this shit, but Stiles only grins at him, and loops his arms around Derek’s neck.

“Hey you,” he murmurs, pressing against Derek as he moves.

Anything goes in a club, apparently.

Over his shoulder Derek can see Isaac making out with Danny and wants to bark at them, because they’re idiots.

“Hey, hey, no growling,” Stiles says, actually sliding closer against Derek, chest to chest. “They’ll be fine; it’s just fun.”

And Derek should care more about rebounds and potential heartbreaks, and Isaac is not fun when he’s moping. He should, but right at that instance he doesn’t, because he’s not dancing with Stiles; this isn’t dancing, this is…

Derek didn’t drink that much, but he feels drunk. He feels like he’s falling. Like he’s holding Stiles upright, carrying him even, but also holding on to him to keep his own feet. Stiles never stops moving and he’s plastered all over Derek, and Derek might die if he stops.

He buries his face in Stiles’s neck, inhaling, scenting, far more intimately than he ever has before. He’d never dare at any other time, but he feels almost drugged now, he feels like all he can do is follow what feels good. A little jolt runs through Stiles when he feels Derek’s breath against his neck, he squirms a bit, but not like he’s trying to get away, more in some unclear frustration. Then his long clever fingers slide into Derek’s hair, and oh, if that is fair game, Derek can totally press his lips to the warm damp skin.

Stiles shudders in his arms as Derek drags his lips up and down his neck, not really pressing down, even though he wants to. God, how he wants to. He is rewarded by Stiles’s own scent intensifying in response, eclipsing the scents of all the others who have touched him tonight. Derek could drown in it. His head is swimming. The music turns into something dark and viscous, and Derek holds Stiles tightly as he rocks them, dipping them low, pulling them up, all without opening his eyes.

Stiles’s fingers are tangled in Derek’s hair, the side of his face pressed against Derek’s, as he’s holding on, his breath coming out in short gasps, hitching sometimes when Derek’s movements surprise him. Laughter runs through him, too, infecting Derek, who finds himself grinning at odd moments, even though they are both hard, but it’s only part of what makes everything feel so good right now, as they move together, drunk on joy.

It ends abruptly when harsh white lights flood the floor, indicating the start of some sort of performance. Derek groans, and Stiles curses, as they manage to untangle—only just—and move aside. They can’t quite let go of one another as they stumble back to the bar, where Derek orders water.

The drag queens are performing tonight, it turns out, and Stiles must have slipped a word in to his friends, because they are singling Danny out, dragging him front and center to give him all of their attention. It’s cute, sexy, and so goddamn funny, because these ladies absolutely rock, and Derek finds himself laughing like he hasn’t in a long time was he watches.

Stiles is leaning on him more than on the bar, as he watches and cheers, rolling his eyes when Derek reminds him to drink his water. Derek’s arm is looped around his waist. It’s no big deal that Derek keeps nuzzling Stiles’s jaw, the shell of his ear, as they enjoy the performance. Stiles doesn’t object, only snuggles closer.

When it’s over, Stiles turns toward him, grinning, eyes foggy but bright, and says: “Admit it, you’re having fun.”

Derek pretends to think about it, then gives up when he can’t fight his own grin anymore, and says: “Yeah, I am.”

Stiles laughs.

Some time later, they pour Danny into a cab, and then Derek, who’s sober by then, drives everyone else home. He has a strange feeling as the night’s euphoria starts to dissipate. He feels like he’s forgotten to do something, like there’s something he must do or say, and he can’t figure it out, and it’s bugging him even through all the laughter.

He is fairly certain that it’s something to do with Stiles, and regrets that he has to drop him off first. Scott and Isaac are giggling sleepily in the backseat, when Derek pulls up at the sheriff’s house. Stiles looks at him, his grin tired but pleased. Derek suddenly doesn’t know what to do with himself, but he has to do something, so he reaches out and wipes gently at the corner of Stiles’s eye where the eyeliner is smudged like coal.

“Thanks.” Stiles looks down, as if bashful. His heart is doing the flip thing again. “Um, I probably won’t be up for running today.”

Derek glances at the lightening horizon, dawn being maybe an hour away, and laughs. “I’d say so. Drink more water, get some sleep. See you later.”

“Right, see you.” Stiles grins and opens the door. “Bye, guys.”

“Bye, Stiles,” Scott and Isaac chorus from where they’re slumped against each other.

“Check on Danny later?” Scott pipes up.

Stiles aims a finger at him. “You know it.”

Derek waits until he’s all the way inside before he drives off, still grinning, yet feeling that strange unresolved pull intensify. He falls into his own bed later with a sense of overwhelming relief, ordering himself to sleep just to escape from his confusion.

--

He wakes up to the sound of someone pounding loudly on the front door. Derek wants to kill them. Yes, he knows, it’s probably past noon, but he’s been out all night, and who the fuck has the audacity to demand entrance to the house of the alpha in such a way anyway? He rolls out of bed with a loud groan and thoughts of murder that don’t dissipate even as he stomps downstairs and can already hear Cora’s delighted squeal.

“There he is, the grumpy puppy!” an eerily familiar voice exclaims as Derek comes downstairs. “My-my, has he gotten hotter or what?”

Derek blinks, then stares. Before he can process, he has an armful of a very happy werewolf, blonde curls tickling his nose.

“Alex?” Derek pulls back, staring at her. A delighted grin begins to break on his face. “Alex?”

She laughs, poking him in the chest. “You’re so grumpy when you’ve just woken up, I love it!”

Derek realizes suddenly he’s not wearing anything but pajama pants and blushes, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh. Hi?”

Alex just keeps laughing as she loops her arm through his, dragging him toward the kitchen. “Come on, Grumpy, let’s get some coffee into you, while I ogle the goodies.”

Derek tries to slink away to at least get dressed, but just then Laura and Peter descend on them, and Alex is clutching his arm like she knows exactly what he’s thinking, and he gives up. He’s used to his family making fun of him anyway, and at least there’s coffee.

Alex is technically their cousin, though it’s through someone’s marriage and even that is so far removed that it barely counts. She is part of the pack in Brazil that they’re sort of related to, two years older than Laura, and was responsible for the two of them when Derek and Laura went over there for their extended training.

Derek used to have the biggest crush on Alex. She was almost aggressively sexy, yet at the same time somehow totally adorable with plump round cheeks and bright blue eyes. She kicked Derek’s ass six ways into Sunday during every single training session, and somehow he only wanted to come back for more.

Every remaining Hale descends on her, and they spend several hours happily catching up, eating pancakes and bacon, because no one wants to bother with lunch. Alex looks and feels the same, still making outrageous statements, still laughing loud enough to shake the house, still being playful and scarily competent at the same time.

The only difference is in the way she keeps looking at Derek with fire in her eyes where there only used to be teasing before. It’s blatant enough for Laura, Cora and Peter to notice and exchange meaningful looks. Derek ignores it all. It’s flattering, and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

It used to be so easy once upon a time. But then Jennifer happened, and now he never knows anymore. It’s easier with guys. Derek is, like most wolves, pansexual, and it shouldn’t matter to him. It never used to, before, but now it does. Guys are less complicated. He gets how they work. It’s simple and it’s fun. Like it was with Michael. Hell, even like it was with Stiles the night before. Just two packmates, two friends, enjoying themselves. Yes, with a bit of spice in there, now that Stiles is no longer a kid and it’s all right. Easy. Simple.

That nagging feeling from yesterday returns full force when Derek heads back to his room to change and finds that Stiles has texted him, asking if Derek is up for their usual run tomorrow. Derek thinks about Alex, and types quickly:

No, sorry. Something came up. Day after for sure.

He gets a reply a minute later.

No problem, dude. I’ll run extra for you. ;)

Derek frowns as he gets dressed. Something about Stiles’s easy acceptance bothers him, though he can’t figure out what.

It keeps bothering him all through dinner as they storm the oldest grill restaurant in town, staying well past closing hours, demolishing piles of ribs and laughing so hard the windows rattle. The proprietor is happy to indulge, keeping a couple of staff on hand, because he knows that Laura will pay extra and because the entire town spoils the pack sometimes.

It’s the kind of night the remaining Hales rarely get on their own anymore. It’s not that they don’t enjoy themselves when pack is there, but there’s a part of Laura that can’t let go. She’s responsible for them, and she can’t relax fully when someone might need her to be the alpha. To a lesser extent it goes for Derek, Peter, and even Cora.

And when it’s just the four of them in the house, on the rare occasions that it happens, they are usually quiet, too cognizant of all the empty chairs around the table, of the locked-up room that used to be their parents’ bedroom. Laura should have moved in, but never did, and none of them had ever brought it up, not even Peter.

Alex is close enough to be family, and she’s pack but not quite at the same time. She brings the kind of joy to them they’d forgotten they could have with just the inner circle, and it’s… nice. More so, it’s wonderful.

Even more wonderful for Derek, because Alex is sitting next to him. She punches him in the shoulder as she talks, grips his thigh as she laughs, leans into him playfully while stealing garlic bread off his plate. She’s flirting, and he’s flirting back, because it’s fun, because he knows her, because she’s safe. He’s definitely enjoying himself.

He and Cora show Alex around the next day, though Cora ditches them after lunch to meet up with one of her girlfriends. Alex never stops flirting with him, and Derek is cognizant by now that she’s not entirely joking. She’s at the age where most werewolves would be looking to settle down, and, apparently, he warrants an audition. It’s flattering. He had pined for her long enough when he was a teenager for it to make his head spin a bit still.

He sees Stiles as he and Alex are leaving the movie theater. Stiles is across the parking lot, loading up groceries into his Jeep. He catches sight of Derek and waves, eyes traveling between him and Alex curiously. Derek waves back, but Alex chooses that moment to snap a strap of her shoe and hobbles, cursing, bumping into Derek, and then laughs and demands he carry her to the car. Derek rolls his eyes, but knows from experience he’d save a lot of time and energy by just obliging. By the time he looks up, Stiles is gone.

That night, Alex shows up at his room. They watch a movie on Derek’s laptop and drink beer. By the time the second movie starts, Alex has broken out some really potent wolfsbane tequila. She talks about her human father who’s borderline alcoholic. She talks about the time Talia Hale had dragged her out of the boys locker room by the ear when she was fifteen. She talks about how her younger cousin got married two months ago, and how she teased Alex about not fitting into the bridesmaid’s dress, and Alex clawed through her veil, but she thought…

Derek ends up kissing her because he can’t stand to listen any longer, and they tear each other’s clothes off desperately, trying to get ahead of the pain. It dissolves to a blur of warm bodies and hot touches, and claws digging into flesh. Derek lets himself go the way he hasn’t since Jennifer, possibly hasn’t ever, and Alex is just as merciless with him in return. They’re hurting each other, but it’s better than hurting themselves, and they ride it out until whatever remains of the pain becomes bearable.

--

When morning dawns, Alex is gone. Werewolves don’t really get hangovers, but Derek is still woozy when he climbs out of bed, puts the first shirt he sees on, and trudges downstairs into the kitchen, drawn by the scent of coffee. Cora is sitting at the counter, drinking distractedly from her mug, as she scrolls through her tablet.

“Morning,” Derek says, poring himself a cup.

Cora doesn’t look up, just grunts in response. That’s fine with Derek. Out of all the Hales, Laura is the only one who can occasionally pull off being a morning person.

Cora is more awake than Derek is, though, because after a while she says, “Oh, right, before I forget. Stiles dropped by earlier. You didn’t text him to cancel your run or something.”

Derek freezes. He forgot. He completely forgot about Stiles after Alex had showed up at his room. He looks at the clock on the wall automatically. Half past nine. He and Stiles usually go at six, and they start from the house.

“He didn’t…” Derek clears his throat. “He didn’t wait?”

Not that he’d want Stiles to, that would be even worse, but he has to know…

Cora’s eyebrows lift, though she doesn’t look up from her social media feed or whatever it is that’s got her attention. “He asked if he should, but I told him you and Alex had a late night last night, and you probably wouldn’t be up for it anyway.”

Derek stares at her, heart sinking. “You told him that?”

Cora blinks and finally looks up. “Uh. Any reason I shouldn’t have?”

Derek can’t answer, can’t articulate what’s wrong with all of that. It’s not that Cora told him, but that too, and that Derek forgot, and that it’s Stiles, and it’s all just plain wrong somehow, though he can’t understand why.

“Derek, you okay?” Cora is looking at him with concern now.

“Yeah. I need to…” He gestures helplessly, palms suddenly sweaty. “I’d better go call Stiles.”

He has no idea what he’s going to say, but—

“I doubt you’d catch him,” Cora says. “He said he and his dad are going camping for a couple of days. Something about the Stilinski men bonding experience.” Her lips quirk. “There’s no reception in the mountains.”

Derek swears.

“Hey, what’s the big deal?” Cora frowns. “You’re acting all weird. It’s just Stiles. I mean, yeah, not cool, man, ditching him and not warning him, but he was up here anyway, and hey, he’s seen Alex. I told him it was like all your dreams coming true, since you've been pretty gaga for her since forever. He gets it.”

Derek wants to howl. He doesn’t want Stiles to get it. Stiles getting it is exactly the problem, though Derek still can’t figure out why. He storms off, coffee forgotten. He feels perfectly awake now.

--

He doesn’t get a hold of Stiles for the next two days, and then only via text. Derek apologizes about not canceling, feeling that it’s woefully inadequate, but unable to come up with anything better. The response he gets is completely understanding and friendly, and plain wrong.

Hey, man, no worries. No big deal. ttyl

Stiles doesn’t, in fact, talk to him later. The next day after he’s back from his camping trip, he heads back to Stanford. He pays his respects to Laura during her business hours, catching her at the police station, and doesn’t come by the house again.

Derek is irrationally angry about that. So Derek forgot, so what? Way to be a brat. He cultivates anger like a crop that can save the world from hunger because he doesn’t want to deal with what’s underneath.

Alex leaves in a few days, muttering a quiet ‘thanks’ to Derek as she goes. Derek is angry at her too, because they could have been friends, good friends even, maybe like her and Laura. But now that a night of too revealing sex between two people who didn’t know each other all that well and didn’t share a deeper connection to sustain such revelations stood between them, they could never build an easy friendship. They would always, in fact, be uncomfortable with one another.

Derek is angry, so he runs, he works out, he joins the crew that is working on renovating the gym and does some heavy lifting himself. He avoids Cora, Scott, and Isaac. He dodges Laura. He doesn’t want to see anyone. All he wants is to tear something apart.

Almost a whole month passes before he figures it out. When it finally clicks, he stands frozen in shock. He doesn’t think he could have been more shocked if he’d been hit by a lightning out of a clear blue sky.

It’s the way he’s always been aware of Stiles on some level. The way he’s always kept track of him at the periphery of his mind. The way he admired Stiles’s mind and laughed at his jokes back when Stiles was just a kid. The way he never understood why Stiles wasn’t more popular. The way Derek found him so endlessly interesting, and appealing, and bright. The way he couldn’t take his eyes off him that first night at his house. The way he felt high when he was holding Stiles at that club, the way he still feels high when he so much as thinks about it. The way he’d always, always listened to that tiny flip in Stiles’s heartbeat, that little break in rhythm that settled something inside Derek he couldn’t reach himself.

The sheer amount of guilt Derek feels over the entire Alex thing. Maybe Derek needed it, and maybe Alex did too. Maybe it was overdue for a long time. Maybe Derek had postponed dealing with the fact that his parents were gone and Jennifer had betrayed him for too long, and it had to be faced at some point. But it didn’t have to be this way, and if Derek wasn’t such an incredibly oblivious idiot, he wouldn’t have ended up hurting the man he loved.

Because that’s what his grand realization boils down to.

He’s in love with Stiles.

And he’s pretty sure he has lost him.

--

Chapter Text

--

Derek has always been slow with processing his emotions, and even slower with coming to grips with them. His mother had tried to get him into the habit of identifying his feelings since he was four years old, eating at Derek’s resistance little by little with patience and encouragement. But she had other children and the responsibilities of an alpha of a big pack, and Derek had learned to stall for as long as possible, knowing she’d eventually have to let it go.

He recognizes now that she wasn’t torturing him for the hell of it, but it’s a lifetime habit, difficult to break. Piling up everything he has to say on Laura has him feeling like he’s continuously breaking his ribs and then trying to breathe.

Laura doesn’t say much, just stares at him, her mouth slack. Derek chose to speak to her in her office after hours. Less chance of Cora or Peter overhearing.

“Derek,” Laura says at long last. “You’re my Second. You’re also the only brother I have left. I love you. But oh my God, you’ve got to be the biggest moron who’s ever walked the Earth, and I can’t believe you!”

Derek hangs his head and shrugs. She’s not wrong.

“Stiles?” she asks, getting to her feet and walking around her table to lean on it instead. “Stiles, Derek? Stiles—the kid, who’s literally been yours for the taking since he’d joined the pack? The same Stiles you used to tease about that huge embarrassing crush he had on you?”

Derek winces. “I’ve been a bit of a dick.”

“You think? Jesus.” Laura shakes her head. “And then, with Alex—Derek, what the hell is wrong with you? Who does that?”

“I didn’t plan that. She just—”

“She didn’t take advantage of you, for God’s sake. I know Alex can be pushy, but you’re a grown man. Don’t tell me she did something you didn’t want.”

Derek glares at her. “I wasn’t going to. I’m not putting this on Alex. It’s all on me, I know that. I’m not good with this stuff—clearly.” He can see Laura restraining herself visibly from jumping in on that. “I don’t need a blow-by-blow of how I screwed everything up. I know, okay? I’m asking for advice. I need to fix this.”

Laura is silent for a long time, just studying him. This is why Derek came to her, this is part of what makes her a great alpha. Peter would have been glib. Cora would have mocked Derek for days before she’d ever come around to giving him something useful.

“I can fix this, right?” Derek asks, suddenly unsure. Laura’s been silent for too long. “Laura?”

She sighs, folds her arms over her chest, a deeply serious look on her face.

“You’re my brother, and I love you,” she repeats. “But Derek, I love Stiles, too. He’s pack. I watched him grow up, Der. We didn’t have time for him, none of us, most of the time. Not since Mom and Dad died. But he was always there anyway. Reliable. Smart. Contributing. We didn’t really do right by him. Not just you. I prioritized Cora over him. Because she’s my sister, yes, but also because he’s stronger than her. He could roll with the blows, when she couldn’t. And so I leaned on him when I was supposed to support him.”

“You were just doing what any good alpha—”

“I know.” She fixes him with a look that is all alpha, telegraphing that she does not appreciate him interrupting. “It doesn’t change facts. And now this. I never said anything to you before, because it wasn’t your fault that he fixated on you. He wasn’t obsessed or obnoxious about it, so I let it run its course. And now you’re saying you like him back? Derek—” Her expression is pained.

“You don’t trust me with him,” he realizes, stunned.

“I want to! I want to see you happy more than anything. I love Stiles. He’d make an amazing partner for you. But you’re… fickle.” She wrinkles her nose when he growls. “All right, not fickle, sorry. But you used to be a serial dater. All of your relationships, you treated all of them like they were no big deal. You liked someone, sometimes would go crazy about them, and then two months later, it would be like it never happened. Except for Jennifer, yes, but I don’t think it helps that the only time you got serious about someone, you got burned pretty hard.”

“You’re saying I shouldn’t pursue him.”

Laura looks torn. “I’m saying you should be careful. Make sure it’s not just a passing fancy before you go after him. Make sure it’s real for you. Don’t toy with his heart, Derek, if there’s even a possibility that all you’re after is another fling. We’ve hurt this kid enough.”

Derek’s anger fizzles out at this. It’s the truth. It’s not like he doesn’t know this. And, while he is certain—becoming more certain by the second about how he feels, he knows he shouldn’t act while his emotions run so high. The last time he did, he had nearly proposed to the woman who was simply using him for entertainment. Stiles deserves better.

Laura advises him to give it some time, perhaps until Stiles comes back for spring break. Derek both loves and hates this idea. Stiles is in college. What if he meets someone? What if he already has? The longer Derek waits, the bigger the chances of that.

We’ve hurt this kid enough.

Derek waits.

--

Stiles doesn’t come home for spring break. Something about it being the busiest time at the bar and picking up extra shifts.

Derek waits. He finishes renovating the gym. He pushes back the grand reopening till the beginning of summer, though they are ready much sooner. His staff are giving him weird looks, but they don’t question him.

Stiles doesn’t come home for summer break, either. He gets an internship, manages to win one of the only two spots available for freshmen, Scott explains after he goes for a visit. Stiles is so busy he falls asleep on Scott the moment he gets home every time, but he still won’t drop his job at the bar. He likes it that way, apparently.

The Hale gym throws its doors open in the middle of June. It’s immediately busy, even with all the extra staff Derek has hired. His schedule is suddenly full with taking shifts as a personal trainer and running a business. It’s the latter part that has him crawling into bed every night, exhausted and overwhelmed. He falls asleep to the thoughts of Stiles’s smile.

--

When Stiles doesn’t come home for Thanksgiving, Derek packs a bag. It’s a three-hour drive, if the traffic is good, which it won’t be, but he doesn’t care. It’s been nearly a year, and he can’t take it any longer.

He’s leaving the town limits, just passing the sign Welcome to Beacon Hills when there’s a red-blue flash behind him and the unmistakable signal to pull over. Derek rolls down his window and looks up, his heart jumping into a nervous trot.

“Heading out, son?” Sheriff Stilinski asks in a mild tone.

“Yes,” Derek says. “Uh…”

The sheriff sighs. “Walk with me for a bit, Derek.”

Derek gets the feeling of overwhelming dread close around him. It’s not quite as bad as when Laura called him that one time, but it’s close. He gets out of the car mechanically and follows the sheriff along the side of the road. It’s early enough. There’s next to no traffic.

“You can’t go,” the sheriff says without preamble.

Derek wants to pretend he doesn’t understand what the sheriff is talking about, wants to ask. Then he takes one look at the man and doesn’t. The sheriff watches him, and for a man—for a human who appears entirely too benign, just your kindly small town sheriff, he is surprisingly hard to read.

“I had all respect in the world for your mother,” he says in a measured, calm tone. “I respect your sister a great deal. She’s going to be an amazing alpha, we lucked out with her after that tragedy, not going to lie. But I never wanted this for me or my son, Derek. I was fine being your neighbor, working with you. I never wanted to be part of the pack.”

Derek looks away. His chest feels tight, as if someone’s trying to crush it.

“But then Scott got bitten, and then Stiles was pack, and I was pack adjacent. And that’s fine, and all, but it means we’re tied to this place, same as you are. And that’s fine for me. I never really wanted anything else. All those bigger, brighter places. It’s nice for a visit and all, but home is home. I like this life. I chose this life, when I moved back here from L.A.

“But Stiles is bigger than this place, Derek. He’s too smart. Too damn bright. He’s been talking about going out there, seeing the world, spreading his wings since he started middle school. And the only things that kept him here were Scott and the pack. And the pack means you.”

Derek looks up, his breath hitching. The sheriff doesn’t look or sound mad, but he has to be. Derek would be.

The sheriff shakes his head, a small smile curves his lips. “He’s always been so obvious about you. I used to tease him about it, until I noticed something. He wouldn’t get flustered, wouldn’t get defensive. He’d be standing there, braced for impact. The same way he gets when someone brings up his ADHD. Something he can’t help, but feels like is his fault anyway. And I stopped then, but I drank the night away the first time I got it. Because I could see him, with all his talent, with all his potential, working his whole life in that damn coffeeshop pining for a man who’d be forever out of his reach. Derek, you and your family—you’re the superstars in our world here. This town belongs to you. And Stiles—Stiles can be his own superstar one day. But that’s only if he doesn’t waste his life trying to get your attention. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Derek nods, though he doesn’t quite feel his body.

“I was so relieved,” the sheriff says, “when he told me he decided to go to Stanford. I mean, it’s not Harvard, and let me tell you, those guys were really after him. It’s not the East Coast, but it’s a damn good school. He got that internship, and he’s working so hard to make something of himself. I wasn’t even upset when he told me he couldn’t come home. That’s what he deserves, that’s what he needs. And a couple of weeks ago, he called me and told me he started dating this amazing girl.”

Derek’s head snaps up. He forgets to breathe for a moment.

“She’s sweet and lovely, and he was so giddy just talking about her. ‘I can’t believe she really likes me, Dad. Me. Can you believe it? She likes me.’ And maybe it’s my fault too that it’s so hard for him to believe that someone might like him, really like him, not like all those assholes from that damn bar he works at who only want one thing.” He shudders and, catching Derek’s gaze, nods unhappily. “Scott thinks he’s being subtle, but the kid can’t lie to save his life. Stiles didn’t come home as often as not after a night shift. Now, I know he’s an adult, but that’s just not what a father wants to hear. Not when I know the kind of crowd who goes to bars like that.”

For a blistering, terrifying moment, Derek feels incandescent with rage. He knows that crowd, too. Stiles works at a wolf bar. Looking the way he does. Mouthing off. Serving them shirtless if Laura is to be believed. Derek has been trying to block that train of thought for as long as he’d known about it.

“But then he started dating Valerie,” the sheriff carries on, seemingly oblivious. “And all that stopped. Say what you will about my son, but if he’s any one thing, it’s loyal.” He pauses, then looks Derek straight in the eye as he says: “You’re a Hale. You’re the alpha’s Second. In this town, you might as well be royalty. So I know that I can’t tell you a damn thing about what you should or shouldn’t do. But I’m asking you, as a father who loves his son. Let him go. Because Valerie or no Valerie, if you show your face, if you so much as smile at him, he’ll come running. And he deserves better than to waste his life as somebody’s afterthought.”

Derek jolts, sucker-punched.

“Aw hell.” The sheriff sighs. “I don’t mean to be an asshole. I know you care about him, in your own way. But just—if you do, even a little bit. Let him have it. College, freedom, the whole thing. Let him have his chance.”

Derek hears it, all of it, especially the part the sheriff isn’t saying. Stiles’s father thinks that Derek doesn’t deserve Stiles, isn’t good enough for him. And it’s more than just remembering how he had to break up wild lake parties or pull Derek over for speeding a few years ago, although that certainly isn’t helping.

It’s more about what Derek is worth, as just himself, with no Hale attached to him. It’s about who Derek is if he had to stand on his own, and Derek can see the sheriff’s point, because—well. It’s not much.

The sheriff is hardly the first person to note that. Derek didn’t have a single relationship in his life where the other party wasn’t with him because of his looks. Maybe Paige once upon a time, since she had seemed completely unimpressed by Derek in general and went out with him out of sheer exasperation. And maybe Alex, since that night wasn’t about Derek at all. But other than that…

As he turns his car around and drives back, Derek wonders what Stiles even sees in him, or what he used to see in him through all these years in any case. Because, while Stiles was undoubtedly attracted to him, it was clearly not all there was to it. Stiles, in fact, had actively tried to disregard Derek’s physical attributes in order to form a meaningful connection to him. Derek didn’t help him there much.

That night, he takes a hard look at his life and realizes something. This whole time, he’s been—drifting. Following directions his mother had laid down for him. Derek loved his mother, but a part of him had always resented her for that. He had always thought that she did that, because she didn’t believe he could make anything of himself on his own. His entire escapade with Jennifer was him rebelling against that, detesting his mother for not believing in him.

But that wasn’t the case, was it? Watching Laura now giving advice to their younger cousins, Derek finally understands. His mother provided him with a safety net, as any good mother, not to mention any good alpha would. But it was there only in case Derek failed. Only in case he needed something to fall back to. She never said she didn’t believe he could stand just fine on his own.

Maybe she could have communicated it better. The Hales had such a strong tradition of female leadership that his mother was, perhaps, oblivious to a degree that Derek needed different things from her, unlike Laura and Cora. That she was smothering him, and he took it as a sign of her mistrust.

But Laura relied on him. Laura had put him in charge of pack training. Laura has always treated him as a partner, not yet one more thing she needs to manage.

‘You can do anything,’ Stiles had told him once upon a time. ‘Just lead.’

Derek thinks of all the things he wanted to do, but never did because he thought he wasn’t trusted with making hard decisions. He thinks about what accepting the responsibility for them would entail. Then he pulls out a pen and some stray papers and starts planning.

--

The first thing he does is move out of the house. His Aunt Meredith, his mother’s sister and her second, who died with her, used to live in a cabin a bit further into the Preserve. The Hale Pack wasn’t very traditional when it came to upholding customs of the old, but that was one they did follow—the alpha and her second lived apart to provide the pack with leadership in case of a sudden attack.

Laura doesn’t look happy since she gets to stay in the house haunted way too frequently by Peter for anyone’s liking, but she doesn’t object. The cottage is roomy enough for four people, and is a perfect distance from the main house—not to close that occasional visitors would just ‘drop by’ and not too far that a howl won’t reach in case of an emergency.

Derek renovates it with his own hands, converting one of the three bedrooms upstairs into a library. It becomes his favorite place to hide from the world and relax when he has a moment to himself, and he badly needs it. He doesn’t have a lot of free moments.

The gym becomes his obsession. Once they’re up and running, Derek starts implementing every single idea he used to dream about when he was coming there as a kid. He cuts his own hours as a personal trainer, reassigns his clients to Boyd and Jesse, and focuses on his vision.

He reaches out to the local daycare, overfull and overworked, and gives them space for the kids’ group activities, supervised by the members of his own staff, free of charge. It gives the parents, many of whom are struggling, a few more hours of having their kids looked after and it allows the daycare to accept more kids. It has the unfortunate side-effect of single moms hanging around the gym and Derek’s office specifically way too often, pelting him with appreciative looks and hoping for a chance to express their gratitude—if he knows what they mean, which, sadly, he does, but that’s a small price to pay.

It’s a start.

--

When Derek was still in college, he designed a training regime for the seniors, meant not only to prolong longevity but to improve quality of life. His mother’s second cousin, Aunt Ruth, had suffered from severe arthritis toward the end of her life, and, while she rarely complained, Derek remembered how miserable it was for her.

The program gets critical acclaim from his peers and professors, and now Derek is at liberty to implement it. Except he’s got no one to run it, and he knows that he’s ill-suited to do so himself. He’s not the most patient man, but more importantly, he’s not the most sociable, and that’s one of the key factors.

He regretfully shelves it, keeping an eye out for potential candidates, when one night he literally stumbles over a crying girl in a grocery store.

The contents of her cart are all over the floor, and she’s shaking slightly with aftershocks of a seizure, her blond hair a nimbus-like mess around her face. She doesn’t object, only watches blankly as Derek gets her groceries, and takes his hand as he offers it.

Her name is Erica. She’s twenty (Stiles’s age, his mind supplies unhelpfully). She was a student at the local community college, but had to drop out, because while some of her professors were understanding, the others were not, and her classmates no more so than the bullies who used to torment her in high school. She didn’t give up. She tells Derek she managed to get her yoga instructor’s certificate because the only time she doesn’t hate her body is when she’s on the mat.

Derek takes her hand in his again as he makes his offer, and her eyes widen. He takes her to see Laura the next morning.

Since Laura became alpha, she had only given the Bite once—to Isaac, after he petitioned the court for it to get away from his abusive father. She doesn’t take the matter lightly, even though Erica is still young enough for the risk to be relatively low. Taking the Bite for medical reasons is a fairly common practice, but it’s less common to absorb a stranger into the pack, especially one whose age will make for a difficult adjustment.

Derek steps forward. “She’ll be my responsibility. I’ll train her, I’ll teach her control myself, I’ll stay with her until she’s got it. If anything goes wrong, it will be on me, but I won’t let it.”

Laura looks at him for a long time, but Derek doesn’t drop his gaze, standing firm. Laura spends the day with Erica, introducing her to the pack, and both she and Derek are surprised to find out that Scott and Isaac know her already. Laura gives her the Bite the next morning.

Derek makes Erica move in with him, despite her assurances that she feels fine. The Bite takes—he had few doubts, but her control is tenuous. She’s too old and too bruised and has too much anger. He locks them both in the basement for her first full moon and lets her have at him, lets her try to tear him limb from limb, taking vengeance for every single wrong the world had ever done her. He fights back only enough to stay alive. The stench of blood takes weeks to clear.

It’s about the same on her second full moon. But during her third something breaks, and Erica starts crying in the middle of a vicious attack, and then clings to Derek, fangs and claws sinking into his flesh as she shakes in his arms, howling in grief until there’s nothing left.

She has some issues with control after that, especially when she’s angry, but he doesn’t have to interfere once in the next month, she pulls it back herself.

Two months later, she moves into the main house. Three weeks later, she has her first shift at the gym, and within a month she’s running Derek’s program for the seniors. She knows all about the importance of the quality of life. The clients adore her, and every time Derek sees her posture straighten a little bit more with new confidence, he smiles.

He has to disinfect his basement with harsh scent-killing agents that make his skin crawl for weeks after, but it’s worth it.

--

By the middle of Stiles’s third year of college, he gets roped into some special research project that wouldn’t normally be open to undergrads. But some of his papers impress a few people, and more importantly, it has to deal with Earth science and environmental magic, and Stiles shocks everyone, not least bit himself, by testing positive. About sixty-seven percent of the human population can successfully operate mountain ash for limited purposes, but not many can do more than that. Stiles, apparently, does something to place himself squarely in the three percent that can, which means that he has to register with the Conclave and that his life becomes even more busy than it already was, according to Scott.

He still doesn’t quit that damn bar, even though Scott had to break up a fight in there twice during the week he’s been visiting. He and Stiles have a huge row about it, with Stiles insisting he can take care of himself, and Scott comes back home still fuming.

“I don’t know what happens when I’m not there,” he complains to Laura loudly during the pack night dinner. “He says I’m exaggerating, doesn’t believe me when I repeat what those guys are saying. Says it’s all a joke. It’s like he can’t even understand what it does to them when he—”

Laura shushes him, because the sheriff chooses that moment to enter. Later, when everyone’s broken into groups, she asks Scott quietly, “What happened to his girlfriend? Mallory? Surely, she doesn’t approve—”

“Valerie,” Scott corrects grimly. “She broke it off after three months, I think. Said he didn’t spend enough time with her. She was in a sorority, for fuck’s sake, and he’s getting a double degree and works two jobs, how fucking selfish do you have to be not to understand—” He cuts himself off with a growl. “She didn’t love him. I don’t think he loved her, either, but he wanted to. He was trying. And he was doing so well, and now…”

Laura glances at Derek, a frown on her face, before turning back to Scott. “Do I need to intervene?”

“No!” Scott’s eyes widen, and Derek gets it. Having your alpha show up to clean up your mess would be no better than having your parents there. “Look, it’s not as bad as it was the first year. And this research project, it keeps him busy, he had to cut down his shifts at the bar. He just won’t quit, because it pays well and he now lives on his own. But the guys from the research team, they’re good guys. They’re all older and they are keeping an eye on him. It’s just…” he sighs. “I worry.”

Laura lays a hand on his shoulder. “Of course, you do, we all do.” She glances at Derek again. “But it sounds like Stiles has a grip on it. He checks in with me like clockwork, Scott, and he never sparks off any bad vibes. You’re doing a good thing looking out for him. If I need to step in, let me know.”

Scott nods morosely. He avoids talking to the sheriff as much as possible. Derek notices mostly because he’s doing the same thing, even if it’s for completely different reasons.

Stiles doesn’t come home for summer again, and Derek doesn’t go to visit.

--

Free self-defense classes are next on Derek’s list. They start off with the classics—general self-defense and self-defense classes for women only. Erica teaches the latter almost gleefully after obtaining her certification.

But when Derek adds a special class for humans to learn how to defend themselves against the supernaturals, specifically werewolves, since they comprise the majority of the supernatural population, all hell breaks loose.

Derek knew it was a controversial issue in the werewolf community even before he scheduled the class. More traditional, conservative werewolf families take the very notion that humans might need to defend themselves from werewolves as an insult. Others are worried that this is a step back to the times when werewolf hunter was a recognized and respected profession, and bands of hunters with poorly written and even more poorly followed personal codes killed werewolves for sport. There are even those who take offence to Derek specifically offering that class when his parents were killed by the human supremacists.

Derek takes it all calmly, braced for the storm. He teaches the class himself, because, much as he’s for defending the honor of his people, he knows only too well that being a werewolf doesn’t automatically make one a decent person.

Scott was bitten by a rogue, whom SIS still hasn’t caught. Omegas are rare, but they exist, and they are usually not a happy bunch. More than that—although this is something one doesn’t mention out loud in civilized society, but there are packs and alphas who don’t give a damn about hurting people. There are problematic wolves within established packs. Hell, Derek himself had trashed his entire apartment in the wake of the Jennifer disaster, and he could have easily hurt or even killed someone in the state he was in. The problem is real, and he’s not going to join those hiding their heads in the sand and ignoring all the human victims.

The Conclave’s stance on such classes is one of tacit permission. They are not happy to admit the necessity of them, but as they are the one who have to sort through the consequences when wolves get out of control and hurt people, they can’t disapprove of the initiative.

The only thing that gives Derek pause is the comment that he doesn’t believe his sister is a good alpha and can keep her territory safe. Derek means nothing of the sort, but he asks Laura anyway.

She frowns, lays a hand on the back of his neck, looks him in the eye. “Der, I am with you on this one hundred percent. You have my full support. If some people don’t get it, screw them.”

The attendance sheet is filled to capacity within a week, and for once it has nothing to do with soccer moms wanting to ogle Derek freely for an hour.

It’s not that Derek had doubts about it being the right thing to do, but he feels strangely vindicated in his belief two weeks later when he’s standing in front of his vandalized car. Apart from the usual break-all-windows-key-the-hell-out-of-it, it stinks of urine. He hates that his nose can discern four different wolves, none of them pack of course.

The sheriff comes to see the deed himself. He gazes at the car for a long moment before glancing over at Derek.

“Do you think you can squeeze in a class for my deputies? The police academy training is a joke when it comes to weres. They are too afraid of being accused of speciesism.”

Derek looks up at him, surprised. “Of course.”

The sheriff claps him on the shoulder and opens his mouth as if to say more, but then just shakes his head. “You’re doing good work here, son,” he says as he walks away.

Derek gets his car cleaned and then donates it to the local hospital. He gets himself a sensible Toyota instead. The Camaro’s suspension was shit for driving on dirt roads anyway.

--

Stiles’s research project gets some impressive results and really good write-ups. When it’s over, one of the grad students who were running it asks him out. Stiles says ‘yes’, making Scott ecstatic. They last halfway through his final year until Ben chooses to reconcile with his ex.

Stiles doesn’t come home for winter break again, which isn’t surprising at all anymore. Instead, Scott, Isaac, and strangely enough Malia drive over and take him on a road trip. Judging by the pictures surfacing on Facebook, they get drunk a lot and somehow manage to end up in Vegas, where Stiles’s luck is so good they get security to throw him out and Malia ends up in lockdown after she corrects someone who mistook her for a stripper by means of her right hook.

Derek stares at the pictures until his eyes water. He hasn’t seen Stiles in over three years, and the pull is no lesser for it. He didn’t try to hold on to it, nor did he try to get over it. It’s just there, gone subliminal. He doesn’t have to think about it to feel it. Some days, he doesn’t remember Stiles once, and it’s almost as if he’d imagined it all.

But as he stares now at the curve of Stiles’s smile, at the look in his eyes, glassy, unfocused, yet somehow defiant, he feels a sharp ache in his chest and wants to claw his way through the screen. He wants to be near him so bad he’s shaking with it. Just to stand close, to get a whiff of his scent…

Derek has dreams about that night at the club. The sensory memory of it has trickled into his bones, settling. Sometimes, in the murky hour just before dawn, as he dreams, he can almost feel the curve of Stiles’s body under his hands, feel the weight of him pressing close, the tickle of his hair in Derek’s nose. Almost, almost—but never for real. He wakes up on morning like that and howls, not loud enough to alert Laura two miles over, but helplessly, the sound desperate and completely hopeless.

There are days when he is raw with missing Stiles, and he is glad to be living alone.

--

Derek doesn’t go to Stiles’s graduation, but Laura does. It’s surprising, because an alpha doesn’t usually leave his or her territory unless it’s for something major. The way Talia Hale took almost her entire family to New York was pretty extraordinary, though she did plan some extensive networking.

“He’s going to grad school,” Laura says when she comes back. “To Brown.”

“Brown,” Derek repeats slowly, staring down at his mug. They are drinking tea on the porch of his house, the early evening air soft around them. “Brown? That means—”

“Magic.” Laura nods. “They are pretty crazy about him.”

“He’d need his alpha’s permission to apply,” Derek realizes. “That’s why you went.”

“Oh, not just my permission.” Laura shakes her head with a tired smile. “They wanted to interview me. They want Stiles, but they had to make sure I’m the kind of alpha who will be able to take responsibility for an acolyte in her pack.”

“Acolyte?” Derek stares.

“I know.” Laura’s grin widens. “Our little Stiles. Who’d have thought it.” She takes a sip of her tea. “Well, I guess, Mom had, since she took one look at him and then gave him unrestricted access to our library.”

Derek sets his mug down, laces his fingers together. He doesn’t know how long he’s been staring into space when he looks up to realize Laura has been watching him.

“You know,” she says carefully, “when I said not to rush into it, I didn’t mean wait four years.”

Derek says nothing.

“He asked about you, you know.”

Derek’s lips quirk. “I’m sure he did. I’m sure he asks about pack all the time.”

Laura sighs. “You won’t even try?”

“What’s the point? He’s leaving. My life is here.”

“So is his. You realize he’s coming back after grad school.”

Derek doesn’t say anything again. He gets why Laura thinks that. She had vouched for him, and he’s nothing if not loyal. His father lives here, Scott is here. Stiles probably won’t denounce them as a pack.

But full acolytes are rare. If he manages to complete his training, in environmental sciences to boot, it will make him a coveted prize. Stiles doesn’t have to come back to serve the pack. He’s human. He can go anywhere he wants, do anything he pleases, as long as he picks up the phone when Laura calls.

Derek doesn’t think Stiles would ditch them, but he can’t help his fear that he will. Anyone would be tempted in his place. They haven’t been bad to him. They haven’t been exactly good to him, either. And then there’s Derek, who…

Laura sighs as he watches him, as if she can read every thought in his head. “Don’t sell yourself short, Der,” she says softly, a gentle hand on his knee.

Derek sits on his porch well into the night, staying out long after Laura left.

--

Scott comes back from college with a girlfriend in tow. Her name is Kira, she’s a thunder kitsune from a long and distinguished line. She’s four years older than him, has a PhD in applied physics and has a job lined up teaching at the BH community college. The only thing that seems to be wrong with her is her clear adoration of Scott, which might be indicative of some sort of brain damage. But other than that.

When Derek says as much to Laura, she calls him an idiot, even as she bit her lip, trying not to laugh. She extends an invitation to Kira to become pack-adjacent and see how it goes from there. Kira is so obviously grateful it makes Derek feel a little ill, but it’s nothing compared to how ecstatic Scott is. He gets a job as an assistant vet at the clinic he used to clean the dog cages all throughout high school through sheer nepotism and spends all of his free time inventing ways to please Kira. They are disgustingly perfect together.

--

Kids getting lost in the Preserve are par for the course in Beacon Hills, but this one is different. She’s fifteen and smart, knows how to mask her scent. By the time Derek stumbles over her—not because of a hunch to check the caves again, but out of sheer mounting desperation—she has been successfully avoiding the search parties for nearly two days. Considering the entire sheriff’s department and every wolf in the Hale Pack has been looking for her, that’s an impressive feat.

She’s curled in onto herself and screams as she spots Derek. He freezes, not approaching, hands held high.

“It’s Theresa, isn’t it? My name is Derek. Don’t be afraid.”

Her eyes are swollen from crying, but clear enough as she takes him in. “I know who you are, Mr. Hale,” she says in a small voice, some of her anxiety lessening.

“Mind if I sit down?” Derek asks, indicating a spot next to her. He waits for her nod before lowering himself down slowly, keeping his hands visible at all times. “I’ve got some water. Would you like some?”

She gives him a suspicious look, but nods, licking her dry lips. Derek hands her the bottle and watches her drink greedily. He waits her out.

“I don’t want it,” Theresa whispers eventually, staring into space. “I don’t want the Bite.”

Derek flinches. “I’m not going to—”

She looks at him like he’s stupid. “You’re a beta, duh.”

It’s annoying, but Derek tells himself it’s a good sign. If she can sass him, she’s not in a bad way.

“It’s Jason,” she sniffs. “My boyfriend. He’s a wolf, and he—he wants me to ask for the Bite. I don’t want it, but he says… He says I’m never going to have another boyfriend. I’m too… too plain. Not pretty enough to… No one will want me, and he… he doesn’t want me unless I’m a wolf…”

Derek doesn’t stop her even as he has to exert all of his control not to put his fist through a wall. Or better yet—to find that asshole, who, as it turns out, is nearly eighteen, and put his head through a wall.

The entire sodding tale spills out of the girl in short, abortive sentences. No one has ever looked at her twice until Jason appeared. He’s older. He’s a wolf. A star lacrosse player. Fixating on her, being sweet, even as he puts her down with comments about her looks. Her parents don’t know. Strict father. Anti-supernatural mother. And the douchebag who suggested they elope two states over to see his alpha and get it all done.

By the time her story is over and she begins to repeat herself, she’s slumped against Derek, clinging to him. His t-shirt is wet with her tears where she smashes her face into him. She’s chilled to the bone and doesn’t object when he spreads his leather jacket over her. She’s close to passing out.

Derek has no idea what to do. Not about the situation, that’s clear enough. But about the girl. He knows he should say something, but that’s nearly impossible. He can read the situation clearly, yes, but he’s twenty-nine years old. Nothing he says will convince a fifteen-year-old girl that the one and only boyfriend she ever had is a complete and utter asshole who’s wrong about everything.

He starts small. Points out things everyone knows, because manipulators like Jason can screw with one’s head, warping everything. So Derek goes back to basics. Tells her that no one can force the Bite on her. To give one without consent is illegal, warranting up to twenty-five years in jail. At fifteen, she’d need her parents’ consent, which sounds like they wouldn’t give. But even more importantly, even if her parents were all for it, it’s her consent that matters the most. No one can force her. Coercion to get the Bite is a prosecutable offense.

When all of that leads to her heartrate slowing down, Derek cautiously moves forward.

They will have to contact the local Conclave office and report it. At this, Theresa jerks away from him, startled and anxious all over again. But her parents will find out! But—but Jason…

Derek forces calm, reasons. Her parents already know—she’s been missing for two days. And what Jason is doing is not love, it’s the opposite of it. Derek has been a wolf his entire life, and Jason isn’t acting like a wolf, he’s acting like an asshole. A manipulative, possessive asshole, and does Theresa really want to become his packmate? To be as terrified of him as she is now her entire life?

That seems to get through to her, because she’s shaking her head. Derek knows it’s not a battle won, not yet, but he’s not qualified to lead her into the light all by himself. He’d settle for getting her back to her parents via the police precinct.

His words serve to shock her, if nothing else, break through the repetitive pattern her thoughts must have been going over and over again for two days. He uses her distraction to get her out of the cave and back to the road where he left his car. He’d howl to let the pack know he’s found her, but he doesn’t think she’d appreciate any wolf behavior just now, so he calls Laura instead. He drives straight to the police.

Theresa has been quiet the entire way so Derek isn’t expecting trouble, but when the first person she sees as they walk in is Jason, she cries and tries to bolt. The boy rushes over, and Theresa panics, clutching at Derek like he’s a lifeline. Jason growls, eyes flashing, and lunges at Derek. Every deputy in the precinct is drawing their guns, yelling, and it’s about to get ugly.

Derek reacts on instinct, grabbing Jason by the throat and throwing him against the floor, roaring in his face. He’s not an alpha, but there must be an extra spark in his fury, because Jason goes limp, whining, and then an acrid stench hits Derek’s nostrils as the boy pisses himself. Behind him, Theresa is crying, clutching his jacket tighter around herself, and every gun is now pointed at Derek.

Then, the sheriff emerges from his office along with Theresa’s parents and it’s over.

--

Derek is sitting on the bench outside, drinking bad station coffee. He’s given his statement twice because the first deputy was too nervous to take it down properly. Derek has seen the sunrise from the wrong side twice in the last two days, and he’s tired. That’s the only reason he doesn’t jump to his feet when the sheriff joins him.

“Your sister has called the Conclave office,” he says, sounding as exhausted as Derek feels. “We’ve locked Sacks up for now, pending charges. He’s not eighteen yet, so he might duck corruption of a minor, but not the Bite thing.”

Derek lifts his eyebrow. “That’s his name?”

The sheriff’s lips quirk. “You’d think the universe was trying to tell us something.”

Derek snorts. Then, remembering himself, he straightens up instantly. “Uh, about before, I—”

The sheriff gives him a look. “You took out the aggressor before anyone could get hurt. I’d say that leaves you in the clear.”

“Oh.” Derek drops his eyes, feeling like he’s twelve again. “Still, I… I’m sorry, if—”

“Derek.” The sheriff leans over, his hand landing with reassuring gravity on his shoulder. “You did well, son. Theresa’s parents want to thank you—”

Derek is on his feet and a few yards away before he knows what he’s doing. He stops, turns around. “Um.”

The sheriff laughs, waves at him. “Go on, get out. But thank you.”

Derek bolts.

--

Stiles starts his first year at Brown by hooking up with Lydia Martin who is now teaching at MIT. That news shocks everyone who knows them, not the least bit themselves. Their relationship is tempestuous to the point of volatile. It lasts six torturous weeks which they seem to spend arguing with each other viciously any moment they have breath for it whenever they’re not having sex.

Cora, who’s been visiting a friend in Boston and then stays with Stiles for a week—they have mellowed down to each other a lot over the years, though Derek still has to wonder how sharing space without bloodshed between them works—says that sometimes they don’t stop arguing during sex, either.

The relationship self-destructs in one final screaming match that shakes the foundations of the building—mostly thanks to Lydia’s newly awakened banshee power.

The very next day, Lydia turns up with a cup of Stiles’s favorite coffee in her hands just as Stiles is exiting a lecture hall. They fall into each other’s arms and cry and swear that they will always remain friends no matter what, because neither one can stand not having the other in their lives. Actual pinkie swears are involved. They cuddle in Stiles’s tiny apartment for the rest of the day.

They now have regular bi-weekly coffee dates for which both of them have to commute about an hour.

Cora still looks shell-shocked when she comes home to tell the tale.

--

Beacon Hills has one of the lowest crime rates in the country. It’s been picking up some in recent years. The town is growing and getting younger in response to a young alpha’s energy, somewhat unsettled yet as Laura herself has yet to settle. They aren’t a seedy metropolis, nor are they at risk of becoming one, but they are getting a lot more traffic.

Still, Derek isn’t expecting to have a gun waved in his face when he stops for gas at a gas station just outside of the town. The would-be robber looks to be about forty, his appearance raising every sort of red flag in any sane person’s mind. He’s got the station manager cowering behind the counter, hands raised up, pleading to just take the money and go. The man is about seventy by the looks of him and he smells terrified.

Derek stops as the gun swings in his direction, measuring the distance. He’s too far away. Briefly, he wonders what kind of idiot decides to rob a gas station in a pack-protected territory.

“They told me to do it!” the man shouts at him, spit flying everywhere. He looks even more unhinged than Derek first thought. “They told me! I didn’t want to!”

Derek is lifting up his hands slowly, muttering something placating, hoping to keep the man’s attention on his face to conceal the fact that he’s coming closer. It almost works. The man raves at him some more about it not being his fault and ‘them’, and Derek is almost within reach.

The back door opens, and a goddamn kid waddles in, no more than five or six, calling out to his grandpa, careless as anything. He freezes, eyes wide, as the gun swings in his direction.

Derek sees the finger spasming on the trigger and leaps. He’s too late to knock the gun out of the man’s hand, but he’s just in time to catch the bullet in his shoulder. He falls onto the guy, breaking his wrist and kicking the gun aside with no hesitation. The man is thrashing under him, like he’s having some kind of seizure.

“Call 911,” Derek barks at the manager over his shoulder, and that’s when he feels it—the dizziness, the nausea, the sensation that his left shoulder is boiling on the inside.

Wolfsbane bullet. The guy did know where he was, after all.

Derek only just manages to knock him out good before he drops to the floor, unconscious.

--

They tell him later that he’d missed all the real excitement. The bullet hit too close to his heart, and Derek would be dead, if Deputy Parrish wasn’t first on the scene. There’s apparently video footage of him dramatically ripping Derek’s shirt in two to expose the wound, cracking another bullet, setting the powder on fire with his finger before pressing it in.

All Derek knows is that he wakes up in his room at the Hale house with a scar on his shoulder that will apparently stay, because hellfire.

Deputy Parrish—‘Please, call me Jordan, Mr. Hale.’—‘Derek then. Jordan.’—is Derek’s age, good-looking in an unassuming sort of way, with an annoying devotion to doing the right thing at all times that he somehow marries with a complete lack of judgment toward others. He comes by the gym to check on Derek a few times afterwards, even though he’s perfectly aware that Derek is fine.

“You should either buy that man a beer and let him down easy or invite him over to your place and cook him dinner,” Erica says a couple of weeks in as Jordan leaves.

“What?” Derek blinks at her.

She rolls her eyes. “I swear, you’re the most oblivious idiot on the planet.”

Derek thinks about it. He likes Jordan. He likes being able to talk to someone who doesn’t have authority over him and isn’t his responsibility in some way. Someone exactly on his level that he can relate to.

He likes hanging out with Jordan, but it’s a bit like hanging out with Captain America. He’s the ultimate good guy, not a spec on him. Apart from the whole being a hellhound thing.

And Derek is doing better on the whole ‘I don’t deserve to be with someone that good’ thing, but ironically, all things considered, he doesn’t feel there’s a spark.

He buys Jordan a beer.

Jordan grins in understanding, lifts it up to his lips, and says, “I can still come by the gym, right?”

Derek grins back.

--

Stiles doesn’t date anyone that the pack hears about for the next two years. There are plenty of wolf bars around Rhode Island, but Stiles miraculously does not get a job in any of them.

--

Derek hasn’t been on a date since before Stiles left. Sometimes, he wonders what’s holding him back after all these years. Stiles has clearly moved on. Even if he does come back to Beacon Hills, it won’t be for Derek.

And Derek has had offers. Not just people who hit on him; that’s a regular enough occurrence. But sometimes there are people like Jordan, who seem genuinely interested and don’t look at Derek like he’s a prime cut of meat.

But he invariably ends up thinking that their eyes aren’t the correct shade of brown. Or their noses are annoyingly straight and narrow and just so regular. Their hands are small and diminutive. Their laughter is elegant and melodic. They don’t exude the right kind of energy, and they never smell right.

Derek doesn’t want to live his entire life holding his breath, but he doesn’t know how to move on.

--

Stiles’s final year of grad school, he gets invited to some big-idea-big-vision-for-the-future or something conference in New York. Apparently, it’s a huge deal for anyone not living under a rock. People who don’t even really know Stiles, Derek is pretty sure, keep accosting the sheriff, Laura, Cora, and anyone they know in the pack to talk about it. MSNBC is live-streaming the entire conference on their website.

Derek is confused about the whole thing, but Laura is ecstatic. She organizes a watching party at the house for anyone in the pack who’s free and wants to come. The sheriff sighs in relief at that, grumbling that he always messes things up when it comes to anything related to technology.

Stiles is scheduled to go live at nine in the morning, which makes it six in the morning for Beacon Hills. The pack takes that as an excuse for a slumber party and sets camp in the main house living room the night before. It’s mostly just the inner circle.

Derek debates coming for a long time. He can watch just fine at home. Or he can not watch at all. He won’t understand what Stiles is talking about anyway, in all likelihood, and, while Scott and Isaac will never miss a chance to make fun of Stiles being on TV, Derek doesn’t think he’s in the mood to join them. He’s seized in painful indecision, which makes him nearly late when he finally drives up to the main house at two to six.

He walks into the living room quietly, staying back. The pack is camped in front of the huge TV, Isaac’s laptop sitting right in front of it. Everyone is still in their sleepwear, except for the sheriff, who’s sitting in an armchair next to Laura’s, still in his uniform. He must have been on the night shift.

“Oooh, hush, it’s starting!” someone hisses, and the sound of chatter dies away, as everyone stares at the screen.

Derek is momentarily distracted by a funny taste at the back of his throat, something metallic and sharp, kickstarting his heart into picking up the pace. He hopes no one notices.

On the screen, all lights are on the huge stage where a middle-aged man in a suit and huge square glasses is saying: “I’m pleased to open today’s session with a presentation on organic urban design. Hope everyone’s had their triple shot espresso this morning, because trust me, you’re going to want to be awake for this one.” There are some chuckles in the audience. “On behalf of Brown University, please welcome, Mr. Stiles Stilinski.”

“Just rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it,” Isaac says, grinning.

“Sure.” Erica nods. “Like a stripper’s name.”

Someone kicks her, but Derek’s attention is glued to the screen where Stiles climbs up the steps as the presenter is descending them, exchanging a handshake as they meet. He takes the last few steps up and stumbles, sending some object he’s holding flying. Laughter washes over the audience and there’s suddenly a lot of coughing as people try to cover it.

“Oh dear,” the sheriff mutters, hiding his face in his palm.

On the stage, though, Stiles merely straightens up, having chased down his wayward mystery object, and gives the audience a bright smile. He’s slightly flushed, but seems well enough at ease. He opens with:

“You guys laugh, but let me tell you, I just made some of my colleagues a lot of money with that little trip, and I mean a lot. How many of you can say the same before 9 a.m.?”

People laugh louder this time, all in good cheer. Stiles nods at them, still grinning brightly.

“Anyway, hi. I’m Stiles Stilinski; no, I’m not a stripper; yes, I really am a grad student at Brown, and today it is my honor to present the project we have been working on for quite some time now.” He waves whatever he’s holding in his hand, which is probably just a clicker, and on the screen behind him, an image of a house appears. “Imagine a house that has its roots deep in the earth like a two-hundred-year-old oak. It pulls water directly from the groundwater, heats it up using sun and wind energy. It’s insulated with a special breed of moss growing on its walls. It’s got its own all-natural recycling system—you’d still have to take care of the plastic waste, but other than that. It regulates the temperature inside year-round not only in response to the weather outside but to its inhabitant’s preferences, because the house gets to know you. You can grow vegetables on the windowsill or have a garden in your living room. You never have to deal with noisy neighbors. And for a cherry on top—your house produces more energy than you could possibly use, so you share it with your community, and it creates more oxygen than you consume.”

It’s eerily quiet in the audience. Stiles turns to look at them and smiles.

“I’m not telling you the plot of the next Disney movie here. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to your one-hundred-percent sustainable, green, and caring future.”

Derek isn’t really listening after that. It’s not that he’s not interested. It’s fascinating stuff, and Derek will probably (definitely) read up on the subject later. But he can’t take his eyes off Stiles. He hasn’t seen him—really seen him in almost six years. This isn’t really seeing him, either, but it’s as close as it gets. Stiles is saying this right now. He’s waving his hands right now. Right at this very moment, somewhere in a huge auditorium on the other side of the country, Stiles is standing on a stage, bright, and charming, and funny, and Derek’s brain goes through a little meltdown as he tries to understand that notion.

Stiles looks good. He’s wearing some well-fitting dark jeans and a dark blue button-down, collar undone, sleeves rolled up. It’s not as stuffy as a suit, but it’s not a graphic tee, either. His hair isn’t styled like he’s the newest member of One Direction anymore, but it’s definitely been tamed and then unleashed. He doesn’t look that much older than the last time Derek has seen him, and he’s definitely Stiles, but he’s different, too. More.

Derek only has a vague idea of Stiles’s presentation moving on from small-town areas to heavily urban spaces, explaining how even there an integration with nature was possible. Derek can’t follow too closely, being too distracted by Stiles’s voice. He strains his every sense unconsciously, keeps inhaling like he can feel Stiles’s scent through the screen if he just tries hard enough. He’s got a serious case of tunnel vision and he’s not aware of it until Kira bumps into him on her way to the kitchen.

“Oh, sorry, Derek,” she gushes, pulling back. “Didn’t see you there.”

Derek blinks as the reality of where he is coalesces around him. “It’s fine,” he grumbles.

Laura is watching him from across the room. Derek is startled to realize that so is the sheriff. The expression on his face is one of surprise quickly morphing into guilt. Derek looks away hastily.

He knows he’s being obvious, tries to fight it, but then Stiles says something in a way that is all too familiar, something completely innocent he makes sound filthy with his tone alone, and Derek looks up, helpless, to catch the tail end of his smirk as the audience laughs.

It’s over way too quickly. Stiles is only a grad student, and fifteen minutes is his limit, Q&A included. Derek doesn’t really breathe until someone else’s presentation starts.

Around him, the pack is chatting and laughing, comparing notes, as they pass around the coffee pot and snacks.

“That’s an interesting topic—” Isaac starts to be instantly steamrolled by Malia.

“He’s still hot,” she says and kicks Erica’s shin lightly. “I get why you had a crush on him in high school.”

Erica laughs, throwing her head back. “I know, right? He was cute then, too.”

“You had a crush on Stiles?” Kira asks, settling back into the pile of blankets. “What happened?”

Erica grins. “I told him. He got so flustered; it was completely adorable. Kept asking me if I was joking or if someone put me up to that.”

Laura groans. Next to her, the sheriff presses a palm over his eyes.

“I got offended, and he started apologizing,” Erica laughs, remembering. “It was so cute; I couldn’t even stay mad at him. But yeah, it was like… he was the only one who noticed me before the—” she gestures at herself—“werewolf makeover.”

“So you two—?” Kira asks, always eager for more details on pack life prior to her arrival.

“Nah.” Erica shakes her head with a smile. “He was completely hung up on someone else.”

No one looks at Derek, but at this point, Kira is the only clueless one in the room.

“Still got to be his first kiss, though,” Erica brags, beaming.

“No, you didn’t,” Scott says, sitting up with his back against the couch, taking a mug from Kira gratefully.

“Er, yes, I did.” Erica seems indignant. “Ambushed him at the coffeeshop on Christmas, got him under a mistletoe.” She smirks. “Totally laid one on him. I have witnesses, McCall.”

“I’m sure you did.” Scott rolls his eyes. “I’m just saying you weren’t his first kiss.”

“Oh, well, who was it?” she demands.

Scott suddenly looks like a person who started talking without thinking it through. Color blooms on his cheeks. “Er…”

“Oh my God,” Cora squeals. “You?”

Everyone is staring at Scott, who looks more flustered than Derek has ever seen him.

“It was in third grade!” Scott says defensively, throwing an apologetic glance at Kira like she could possibly be mad about that. “Jackson and his gang cornered us during recess. Said something about how we were always together, so we had to be boyfriends, and refused to let us pass until we, you know…” He shakes his head, red as a tomato. “Stiles looked like he was going to fight his way out, and he was so skinny, Jackson would have broken him in half with, like, one finger, and I had asthma then, and I—I just wanted to get out of there, so I, uh…”

Cora, Malia, and Erica guffaw, and everyone else is laughing hard enough to splash coffee all over the place.

“Hey, watch it!” Laura yells, but she’s laughing too.

“It was traumatizing!” Scott insists. “We couldn’t look at each other for a week!”

“Jackson was always a douchebag,” Cora says, hand pressed to her stomach.

“Didn’t Jackson kiss Stiles once at Lydia’s party?” Isaac asks, smirking. “We were, like, fourteen or something?”

“Shit.” Scott stares at him. “I’d forgotten about that! He did, he totally did. He was drunk. I think he stole the keys from his father’s liquor cabinet or something. He came in late, acted like an asshole to Lydia, to everyone there. Stiles mouthed off to him, and Jackson pushed him against the wall, and I thought he was going to hit him, but he kissed him instead. Oh my God! How could I have forgotten? Stiles kneed him in the balls, before I could even get close. It was priceless!”

Everyone is laughing, even the sheriff, as he gets to his feet.

“You’re leaving?” Laura asks. “You won’t stay for breakfast?”

He shakes his head, smiling. “Thank you, but I think I’ve already learned more about my son’s love life than I ever wanted to know.”

Everyone gives him chagrined looks.

“Sorry, Sheriff!” Erica calls out, blushing. Even Malia looks slightly abashed.

The sheriff shakes his head. “Too late to ground him now.” He grins. “Laura, thank you for doing this. I’m not sure I could have—”

“Of course,” Laura says, standing up as well and leaning up to press a kiss against his cheek. “Stiles is pack, Noah. So are you.”

He blushes and nods at everyone. “Stay out of trouble, kids.”

A chorus of goodbyes follows him out.

Derek is about to leave, too, when Malia asks: “Is Stiles seeing anyone now, Scott?”

“Why?” Cora elbows her. “You want in on the action?”

“Shut up! I’m just asking. We haven’t heard anything since he broke up with Lydia, and that was like forever ago.”

Scott shrugs. “You mean since Lydia jumped him after Jackson dumped her, again, and then she dumped him to get back with Jackson?”

“Their relationship is bizarre,” Cora mutters.

“No, Stiles pretty much swore off dating after that,” Scott says, pulling Kira closer with an arm around her shoulders and looking a little put out. “His luck was pretty shit up till then, too, so I think that was like a final straw.”

“Well, that’s a shame,” Isaac drawls. “Just think about it. If only Jackson had stopped repressing what he’s obviously repressing, they could have had a really hot threesome.”

“Ew.” Erica throws a pillow at him, even as Malia’s eyes light up.

“All right, enough,” Laura says, getting to her feet and stretching. “We did this to support Stiles, not gossip about him. Half of you need to get ready to work, and the rest of you… go sleep it off somewhere else. Shoo.”

They groan in protest, but reluctantly begin to move.

“Isaac,” Laura adds. “Can you save a clip of Stiles’s presentation and give it to Noah? I think he’d really like that.”

“Sure.” Isaac nods even as he stares at her in awe. “You call him Noah. That’s so badass.”

Laura grins. “Oh, grow a pair already. He’s not going to bust you for smoking up behind the school. Again. Probably.”

Isaac blushes. “He’s very intimidating.”

Erica snorts, but Scott and Cora nod sagely. Derek privately agrees.

The sheriff, to his surprise, is still outside when Derek walks out. He’s finishing a call and turns around when he hears Derek approach. Their cars are parked side by side.

“Derek.”

“Sir.”

That uncomfortable look is back on the sheriff’s face as he watches Derek. Derek hates that he respects the man too much to just leave.

“Did I mess it up?” the sheriff asks quietly. “That day when you were going to see him? Did I get it wrong?”

Derek frowns, shakes his head. “No.”

“Derek—”

Derek gestures at the house impatiently. “You saw him. He was…” With helpless honesty, he finishes, “He was amazing up there. I would have messed it up. He—he deserves better. You did the right thing.”

He gets into his car and starts the engine when he hears the sheriff saying quietly, “No, I really don’t think I did.”

Derek drives away before he can acknowledge that, because what does it matter anymore? The sheriff—and no, Derek can never imagine calling him Noah, not even when the man will have retired—was only trying to protect his son. He didn’t say anything Derek wasn’t thinking, even if Derek was in denial back then. He didn’t physically stop Derek from going. Every choice Derek made was his own.

The fact that Derek didn’t know so many things about Stiles even when Stiles was right here only cements his conviction. Stiles is clearly better off without him.

--

Derek watches Stiles’s presentation again later that night and saves the clip to his computer. He doesn’t even try to explain it away as wanting to understand what the hell Stiles was talking about.

Some nights, he sets it in a loop, watching and listening as he’s making dinner. Sometimes he mutes the sound, when the audience’s laughter is getting too annoying, and just watches Stiles until he can’t anymore.

--

Scott and Kira fly out to visit Stiles on Christmas. Stiles and Kira, it turns out, have never met in person, and Scott is slightly nervous. Kira is even more so. She’s fully conscious by now on how the Scott-and-Stiles duo operates and would rather take Ms. McCall hating her on sight than Stiles.

“Please.” Cora rolls her eyes. “Stiles has a thing for women who can kick his ass without breaking a sweat. Just find an excuse to wave your katana in his general vicinity and you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Kira, naturally, doesn’t have anything to worry about, but Scott comes back less than happy. Derek picks them up from the airport, and somehow they end up having drinks in a bar just within the town limits.

“All right, what’s wrong?” Derek asks, watching Scott gulp down beer like it’s water. “I thought the whole meet-the-girlfriend thing went well?”

Scott glowers.

Kira shoots him a nervous look before nodding hastily at Derek. “It did. Stiles is… he’s nice. We clicked.”

Not that there was ever any doubt. Derek lifts an eyebrow in Scott’s direction.

Scott huffs in frustration. “It’s the boyfriend, all right? I hate his boyfriend.”

Derek wills himself not to react. By the way Kira winces, he doesn’t think he succeeds.

“I thought Stiles wasn’t dating anyone?”

Scott scowls. “They met at that conference thing in New York. Theo caught Stiles after, asked him questions. They hit it off.” He makes a face.

Derek has been friends with his jealousy for so long, he barely flinches as it spikes. “Is… there something wrong with this—er, Theo?”

“No,” Kira says, just as Scott says, vehemently, “Yes.”

They look at each other.

“Theo seems like a perfectly nice guy,” Kira says to Derek after a while. “He’s, uh… charming. Very confident, but like… in a charming way. He’s a really good listener, and he remembers things, and—”

“By which she means he’s getting dirt on you even as you sit there,” Scott sneers. “He’s smarmy, territorial, and oh my God, what’s with all the PDA? We get it, he’s with Stiles, he doesn’t have to be all over him all the damn time!”

“Maybe Stiles likes that,” Kira says in a tentative tone.

“He doesn’t,” Scott snaps. “He’s the least demonstrative guy I know. Not that… I mean, he’s not standoffish or anything, like, he grew up in a pack and all. But he doesn’t like someone sticking their tongue down his throat in the middle of a fucking grocery store, trust me.”

“Well, it’s all very new, isn’t it?” Kira says diplomatically. “Maybe after they’ve been together for a while, Theo won’t feel—”

“Like he has to piss all over him to keep the others out?” Scott finishes sardonically. “Gee, can’t wait.”

Kira sighs. “This is about the mug thing, isn’t it?”

“What mug thing?” Derek asks, when Scott only grumbles.

“Scott gave Stiles a mug with Yoda on it when he first came to visit him at Stanford,” Kira explains. “It was Stiles’s favorite. Theo broke it by accident—”

“By accident, my ass,” Scott interjects.

“—and bought him a different one.”

“Yes, with a freaking Sith on it! I didn’t even watch the thing, and I know they’re evil!” Scott explodes. “And when I went out and bought Stiles a new Yoda mug, Theo somehow managed to break that one, too! Right in front of me! And he said sorry and all, but he looked at me when Stiles wasn’t looking, like he was mocking me or something. He’s an asshole.”

“I really don’t think that was on purpose,” Kira says softly.

“Of course, it was! Hell, we spent a week there, and we couldn’t even get Stiles alone for five minutes without Theo hanging all over him! And he keeps looking at him like he’s a three-course meal, what the fuck’s up with that?”

It’s not until Scott’s eyes actually flash at that that Derek puts it together.

“Theo is a wolf,” he says, something cold and hard solidifying in the pit of his stomach.

“Yeah,” Scott bristles. “Some pack from upstate New York no one’s even heard of.”

Kira gives Derek an exasperated look and Derek nods. The math on that one really isn’t complicated. Scott and Stiles are close. Scott is a bitten wolf. Stiles has never dated a werewolf before, and Scott feels threatened without necessarily knowing why. Much as Derek wants to hate Theo on principle, the guy is probably all right, even if he does seem to have an unfortunate tendency to fuck with people for the hell of it.

“You know, I blame you for that,” Scott says to Derek suddenly.

“Scott,” Kira says sharply, laying a hand on his arm. “That’s unfair.”

“Is it?” Scott glares. “What’s wrong with Stiles, huh? What was so freaking wrong with Stiles that you couldn’t text him or send him an email once in a blue moon? Did he freak you out with his crush on you? Was it so bad? When he came home that first year, when he asked you out, when you said yes, remember that? What did he do that was so bad you had to go and break his freaking heart to pieces, huh? Make him think he’s never going to be good enough for a werewolf? You didn’t like him that way, fine. You couldn’t have let him down easy? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Scott!” Kira snaps, and her eyes flash orange. “Shut up. This isn’t Derek’s fault. You’re being a dick.”

Scott jerks as if she slapped him and gapes at her. She glares back.

Any other time, Derek would have found it amusing, but the only thing he can focus on at the moment is: “Stiles asked me out?”

Scott snaps his mouth shut with a click and stares at him, more bewildered now than angry. “Are you for real? Derek, you went out on like three dates with him. You all but had sex with him at that club. Do you suddenly have amnesia or something, man?”

Derek has never experienced being struck speechless until that moment. Eventually, his voice weak and hoarse like gravel, he says: “But we… there were other people. Except for our runs, but—but they were runs. I didn’t… I didn’t know.”

Scott stares at him like he’s never seen him before. “Oh my God,” he says slowly, after a small eternity. “Oh my God. Dude.”

“You do like him,” Kira says softly, leaning closer. “Don’t you? You really… you really like him.”

Derek closes his eyes, nods.

There’s nothing to say here, and the three of them just sit there for a while, finishing their drinks in stunned silence.

“I’m sorry,” Scott says eventually, his tone subdued. “I’m sorry, man. It’s none of my business. I wasn’t trying to be a dick, it’s just… I really hate Theo.”

“Maybe they’ll break up soon,” Kira says brightly. When Scott looks at her, she shrugs. “You said it yourself, none of his relationships lasted…”

Both Scott and Derek stare at her until she blushes.

“Um,” she says and buries her face in her hands. “Oh my God, I didn’t mean…”

“Let’s just go home,” Scott sighs. “Thanks for the lift, man. We got it from here.”

He slides his hand over Derek’s shoulder, and Derek grips his wrist in response automatically. Kira waves at him as they go.

Derek calls Erica, tells her he won’t be in the next day. He hangs up when she tries to ask him why. He drives himself home and gets spectacularly drunk on his own porch.

--

When he wakes up the next morning, he’s a wolf. His clothes are torn to pieces around him. His muzzle is caked with dried blood, and there’s a half-eaten rabbit under the steps. The moon is nowhere near full.

Derek feels so ashamed he almost doesn’t shift back.

--

By the time Stiles’s graduation draws near, he and Theo are still very much together. According to pretty much everyone who talks to Stiles regularly, including Laura, Stiles seems perfectly happy with him. Even Scott has softened up some, though he still grumbles about the mug thing occasionally.

Derek buries himself in work and tries to brace for the day someone tells him that Stiles is coming home.

Laura still hasn’t mastered the full shift, so Derek doesn’t tell her. He doesn’t tell anyone, but he spends a lot of nights in the woods as a wolf, running until his legs refuse to carry him.

--

Chapter Text

--

Stiles comes home at the end of June.

Derek absolutely does not panic when he hears about it. He does contemplate the possibility of shifting into a wolf, running into the woods, and staying there for good. If he didn’t have classes to teach, taxes to pay, and betas to train, he probably would have succumbed to the temptation.

Laura promptly throws a barbecue party at the house. She says it’s just one of their regular summer pack picnics, but everyone knows it’s a welcome home party. Scott goes to pick Stiles up from the airport to stop by the sheriff’s house on the way back, since Stiles doesn’t have a place of his own yet. Everyone else splits up the usual tasks of barbecuing, making sides and salads, putting up chairs and blankets, and watching over the kids.

“Pie,” Derek says when Laura stares at him threateningly. “I’m making pie.”

He barricades himself in the kitchen and doesn’t intent to come out for anything short of an apocalypse. He’s baking. He doesn’t need interruptions.

Baking is something his father used to do a lot and he taught Derek. His mother was always better with meat, but Richard Allen-Hale was a mean baker. Out of all the kids, only Laura and Derek showed the slightest promise when it came to cooking. Laura was the queen of steaks. Derek had a thing for pies, which amused Cora and baffled Malia. Peter had no culinary talents whatsoever and didn’t seem perturbed by that in the slightest.

So Derek hides in the kitchen, using the industrial-size oven his parents installed, to bake three pies at a time. Apple, can’t go wrong with apple. And blueberry, because it’s his favorite.

The level of noise outside increases just as Derek sets the first three pies to cool and starts rolling the next three. He doesn’t look out the window, and he tries not to listen, but it’s damn hard. He doesn’t even have to concentrate. Ever since he first managed the full shift, all his senses became even more acute. He wonders if this is what it’s like for Laura with her alpha senses or if it’s even more for her. Derek doesn’t think he could take any more.

He hears him, long before he sees him. It’s been nearly seven years, but it feels like mere hours have passed. The same voice, the same laugh. Exchanging greetings, asking questions, teasing. Derek very nearly puts salt in instead of sugar, because he can’t make himself stop listening.

At some point, Kira joins him, stuffing tubs of homemade vanilla ice cream in the freezer. She doesn’t leave when she’s done, and Derek wonders if he’s not the only one feeling awkward out there.

“You’re going to come out at some point, right?” Kira asks, watching him stuff the pies into the oven.

“I’m not sure.”

“Don’t you want to see him?”

Derek straightens up, cracks his neck, sighs. “Of course, I want to see him,” he says, staring out the window without focusing on anything. “But I don’t know what to say. ‘Hi, sorry for being an asshole and not having been in contact for seven years, good to see you?’” He shakes his head. “‘Sorry, I didn’t realize we were dating and went and slept with someone else?’ ‘Sorry, I’m a terrible friend?’”

“We weren’t dating,” someone cuts in from the doorway. “And I’d settle for ‘Hi, Stiles, welcome home.’”

Derek freezes. He’s been so attuned to the sound of one particular heartbeat, he didn’t realize it has come that much closer. He turns around, and of course. Of course. Stiles is looking right at him, leaning against the kitchen doorframe, thumbs hooked into the pockets of his jeans, a wry smile on his face.

“Stiles,” Derek says. He’s surprised he’s managed that much.

“Um.” Kira coughs. “I’m going to uh… I’m going to go find Scott. Excuse me.”

She brushes past Stiles, who grins at her, far too knowing. But within a moment his eyes are back on Derek.

“What?” he asks as he steps fully into the kitchen. “No ‘welcome home’?”

“Welcome home,” Derek says mechanically, his throat threatening to close in on itself.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Yeah, feeling the love there, buddy.” His gaze sweeps over Derek, and he bites his lip, as if desperately fighting back a grin. “You know, I was going to be cool. I was going to give you the cold shoulder even, because—seven years? I know I’m annoying, but come on. So yeah, I was going to not maybe even acknowledge your presence, or maybe treat you like you’re Peter, but…” He gestures over Derek. “That’s just unfair.”

“Unfair?”

Stiles chuckles, eyes crinkling with mirth. “You’ve got flour on your face. You’re wearing an apron that I can’t believe says ‘My rolling pin is bigger than yours’. You’re making pie. I can’t deal with this, that’s—”

Derek reels him into a hug, hiding his own helpless grin in Stiles’s hair.

“Welcome home,” he whispers, trying not to hold onto him too tightly or inhale too deeply. “I missed you.”

“Yeah, well, you could have picked up the phone every once in a year, Sourwolf,” Stiles grumbles, but he’s holding on to Derek solidly enough. “If I didn’t know that you’re damn near anti-social if left to your own devices, I’d have taken it personally.”

They break apart, reluctantly, at least where Derek is concerned. Stiles punches his shoulder lightly. “Bad wolf.”

Derek lifts an eyebrow. “Is that a dog joke or a Doctor Who reference?”

Stiles’s mouth falls open. “You… Oh, this is just… The first person in my entire life to get a Doctor Who reference, and it’s you. Of course, it is.”

Derek grins hopefully. “Is that a good thing?”

Stiles narrows his eyes at him, then glances at the pies cooling on the stove. “Any of those blueberry?”

“Two. The third one in the oven.”

Stiles shakes his head, losing a battle against a smile that is unexpectedly soft. “I might forgive you sometime this century,” he sighs, as he turns to go. “I really wasn’t planning on it.”

Derek grins.

--

It’s only hours later, after all the pies have been eaten, and the party breaks down, that Derek figures out the elusive difference in Stiles that he couldn’t pin down before. He’s friendly enough, he’s joking, he’s teasing. He doesn’t act like he’s holding a grudge.

It’s just that Derek can’t stop listening to his heartbeat throughout the conversation and the food and the laughter. It’s slow and steady.

There’s no flip.

--

Stiles’s boyfriend is expected in town in a couple of weeks. It’s enough time for Stiles to start his new job at Magitech, who conveniently have a lab thirty minutes out of town, fifteen more to the eco-village they’re building, and move into an apartment. It’s in the new apartment block at the opposite side from the Preserve; it’s small and not yet lived in, but pricey as hell.

“Dude,” Scott drawls, a consternated look on his face as they look around when they help Stiles move in. “They’re ripping you off.”

It’s bare, with a distinctive smell of fresh paint still hanging between the walls, and there are wires sticking out of the walls instead of actual power outlets. Isaac wrinkles his nose as he sets down a box he’s carried up. The apartment is tiny, and Derek can see into the bathroom from where he’s blocking the doorway. There’s no sink.

Stiles looks around, winces, then shrugs. “At least I don’t have student loans?”

“Theo is going to hate the smell,” Scott warns Stiles later, as they are dragging in the matrass. Somehow the fact that Stiles doesn’t own a bedframe is never discussed.

Stiles winces again. “I know. I’ll try to air it out as much as possible, but I’ve already told him, he’s going to be more comfortable at Ellen’s B&B.”

“He’s not coming to stay?” Isaac pipes up from where he’s assembling a bookshelf.

Stiles shrugs, looking at no one. “We haven’t… come to a decision.”

Derek, who has left wordlessly earlier to go get a sink and is now quietly installing it, doesn’t like the sound of that.

He doesn’t ask until much later, after Scott and Isaac have left while Derek was finishing. Stiles offers him a beer from the cooler, since the fridge hasn’t been delivered yet, both of them slumping in exhaustion on the floor. Derek might be a werewolf, but moving into a new place is an experience from a special circle of hell, even when one only has as much stuff.

“Your boyfriend,” Derek asks, grateful that Stiles can’t hear his heart. “He doesn’t want to stay?”

Stiles leans back against the wall, eyes half-closed. “A small rural town in northern California isn’t exactly Theo’s scene,” he replies, words a little slurry with fatigue. After a beat of silence, Stiles says, “He wants me to move with him to New York.”

Derek feels like he swallowed a stone. He whips his head toward Stiles, and, while his pose never changes, there’s a stiffness about him, an undercurrent of tension that gives Derek his answer before he can even ask.

“You’re thinking about it.”

Stiles tilts his head back as if he needs to push it off the wall to straighten a little. He lifts his beer to his lips, but doesn’t take a swig, like he’s forgotten about it.

“He makes a compelling case,” he says at last. “Better job opportunities, better learning opportunities, and well. He’s there.”

“Isn’t he some sort of freelance journalist? Doesn’t that mean that he can work from anywhere?”

“Theoretically,” Stiles sighs. “But he has this thing about small towns. He’s from one, and he says he didn’t spend half his life working his ass off to get out of one only to end up in another.”

He should stay in New York then, Derek thinks viciously. He should stay and leave Stiles out of it. It would be a horrible thing to say, though, so he manages not to. Only just.

“Speaking of new places,” Stiles says suddenly with more cheer in his tone than he’s projecting. “I heard you moved to Ms. Meredith’s old place. Care to show me around? It’s Hale territory through and through, but I should probably do a touch-up, while I’m at it?” He wriggles his fingers, the tips glowing for a split-second, visible to werewolf eyes only.

“That’s, uh—” Derek sits up straight. “That’s a good idea. I have back-to-back shifts for the next few days, but we can go on Saturday if you like?”

Stiles grins at him. “Works for me, Sourwolf.” He gets up to his feet, taking Derek’s empty bottle to deposit it along with his own into the bin he’s marked for recycling. “Thanks for your help with all of this.” He waves his arms around the apartment.

It’s not rude, as dismissals go, but it’s clear enough. Derek has no excuse to linger.

--

He goes from years of not seeing Stiles at all to seeing him everywhere. At the gas station, where he’s talking to his Jeep—and Derek can’t believe that thing still runs. At the grocery store, where he’s staring meditatively at a crate of avocados. At the gym, where Stiles chooses Boyd as his personal trainer, something that Derek tells himself doesn’t sting at all.

Erica has no compunctions about it, though, expressing her displeasure loudly, while Stiles is using a sit-up bench. And no, Derek hasn’t been staring.

“You pick Boyd and not me?” she hisses at him, eyes flashing, ignoring the looks the other patrons give her. “He’s human! He can’t work you as well as I can!”

“Yes, and thank God for that,” Stiles snipes back, unfazed, flushed, but not winded as he carries on with his workout. “You once made me bench-press my own weight.”

“Which you did!”

“Yeah, and I nearly broke my back, and I still have nightmares about it! And anyway, isn’t Boyd your boyfriend? Because really, ‘he’s human’? That’s not what he told me you said last night—”

“Oh my God, Stilinski, shut up!” Erica turns red. “I always forget how obnoxious you are, ugh.”

Stiles is grinning unrepentantly. “Yeah, well, Boyd is a sexy beast, you shouldn’t be embarrassed to admit it.” He winks at her. “I like Boyd. We have good talks.”

Erica stares at him. “He talks to you?”

“Yeah. Us, humans dating werewolves, we gotta commiserate sometime. The gross preference for steaks so rare they’re still mooing. Clothes spilling all over the place under the guise of scent marking when really, you guys are just slobs. The insane sex drive, which honestly, I never thought would be a problem, but if Boyd can cry manly tears about it, there’s no shame for me, I guess…”

“I’m going to kill him,” Erica promises darkly. “I’m going to eviscerate him limb from limb.”

Stiles rises up in his final sit-up and grabs her wrist. “No, you won’t.”

“Watch me.”

“You won’t, because I also know what you and Malia and Cora talk about when it’s just you girls.”

Erica glares at him, then her shoulders droop slightly. “How is it that you have an in on both sides already? You’ve been here a week!”

Stiles smirks. “I’m just that awesome.”

“You’re something all right.”

Derek ducks into the backroom, trying in vain to stop thinking why Stiles would have reasons to complain about ‘insane sex drive.’ He doesn’t succeed, if the shredded paint on the door is any indication.

He runs into Stiles at the police station when Stiles drops by to drag his father out for lunch and Derek stops to drop the new schedule for the deputies’ classes with Parrish. Parrish is on the phone, and Derek has to wait at his desk, glancing at the closed office doors nervously every other minute. The door opens unexpectedly, just as Parrish hangs up, but it’s only Stiles. He beams at Derek as he spots him.

“Hey man, what’s up?” he greets, as he parks himself at Parrish’s desk like he owns the place. Perks of growing up the sheriff’s kid, probably, because Parrish only grins at him.

“Hey Stiles,” Parrish says, finally taking the paper from Derek.

Derek himself has yet to attain the power of speech, his attention wandering. Stiles is wearing a simple dark blue t-shirt that stretches across his shoulders and makes his eyes glow. The fabric looks soft; Derek wants to touch it.

“Don’t mind him, he’s just scared of your father,” Parrish is saying when Derek resurfaces.

“Really?” Stiles looks delighted. “Why?”

“I’m not scared of him” Derek says, shooting Parrish a baleful look. “I just… try not to annoy him. He doesn’t like me much.”

“Dude, what?” Stiles stares at him before exchanging an incredulous look with Parrish. “My dad thinks you’re the best thing since sliced bread. No, don’t roll your eyes, I’m serious. Do you know how many of our Skype conversations he spent talking about some heroic shit you pulled? ‘Derek stands strong in the face of adversity.’ ‘Derek found the girl lost in the woods.’ ‘Derek teaches my deputies for free because he knows the department can’t afford it.’ ‘Derek took a bullet for a kid.’ ‘Derek is saving kittens from trees.’”

“I never saved a kitten from a tree,” Derek objects, knowing he’s blushing in the most embarrassing way.

“Semantics.” Stiles waves a dismissive hand at him. “My point is, my dad thinks you’re the shit. Pretty sure he’d like you more as a son at this point than me.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Parrish interjects, grinning. “He talks about you a great deal, too. To anyone who’d listen. And sometimes to those who won’t.”

“Aw, man.” Stiles buries his face in his hands. “I’d apologize, but I don’t think he’d stop. Anyway, not the same thing. He’s my dad, he’s obligated to feel proud of me, even when I didn’t do anything special. But him—”

“I’d say becoming a full Acolyte is pretty special,” Derek says.

Stiles gives him a look that is suddenly too serious. After a beat, he says, “All I did was take the opportunity that was dropped in my lap. Yeah, I didn’t fuck it up—yet. I haven’t done anything spectacular with it yet, either. I’m not saying I won’t ever. Just—there’s nothing to be proud of yet, unless you happen to be related to me.”

Parrish interjects before Derek can. “That’s not true, though, is it? About the opportunity. I know a bit about magic. It’s not some innate ability that people are born with or whatever. Sure, you’d have to have a spark, but most humans do to some degree. It’s more about knowledge. My cousin once told me that, in order to become a full Acolyte, you’d essentially have to get an equivalent of PhDs in chemistry, physics, math, and a number of languages. Plus, you’d have to hone your ability to see the whole board and all. It sounds like a lot of hard work to me, Stiles, and I can see the nine-beam star over your heart, so my guess is you worked your ass off to get there.”

Stiles jumps, hand flying up to cover his chest, as if he’d forgotten he’s wearing clothes. Not that regular eyesight would be able to discern his sign if he was naked. Derek feels a pang of jealousy that he’d never be able to see it.

“Hellhounds,” Stiles mutters. Parrish smirks at him, flashing his eyes. “You’re in my dad’s stories a lot, too, you know, Mr. Heroically Coming To The Rescue. Actually, the way he talks about the two of you, I’m surprised he didn’t try to set you guys up.”

Derek and Parrish look at each other instinctively, both of them blushing.

“Oh my God, he did!” Stiles crows. “Let me guess, he went all hemming and hawing about it, which just made you”—he points at Parrish—“feel uncomfortable, and you”—he points at Derek—“didn’t even get it.”

Derek bites his lip, amused despite himself. That’s pretty much exactly what happened after he and Parrish came to their unspoken agreement to become friends.

“I did get it,” he objects on principle.

“Did you, now?” Stiles lifts his eyebrows. “I doubt it.” He turns to Parrish. “I’ll let you in on a little secret there, Jordan. Derek doesn’t get subtlety, which fair’s fair, most wolves don’t. But he’s not your typical wolf, either. He doesn’t do the whole pursue and conquer thing. That’s too much work for Mr. GQ here.” He grins at Derek, and it’s not entirely kind. “So if you want in, you have to be really direct, blunt even. All things considered, your chances are pretty good then.”

Derek’s heart is racing, and he feels betrayed by this sudden turn. Stiles’s words sting, especially because Derek can’t refute them. He’s correct in fact, if not in intent.

“And you consider yourself such an expert, do you?” he snaps instead.

Stiles looks at him, and whatever malice has colored his words a moment ago is gone. His voice sounds soft and a little sad when he says, “Yes, Derek. I am an expert. I wrote the goddamn book.”

Derek can’t say anything, just stares at him, unable to break eye contact. Stiles’s eyes are speaking volumes, it’s an entirely different conversation, and Derek feels like he’s falling, drawn in, helpless and desperate.

“Well now, that’s a fine group of people,” the sheriff’s voice booms unexpectedly close, making Derek jump. The sheriff claps his hand on Stiles’s shoulder. “If we go, we should go now, I have to be in for that call in fifty minutes. Jude’s diner, okay?” When Stiles makes a face, he adds, “I’ll order that terrible salad they have, kid. You can take me to that vegetarian place some other time.”

“Fine.” Stiles pouts. “Remember you said that. I have witnesses.”

The sheriff sighs, aggrieved, then brightens. “You guys want to join us?”

Derek and Parrish both open their mouths, but Stiles beats them to it. “Actually, Dad, Jordan here was just talking about getting sandwiches from the cart in the park and going on a little lunch picnic with Derek.” He nudges his father in the most unsubtle manner possible.

“Really?” The sheriff looks surprised, but pleased. As he looks from his deputy to Derek to Stiles, he smirks a little. “I see. Well, have fun then, boys. I’m going to need you for that call, though, Parrish.”

“Yes, sir,” Parrish says.

Stiles winks at both of them behind his father’s back as they head out.

Parrish is on his feet before Derek can say anything.

“We don’t have to—” Derek starts.

Parrish grabs his arm and steers him toward the exit. Derek allows it, sulking.

Parrish gets them sandwiches and drinks from the cart and leads them toward a clear spot under a huge oak. They sit on the grass, Parrish waving hello at a few acquaintances in the distance, before carefully unwrapping his sandwich. He gives Derek an impatient look when Derek just sits there.

“Talk,” he says.

“This isn’t a date,” Derek huffs.

Parrish rolls his eyes. “No kidding. I’ve been over the idea of it for a few years now, Derek. But even if I wasn’t, that”—he points back in the direction of the station—“whatever that was would have told me to steer clear. I obviously don’t know the story there, but whatever is going on between you two that you thought was resolved? Isn’t. At all. So talk.”

And, surprising himself, Derek does. He’d never have believed it, but it feels unexpectedly good to spill all of it to someone who isn’t his sister, who wasn’t there for any of it, and who doesn’t judge. Parrish listens, neatly devouring his sandwich, then balling up the wrapper tightly. He’s drinking the last of his ice tea when Derek is done.

True to himself, he doesn’t offer an opinion on matters past. Instead, he asks, “So what are you going to do now?”

Derek shrugs, uncapping his own water. “What can I do?”

Parrish stares at him. “Derek. Really? He just drew you a map. Weren’t you listening?”

Derek scowls. “He has a boyfriend.”

“Yes, he does. It didn’t stop him from telling you what he wants from you.”

“No, he told me what he did want from me. Past tense. Or he wouldn’t have tried to set me up with you.”

Parrish is giving him a look that is half incredulous, half pitying.

“What?” Derek snaps.

“I’ve known you for about four years, and I’ve known Stiles in person for about twenty minutes, and I can’t believe he called it.”

“What the hell are you—”

“You might take bullets for random strangers, Derek,” Parrish says, getting up to his feet. “But you’re still unwilling to put your heart on the line. And when you’re wondering why Stiles is with someone else, even though he’s very obviously not over you? This is why.” He nods when Derek says nothing. “I’ve got to head back to the station.”

He’s almost back at the path, when Derek says, “The last time I put my heart on the line for someone, I nearly went rabid in the aftermath. I owed someone an entirely new apartment, but I could have easily harmed or killed somebody. It’s not… that easy.”

Parrish glances back, though he doesn’t raise his voice, knowing Derek will hear him. “It’s not easy for any of us, Derek. The question is, is it worth it? Is Stiles worth it. And I think you know the answer to that.”

Derek doesn’t stop him from leaving this time.

--

Parrish was right about a number of things, his annoying Captain America personality persisting, but he was wrong about something too. Stiles is over him. Yes, maybe not everything between them is resolved, true enough. But he’s definitely no longer hung up on Derek.

Maybe Parrish can see Stiles’s star when Derek can’t—damn hellhounds, but Derek can still hear his heartbeat. It’s almost aggressively steady, regular like a metronome. Since Stiles was back, it has never spiked once when they ran into each other, no matter how unexpectedly, not even when anyone would have been startled.

And Stiles—Stiles was wrong about something, too. Derek doesn’t think he’s too good to do the whole ‘pursue and conquer’ thing. He’s a wolf, and it’s instinct. He just never felt it as strongly before. He’d felt stirrings of it with Paige, and a spike or two with Alex, back when Derek was a kid. But it’s nothing compared to how strongly he feels it now when he looks at Stiles.

If Stiles were his… Derek would be a lot more pathetic than Scott when he was trying to please Kira. In fact, Derek should probably apologize to Scott. He gets it now.

But Stiles isn’t his. Stiles went out into the world and figured himself out and found someone who makes him happy. And much as Derek hates the interloper, much as his wolf snarls and growls inside him at the very thought, Derek isn’t going to be a selfish prick and fuck it all up for Stiles.

But he’ll be there. And if there’s ever another chance, if Stiles ever looks at him even half-favorably, Derek isn’t going to restrain himself. Not even a little bit.

--

Stiles’s Jeep rumbles down the dirt road to Derek’s house closer to noon on Saturday.

“Sorry!” Stiles calls out the second he’s out of the car. “I know we said morning, but Isaac and Erica are evil, and spent half the night last night trying to get me drunk, and while I was up at eight, you wouldn’t have wanted me around then, trust me, I was—”

“Stiles,” Derek cuts him off with a smile. “It’s all right. Scott called me last night. Coffee?”

“Oh my God, yes.”

Derek leads him into the kitchen where there’s a fresh pot and pours him a cup. He watches, trying not to wince, as Stiles nearly upends the sugar bowl into it.

“Don’t judge,” Stiles mumbles in between sips. “It’s that kind of morning. I need all the help I can get.”

“I don’t think sugar coma is a solution to your problems, but by all means.” Derek lifts his hands, biting back a grin. “Would you care for a refill?”

Stiles eyes him suspiciously, but holds his mug out. He limits himself to two spoons this time.

“You’re good?” Derek asks, trying not to laugh. “Can I give you a tour? Or do you need some time alone with that?”

“Asshole,” Stiles grumbles, elbowing him in the side. “I’m good. Show me around.”

The house isn’t that big, but Stiles still takes his time in every room, commenting on everything he sees with enthusiasm. Derek didn’t realize he was nervous until he hears sincere praise in Stiles’s voice. It… settles something in him that Stiles likes his house.

“Oh my God, Derek! A library! With window seats! That’s—this is amazing. I’ve only seen pictures like that on Pinterest, this is so… You should have never shown me this, now I pretty much want to move in.”

Please do.

It shoots through him like lightning, how much he wants this—Stiles, as he is now, curled up in the window seat that Derek has built with no intention of ever using himself, reading one of his beloved fantasy books or a new monograph on magic, reading exciting passages out loud, because he can’t contain himself. The two of them spending a quiet night in or a day off in here. His wolf wails sadly inside, as the image drifts tantalizingly out of reach before Derek’s mind’s eye.

“You’re still a history nut,” Stiles says, smiling softly, his long fingers running over the book spines. “You ever thought about going back to school for it? Like you wanted to?”

Derek frowns, surprised by the question. “Not really?” He shrugs. “It’s not like I can drop everything and go back to college.”

“You don’t have to drop everything. You can do it online,” Stiles says, examining the cover before putting the book back on the shelf. “But come on, dude. You don’t hate the gym, true, but you actually enjoy teaching exactly two of your classes, and you like your community outreach stuff. The rest? A chore, at best.”

That’s… not inaccurate.

“I would ask how you even know that,” Derek grumbles, “but I don’t think I want to know.”

Stiles smirks, claps him on the shoulder. “Something to think about, hm? You deserve something for yourself, too.”

Derek is stretched pretty thin just having Stiles in his space. The touch that tingles warmth all the way down his arm is too much. He takes a sip from his coffee, long cold by now, to subtly move away from it.

“Do you need me to show you the wards?”

Stiles grins as if in answer to his own thought, shakes his head. “Suit yourself, Sourwolf. And no, I got it.”

With that, he gestures Derek to the side of the room and rolls up the carpet, revealing a huge blackened seal on the floor. It was a bitch keeping it intact during renovations, but Derek managed.

Stiles knees next to it, eyes half-closed. “It barely has any charge,” he says. “I’m not sure it can carry even you alone.”

Derek shrugs. “You’ve read our pack history. We haven’t had an Acolyte in over a hundred years. Or was it hundred and fifty? And not every Emissary would agree to do this. It probably had more juice when Aunt Meredith lived here with her family. I’m just one person.”

Stiles is looking at him across the room, brown eyes soft. “It’s not your fault, Derek. The place stood empty for about ten years. Of course, there’s barely any spark. But it’s easily fixed.”

He places his hand to the center of the seal, closes his eyes. Nothing happens. Within just a few seconds, Stiles looks up at him, grinning.

“Done.”

“What, that’s it?” Derek can’t help himself. “But—but nothing happened.”

Stiles gets up to his feet, dusting off his knees even though Derek’s floors are clean, thank you.

“What did you expect?” Stiles smirks. “Gusts of wind, some light show?”

“Something like that.”

Stiles shakes his head, laughing softly. “I’m not Harry Potter, Derek. But if you want to make sure, come here.”

Derek eyes him warily, but follows his direction to stand in the middle of the seal. “Now wha—ah!”

It’s like being submerged in the most fierce, protective hug he has ever felt. He feels—held, warm and safe and loved. He feels—tastes Stiles’s energy, moves forward with the sudden, nearly forgotten weight of his father clapping him on the shoulder, melts into his mother’s arms. It goes deeper still, and Derek can’t take it, stumbling out of the circle, desperately unbalanced, catching himself with his arm on the wall. Everything fades at once.

He takes a moment to catch his breath, realizes his cheeks are wet. Instinctively, he moves to hide his face, then stops as he is and wipes his cheeks, knowing Stiles is watching him.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asks softly.

Derek nods, straightening, eyeing the ward like he’s never seen it before. “Will that happen every time I walk over it?”

“Um, no. This was just… the ward recognized you as the Hale living here now. Plus, I’m guessing you did a lot of things here by hand, so the house already knows you personally, and… well, it could get a little intense.”

“No kidding.”

They rolled the carpet back over the ward. To Derek’s relief, he only felt a spike of warmth as he moved over it.

They stand up, and suddenly it’s awkward. Stiles did what he came here to do, and Derek is done with the tour. The only room he hasn’t shown Stiles yet is his bedroom, and Derek doesn’t think Stiles would want to see it. He desperately doesn’t want Stiles to leave.

“Um.” Stiles clears his throat. “Well, I should probably—”

“Would you like to stay for lunch?” Derek blurts out. “I wanted to show you some new trails in the Preserve… there are uh… there’s been a few changes. If you still go running, I could—I could show you after.”

He really wants to shoot himself. He’s never this tongue-tied when meeting with the school board or the town council.

But Stiles’s delighted smile is worth every bit of his embarrassment.

“Yeah, man, that’d be cool! What do you have? Uh, for lunch I mean? I kind of skipped breakfast and I’m starving.”

Derek grins and drags him downstairs.

They eat lunch in the kitchen. Derek has made meatballs which only take a few minutes to reheat, and which he definitely hasn’t obsessed over since the night before, and pasta which only takes ten minutes to cook. Stiles’s eyes go wide, but it’s nothing compared to when Derek puts a bowl of fresh salad on the table, one he’d finished making minutes before Stiles’s arrival.

“Dude.” Stiles stares up at him, and for a moment Derek can see the eleven-year-old he’d once been, and his heart melts a little. “This is—seriously, this is awesome. I had no idea you could cook like that.”

“It’s nothing special.” Derek shrugs, turning toward the stove to hide his blush. He only just manages not to rumble subvocally, ridiculously pleased and embarrassed about it. He’s pretty sure the tips of his ears turn pink.

Stiles laughs incredulously. “Well, if this is nothing special, feel free to drop by my place and do this ‘nothing special’ thing any time. I don’t think I’ve eaten this well since my roommate’s mom had visited for Thanksgiving my junior year.”

“You can cook,” Derek says, redirecting.

“Yes, but I rarely do.” Stiles shrugs, twirling the pasta around his fork. “In fact, I had virtually no time for anything since my second year of undergrad, now that I think of it. If I had an odd day free, I probably just slept through it. Pretty sure my professors at Brown, not to mention my mentor, thought I should be subsiding on the pride of being a part of it all, and if I really must, on protein bars and coffee.”

“That sounds healthy.”

“You have no idea.”

Stiles doesn’t eat too much, though, Derek notices. His portion is moderate and he declines seconds, albeit regretfully, muttering something about overeating having a numbing effect on the body. Derek makes a mental note to fix him with leftovers. However, when he pours fresh coffee into a travel mug and puts it in Stiles’s hands, Stiles looks at him like Derek might be some sort of friendly deity. Derek’s wolf rumbles, preening.

He takes Stiles on a tour of the trails, which have been modified, yes, but probably not enough to warrant a special warning. Stiles doesn’t object, though, conversation flowing easily between them, as he asks questions about more changes in Beacon Hills and even what his father had been up to. In response, he regales Derek with stories of his college days, describing the absolute shitstorm that went into preparing the presentation for the New York conference—‘I was so high on lack of sleep, I was seeing colors, of course I tripped. I watched the recording afterwards, and let me tell you, I was shocked I was making sense’—some of the insane tasks his mentor had set for him, and Lydia’s sudden tornado-like appearances disrupting Stiles’s study schedule, their friendship odd but intense.

Derek absorbs it all like dry land takes in water from a sudden rainstorm. He’s craving more. He wants Stiles to never stop talking. There’s a feeling of some elusive barrier between them. For all of Stiles’s persistent love of tangents and expressive hands, Derek gets the feeling that he’s getting a sanitized version of events, while Scott probably got the uncensored one. It’s an irritating thought, but Derek can’t dwell on it, not when Stiles is still talking, laughing at something he remembers.

Derek’s every sense is being inundated by Stiles. He tried to resist it, but the day has been too much. Having Stiles in his space, in his house, teasing, joking, sharing food, walking within touching distance with late afternoon sun playing in his hair through the leaves, his scent intensifying the longer they walk—Derek can’t resist anymore, not really. Doesn’t remember that he should.

So when Stiles trips over a root and Derek catches him, righting him on his feet, he forgets to let go. Blood is thundering triumphantly in his ears. He can see, smell, hear nothing but Stiles. Instinct takes over, and Derek doesn’t think, just leans over and kisses him.

Everything comes crushing down as if a spell has been broken. Derek’s lips have barely touched Stiles’s when Stiles pushes him back with a hand on his chest, strong with fury. Derek stumbles back, and it feels like being doused in ice water, the reality of what he’s doing, where he is, smashing into him.

“What the hell, Derek?” Stiles glares at him, every line in his body tense.

“I’m sorry,” Derek says reflexively, still reeling.

“You can’t do that,” Stiles snaps, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “I don’t know what you think you were doing, but that’s not okay. I have a boyfriend. And you—and you—what the hell?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t think, I—”

“You didn’t think?”

“I was caught up in the moment…” Derek is desperate to fix it. The way Stiles is looking at him, he never wants to see that look again. “Look, it’s… I’m sorry. It—it’s not a big deal.”

Which is the absolute wrong thing to say, and Derek knows this immediately, but it’s way too late.

“Not a big deal?” Stiles repeats in a tone of cold fury. “Maybe not for you. We can’t all be happy-go-lucky super-hot werewolves who can have anyone at any moment at the drop of a fucking hat. My relationship is a big fucking deal to me.”

“I know, Stiles, I’m—”

“You thought what? That just because I used to have the world’s biggest crush on you, that you can just do this because you’re bored? Because it would be fun? Because I’m so pathetically gone on you, I’d take anything you want to give? I have a newsflash for you, Derek. I’m over it. I’m over you. I’ve been over you for a long fucking time now.”

Every word feels like a wolfsbane bullet imbedded in his flesh. Derek can’t scramble enough words to reply; it’s all he can do not to lift his arms to shield himself.

But there’s no shielding from how steady, how aggressively even Stiles’s heartbeat sounds, even if it is faster with anger.

“You know I didn’t say anything when I came back, because I thought… I don’t know. I thought we could be adults about it. You never wanted me; you’d been crystal clear about that before I left. But I thought you’d at least respect me now—as your packmate, if nothing else. Clearly, that was too much to ask.”

Stiles turns on his heel, starts downward, waving a hand when Derek tries to follow. “I can find my own way back.”

Derek takes a shorter route back down, getting to the house before Stiles. Stiles sees him, but ignores him, walking over to his Jeep without a word.

“Stiles,” Derek calls after him, and he could only manage to scrape a few words together. “I’m really sorry. Please, I… I forgot myself. It won’t happen again.”

Stiles doesn’t look at him, staring at his Jeep instead, one hand on the open door.

“You really know how to twist it, don’t you,” he mutters, shoulders slumped, as if anger was the only thing that was keeping him upright. “I’ll see you at the pack meet, Derek.”

He drives away without a single glance back.

Derek can’t even wait to strip, shifts inside his clothes, tearing through them to get free, because everything hurts too much and he can’t stand it. He darts into the woods, away from the sunlit trails and runs. He wants to run until his legs won’t carry him, and then to find the deepest, darkest cave, hole up in it and never come out. He wants to find a pack of real wolves, extinct in California, and let them tear him apart, because it can’t possibly hurt more than this. He wants to forget everything about himself, erase every last bit of him, until there’s nothing left in him to ache.

He comes back at dawn.

Laura is sitting on the porch, a mug in her hand, as she watches him slink out of the woods, his head hung, tail drooped in defeat. Derek eyes her warily, not sure he can take a lashing from his alpha on top of everything.

“Oh Der,” Laura sighs and opens her arms.

Derek launches himself up until they’re level, presses his shoulder against hers as he sits. Laura’s arm wraps around him, she buries her face in his fur for a moment, before kissing him on the forehead. He slumps into her then, half across her lap.

“I had a dream about you tearing through the woods,” she says after a beat, stroking his back. “It was… like I was you, but I was also me watching you. And the way you felt… I was scared. I got up and came here.”

Her fingers curl around his ear, tugging gently. Derek whines, buries his nose in her lap.

“There are dishes in the sink, and I can feel Stiles’s scent in the house,” Laura says, her voice even softer now. “Derek, whatever happened… It’ll work itself out. Things… things always do. One way or another. You won’t feel like this forever. It’ll work out, baby bro. Trust me.”

Derek can’t say anything, wouldn’t want to even if he could. They cuddle on the porch until the sun is high in the sky, and Laura nudges him off, complaining that her legs are numb and she wants more coffee.

--

Scott was right.

It’s not a combination of words Derek ever thought he’d be saying or even thinking, but when Theo Raeken finally rolls into town, Derek has to admit that Scott was right about absolutely everything.

It’s been a few days since Derek’s disastrous brain-freeze moment, and he and Stiles are… fine. They are civil. Stiles doesn’t leave the room when Derek comes in, though he doesn’t speak to him unless he absolutely has to. That about evens it out.

The point is, Derek hears about Theo being in town from at least half a dozen people before he meets him. Theo is apparently in no hurry to present himself to Laura, which irritates Derek right off the bat. When he finally does, though, he exudes such a charming air of someone who doesn’t want to be a bother that Derek almost buys it.

Theo is slightly shorter Stiles, naturally more muscular, with sandy-brown hair, light grey eyes, and a certain air of ease about him that looks natural, but probably isn’t. It’s more of a kind that has been studied for so long and so well that it has gone subliminal, like the mannerisms of a retired diplomat. He’s the kind of person who you’d suspect of being an asshole, but when you say something mean, he’d project such a genuine air of dejected honesty that you’d feel like a horrible person for thinking such a thing.

Peter likes him immediately. Cora looks intrigued, blushing even when he sends a joke and a wink her way. Malia scowls, but it’s her ‘I’m interested and I don’t want to admit it’ scowl. Laura is, to Derek’s intense relief, polite and welcoming but guarded, hiding it well behind the caring alpha routine she’s managed to perfect.

Stiles is a different matter.

He’s tense, jumpy, laughs too loud, speaks at random, then shuts up, blushing. He’s worse than he’d ever been at the height of his crush on Derek. Theo, along with Peter and Cora, are amused, obviously reading it as Stiles being crazy about him. Derek isn’t so sure, and it’s not—it’s not because he’s jealous as hell.

The PDA is… oppressive. Wolves are naturally cuddly, but Theo is taking it to a whole new level. His arms are always around Stiles in some way. He’s always touching him. At one point, he starts kissing him right in the middle of talking to another person—Malia, as it happens. She flashes her eyes at him, which has Stiles pulling back as fast as he can with Theo not at all cooperating and muttering apologies.

When Laura gestures for Theo to take a seat, he pulls Stiles with him, making him land practically in Theo’s lap. Stiles goes red as a tomato, and tries to squirm his way out, but Theo just laughs and holds on.

“Aw, young love,” Peter says with mock affection.

Cora looks amused, Scott—disgusted. Theo seems pleased with himself, while Stiles is radiating embarrassment loud enough to be felt two counties over as he’s being treated like a child or a pet in front of his alpha. He catches Derek’s gaze and blushes deeper, ducking his head, and then reluctantly relaxes into Theo’s hold.

“I like him,” Peter announces when Stiles and Theo have left.

“Seems like a cool guy.” Cora nods.

“Bit tacky for my taste.” Laura shrugs, getting up and stretching. “He was laying it on a bit thick. But if Stiles likes him, that’s all that matters, I guess.”

Scott bumps his shoulder hard into Derek’s on his way out. “See what I mean?” he grumbles.

Derek does. He feels suddenly that he has no allies here.

“You’re just jealous,” Erica tells him the next day at work.

Derek scowls.

He is jealous. It’s not in question. He’s so jealous, he’s pretty sure his eyes would flash green. But that’s not all there is to it. He’s certain. Stiles is… All right, so Derek has never actually seen what Stiles is like when he’s dating someone, but he can’t believe it’s like this. Theo has been parading him around, shoving their relationship in the faces of Stiles’s pack like he’s a trophy he’s won, a possession he’s laid a claim on. And Stiles—Stiles just goes along with it.

It gets worse. It takes a few weeks for Derek to realize that he hasn’t seen Stiles by himself in days. He’s always with Theo, or rather Theo is always with him.

He comes along to the bi-weekly bar nights Stiles has with Scott and Isaac and whoever else happens to be free. Theo trashes them at pool, then lays the cue down at Stiles’s feet, proclaiming it a victory in his honor while the whole bar watches. Stiles hisses at him to cut it out, but Theo manages to start a group chant until Stiles is forced to kiss him to shut them up.

Theo drives Stiles to work, because, apparently, he needs the car during the day, even though most days it just sits in front of the B&B. Theo always picks him up, too, even though Stiles could have easily caught a ride with some of his colleagues.

When Laura politely explains to Theo that pack-meets are for pack members only, Theo is the picture of understanding and respect for pack etiquette. Derek breathes half a sigh of relief, except Stiles shows up to the next meeting only wearing a thin t-shirt, despite it being a chilly night, powerless to hide a huge, angry-looking love-bite on his neck. He’s moving stiffly, and when he sits down, he keeps his back straight as a rod. A grimace of pain flashes over his face every time he forgets himself and makes a sudden movement.

Derek grabs his arm the moment Laura dismisses them. “Are you okay?”

Stiles flashes him a bright smile. “Never better.”

That’s so not an answer, even though Stiles’s heartbeat is annoyingly steady. But it’s clear that Stiles won’t say anything while surrounded by pack, not with Peter smirking knowingly at him throughout the meeting, and Cora looking amused. The moment they step outside, Theo is there, leaning against Stiles’s Jeep with a smile on his face. Derek scowls, but lets it go.

Stiles isn’t in the next meeting. He gives Laura some excuse about the need to meditate on that particular night, which seems good enough for her. Derek is unconvinced. He drives past Stiles’s apartment block the next morning, waits, until Stiles emerges with Theo. He looks a little tired, a little pale, but he’s smiling and doesn’t appear to have sustained any grievous bodily harm.

Maybe, it’s all in his head, Derek thinks. Maybe, there’s nothing wrong with Theo. Maybe it’s just what any other lone wolf would do submerged in another pack’s territory, becoming a little over-possessive of the one person he can claim as his. The very thought of that makes Derek’s blood boil.

Stiles isn’t helpless, Derek reminds himself about fifty times a day. Stiles hadn’t been helpless even before he was an Acolyte, and he certainly isn’t helpless now. If he didn’t like the way Theo was acting, he would have said something. Done something. Hell, even if he couldn’t for some reason, he’s surrounded by his pack. A single word from him would make them rally. Theo would be gone within the blink of an eye, if Stiles didn’t want him here. Which means…

Derek growls in frustration. Is this simply how it’s always going to be from now on? If Theo stays, if he becomes part of the pack. He hasn’t petitioned Laura yet, but he might. What then? Will Derek have to get used to him? Get used to never really seeing Stiles at all, even when he is right here?

“Yeah, I’m not fond of him skipping pack-meets, either,” Laura says, when Derek’s brooding has caught her attention. “But I’m pretty sure it’s just an adjustment period.” She gives Derek a long look and sighs. “Look, I know this must be hard for you. But I’m not sensing any bad vibes from him, Der. He seems… possessive, yes, but it’s like most wolves are with human partners. Hell, remember Erica and Boyd? It took her three months to bring him to a pack-meet after they started dating.”

Derek remembers. Erica was extremely reluctant to let others interact with Boyd at first, and during pack-meets she was usually draped all over him like a koala. It was slightly revolting, but Derek didn’t care, because… Because Boyd wasn’t Stiles.

Hell. So it really is that simple.

His wolf is wailing at him almost incessantly, snapping at the bars of his inner cage. But Derek holds firm. It’s not his place to butt in when he’s the only one who has a problem.

--

He’s not the only one who has a problem.

A couple of weeks later, when Derek stops at their usual bar after he finished his shift, he catches the tail end of Scott’s phone conversation as he enters.

“Dude, that’s just not on,” Scott is all but wailing. “I had to switch shifts to make it, you’re seriously telling me you’re not coming?”

Derek tunes him out, gives a nod to Isaac, Kira, and Malia as he passes their table, and stalks over to the bar. He nods at the bartender and has a pint in front of him in a moment. He’s not a quarter into it when Scott drops into a stool next to him.

“Stiles canceled?” Derek asks.

Scott growls. “Like he always does. Don’t know what I expected.”

Derek pushes his glass toward Scott who glares at it before drinking.

“Maybe you should… talk to him?”

Scott laughs and it comes out bitter and brittle. “Oh, yeah, Obi Wan? How? How the hell do I talk to him about his boyfriend keeping him all to himself when his boyfriend is always there? The last time I had like two minutes alone with him, I tried bringing it up, and Stiles looked at me like he had no idea what I was talking about. And the rest of them”—he jerks his head back toward the table—“think I’m just—”

“Jealous?”

Scott looks at Derek for the first time for real that night, and a wry smile curves his lips. “Yeah. I’m guessing you know the feeling.”

Derek smirks humorlessly. “You could say that.”

Scott shakes his head. “This is ridiculous. I had more face-to-face time with him when he lived across the country. That’s just not on.”

And no, it really isn’t, Derek thinks. He is one thing. Stiles has reasons to not want to be around Derek. Even the pack is understandable, kind of, if one accepted Laura’s version of the events, which makes sense.

But Scott? Stiles and Scott have always been inseparable, even when there were thousands of miles between them. There are two people in this world whom Stiles would absolutely never drop from his social calendar—Scott and his dad. And, while the sheriff hasn’t exactly complained to anyone in the pack yet, he never looks happy whenever Derek happens to run into him these days. Just the other night, Derek saw him eating a burger with fries at Jude’s diner—a place where everyone knows him and everyone makes certain to report to Stiles about his father breaking his diet. The expression on the sheriff’s face was a mix of sullen and defiant.

That’s not on.

An idea forms in Derek’s mind, and he elbows Scott. “Are you free during the day tomorrow?”

Scott eyes him. “I could be.”

Derek nods. “Here’s what we do then.”

Which is how Derek ends up driving to Magitech office a little past noon the next day, while Scott keeps an eye on Theo. He’ll alert Derek of any sudden movement, which is a ridiculous thing to do, but what choice do they have.

Magitech office rises up over the curve of the road, looking half like an alien spaceship and half like a fairy castle nestled at the foot of a hill. It’s gleaming white against the deep green of the forest, and Derek has to admit it’s impressive.

His status as the second of the presiding pack of the territory gets him through the door, where he’s faced with a pretty receptionist who looks young enough to still be in high school. She’s probably not, though.

“I’m sorry, but Doctor Stilinski is working on the site today,” she says, her eyes roaming all over Derek appreciatively. “He’s already left. You know, the construction site for the village?” she adds, when Derek just looks at her blankly. Her smile turns coy. “You know, I have a break coming in half an hour. I could take you there.”

Derek’s first impulse is to scowl, but inspiration strikes, and he smiles instead. Tiffany blushes, and Derek makes himself lean forward, softening his tone, too. Which is how fifteen minutes later he’s driving through the village gates, waving a pass at the security at the entrance. He’s not proud of himself, but he doesn’t exactly regret anything, either.

An assistant of some sort rushes to meet him as he parks his car, offering to take him to Stiles. Derek nods at him. It takes them around ten more minutes of weaving around foundation pits and open wells, not to mention piles of wood and stone everywhere, before they get there, the boy peppering Derek with a steady stream of ‘Doctor Stilinski this’ and ‘Doctor Stilinski that.’ Distantly, Derek wonders how Stiles ever gets any work done with this level of hero-worship going on around him.

Somehow, after seeing the main office, Derek expected to see Stiles in a crisp white lab coat, maybe waving some complicated device straight out of Star Trek around. What he finds instead is Stiles in an old plaid shirt, sleeves rolled up, and what looks like the rattiest pair of jeans he owns. He’s crouched ankle-deep in mud, hands stretched over some weeds. He’s wearing honest-to-God rubber boots, and there are streaks of dirt on his face.

“Are you talking to plants now?” Derek asks before he can stop himself.

Stiles jumps, whirling around. “Derek,” he stammers, eyes wide, his pulse going gratifyingly high before it settles. “Jesus, you scared me.”

“Is this like the whole ‘houses having roots’ thing?”

Stiles blinks, visibly resettling. “Yeah, kind of,” he says, glancing back to the row of miniscule greens. “It’s… I’m not talking to plants, you ass. I’m encouraging some restructuring on the molecular level, and I guess I’m verbalizing a bit.”

“Why am I not surprised.” Derek grins.

Stiles straightens up, wiping dirt absently from his knees. “What are you doing here, Derek? As you can probably see, it’s a bit early for giving tours.”

Derek lifts up the paper bag he’s holding, grease-stained and smelling delicious. “Lunch?”

Stiles is eyeing him suspiciously, but the logo from his favorite diner does the trick. “Curly fries?” he asks hopefully.

“Who do you take me for? Of course.”

Stiles does end up giving him a mini tour as they navigate their way to a spot of construction-free ground at the edge of the territory. He’s clearly enthusiastic about his work, gesticulating wildly, waxing poetic about ground waters and the properties of ivy and the new design for the solar panels with better energy-drawing efficiency. Derek could listen by the hour at any other time, his curiosity hopelessly piqued, but he holds it at bay now, in favor of studying Stiles.

There are no big warning signals that he can see, but something still feels off. Stiles is thinner than he was when he’d first gotten back. Paler, too, despite being in the sun a lot, apparently. His cheekbones are more pronounced, making the dark circles under his eyes darker. He’s jumpy, jittery, and not in his usual excessive energy levels way. It’s more like he’s constantly on edge, and has been like that for such a long time that it has become the default.

They sit on the grass as they eat, and Derek knows he’s not subtle about his scrutiny, but he can’t help it. Stiles won’t be running out of words any time soon, but he also can’t ignore it forever.

“All right, so, not that I don’t appreciate the care package,” Stiles says at last with no segue whatsoever. “But what are you really doing here?”

Derek has never been that good at walking on thin ice, so he braces himself.

“I came to see if you were okay,” he says bluntly. “You’ve missed three pack-meets now. Your absence has been noted.”

Stiles frowns. “I explained it to Laura. She said it was fine,” he says defensively.

“It is, but—this isn’t like you, Stiles. What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Stiles’s shoulders go tighter, not quite lifting up to his ears, but verging on it. “Just a scheduling conflict. Look, I—”

“When was the last time you spent any quality time with Scott?”

Stiles outright scowls. “Is that what this is all about? I cancel on him once, and he runs whining to mommy?”

Derek levels him with a look, unimpressed by his outburst. “You canceled on him seven times, Stiles.”

Stiles blinks. “What? No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did. When was the last time you actually saw him? Think.”

Stiles’s mouth moves as he mutters something subvocally, his gaze turning inward. “Uh, last Fri—no, before then, after the last… Shit.” His eyes go wide, anger draining from his body. “Seven times?”

Derek nods. “You canceled on Erica, too, a couple of times. And Boyd asked me if he should give your slot at the gym to someone else, seeing as you never show up anymore.”

Stiles stares at him. “This can’t be right,” he mutters. “I mean, I know, I had to take a raincheck a few times, but…”

“None of the pack has seen you, except in passing, for over two months now.”

Stiles shakes his head, as if trying to clear it. “It’s just… Theo never wants to go out. He agrees if I ask him, but he and Scott don’t really get along, and I hate them being stubborn dicks to each other, and if I take Scott’s side, Theo…”

“What?” Derek growls. “Theo what, Stiles?”

Stiles straightens up abruptly, catching himself. “Nothing. He gets upset, is all.”

“And what happens when he gets upset?”

“Nothing! What the hell are you implying, Derek?”

“Why are you favoring your ribs?”

“I’m not! I walked into a pole the other day, because I wasn’t looking where I was going, that’s all!”

“Right, because you’re so clumsy, everyone knows that.”

“I am, if you must know! Derek, what the hell?”

“I should be the one asking you that. What the hell, Stiles? You’re a cop’s kid. Look at it from my perspective. What the hell does it look like to you?”

Stiles narrows his eyes at him, bristling with anger. “It looks to me like you’re still pissed that your plaything refused to entertain you. Just because I prefer Theo’s company to yours, you think he has to beat me into it—like I’m some helpless girl whose skirt is as short as her self-esteem. It looks to me like you’ve had me on your leash your whole life and you got used to it, and you’re sulking now because I’m not mooning over you anymore!”

Derek growls at him, crowding him against a tree, eyes flashing. “You really think I’d use my position as the alpha’s second to settle a personal grudge, Stiles? You think I’d use it to get someone to have sex with me? Is that what you think of me?”

Stiles stares up at him, breathing hard, his eyes wide. “No,” he exhales after a while, warm breath ghosting over Derek’s lips. “No, of course not. I’m sorry, Derek.”

Derek has to force himself to pull back, shrinking back into his seat reluctantly. His whole body feels tense enough to break.

“I’m just worried about you, Stiles,” he says in a subdued tone after a strained beat. “We all are.”

“I, uh… I’ll talk to Theo.” Stiles clears his throat, staring at his hands. “I didn’t realize I was… I’ll talk to him. I’ll be at the next pack-meet for sure.”

It should feel like a victory, but it doesn’t, because it’s not what Derek wants at all. It’s as good as he’s going to get, though, so he should be grateful. He picks up their trash as he gets to his feet.

“Good. I’ll see you there.”

--

Stiles is at the next pack-meet. So is Theo.

“Alpha Hale, I am formally requesting your permission to join your pack,” Theo says.

Derek feels the ground fall from beneath his feet.

Scott looks equally shocked. Peter is smirking in the corner, folding his arms over his chest, like he’s enjoying the show. Cora’s mouth is open slightly like she can’t quite believe it.

Stiles is standing at Theo’s side, looking nervous and uncomfortable and like he’d rather be anywhere else. Theo’s hand is wrapped around his wrist, and Derek wants to bite it off.

“That’s an unusual request for a werewolf to make after such a short time,” Laura says. “Are you dissatisfied with your current alpha?”

“Not at all.” Theo gives her a warm smile. “But my pack lives in upstate New York, and I’ve been recently given to understand”—he looks at Stiles, who winces—“that relocating there even part-time will not be an option.”

“My work,” Stiles stammers, and Derek hates the pleading notes in his voice. Like Stiles has to defend his life choices, like he owes Theo an explanation. “It… I—”

“Hush, pet,” Theo purrs at him, jerking him closer to nuzzle at his neck. “I know. I would do anything for you. Even switch packs.”

Laura frowns at this. “Much as I appreciate your motivation, Theo, this is not an easy matter to resolve, and it’s not to be taken lightly. I must speak to your alpha before we can proceed.”

Theo beams at her. “As it happens, my alpha is in Sacramento at the moment, visiting friends. If it is convenient to you, Alpha Hale, I would be delighted to arrange a meeting. Neutral territory, perhaps?”

Laura’s frown clears somewhat, though her eyes are boring into Stiles. Who avoids her gaze. Derek swears internally.

“Yes,” she says slowly. “Yes, please do. Until then, if you don’t mind…”

“Of course, Alpha.” Theo smiles, kisses Stiles’s cheek, and leaves.

Derek doesn’t know how he survives the rest of the meeting. Laura is talking about the new round of regulations that are being discussed in Congress about werewolf-human adoptions, and it’s an important issue, but Derek can’t pay attention. He can’t look away from Stiles, who’s sitting in his chair slumped, staring at the floor, his knuckles white where he’s gripping the edge of his seat.

Laura holds Stiles back after the meeting, sparing Derek a glance but saying nothing as he clearly lingers.

“Stiles, are you sure about this?” she asks. “You’re a trusted member of my pack and you’re an Acolyte. If you act as Theo’s sponsor, I’ll accept him, provided his alpha doesn’t object. Are you sure this is what you want?”

Stiles doesn’t look up, though his posture turns even more rigid. He says nothing for a few long moments, biting his lips almost viciously.

“I… it’s… It’s how it’s supposed to be, right?” he says, eyes flicking up nervously. “I know what a pack means to a werewolf. I can’t believe he’s willing to do this for me. I can’t—I can’t do less.”

To Derek’s ears, it sounds like anything but a glowing endorsement, but then his ears are extremely biased. Stiles wasn’t completely off the mark when he pointed out the source of Derek’s displeasure. To Derek’s shame, he probably wouldn’t have been paying as much attention to someone’s relationship if it was anyone but Stiles. At least until the person in question would have asked for assistance.

Laura sighs, clearly not entirely satisfied. “We’ll talk again after I’ve spoken to his alpha. Think carefully about your answer, okay? I trust you, Stiles. You should trust yourself, too.”

Stiles nods, shoulders high up to his ears as he leaves, sparing a glance at Derek, but not really seeing him.

Laura turns to him, and Derek lifts up a hand. “Don’t.” He doesn’t want her platitudes. He doesn’t know how to prepare himself for the fact that Theo will be part of the pack as it is.

He doesn’t know how to deal with losing Stiles forever.

He drives straight home, sheds all his clothes, shifts into a wolf, and goes running. When he’s deep enough in the Preserve that he’s certain no one but Laura will hear him, he howls, high-pitched and desperate at the crescent moon above. He doesn’t want to ever come home.

--

A few hours later, Derek sits up in his own bed, jerked out of deep sleep by the sound of a familiar engine straining along the dirt road. It’s accompanied by a frantic heartbeat he knows only too well, its rhythm broken and panicked. Derek is out of bed before he finishes the thought, and out of the house in time to see the uneven flash of the Jeep’s headlights cutting through the woods.

He knows something is wrong even before the Jeep stops, but then Stiles staggers out, and a sharp tang of blood hits Derek’s nostrils.

“Derek,” Stiles says, stumbling toward him.

Derek is on him in an instant, hauling him up. Stiles is a mess. He’s wearing the same jeans and shirt he wore earlier to the meeting, but the shirt is torn at the collar now, half-hanging off his frame, and blood is streaming from a brutal bite mark on his shoulder. It’s still bleeding. Stiles’s jeans are torn, too, his hip showing through five long cuts, clearly made by claws. There’s a cut on his forehead, and a bruise on his jaw. He’s shaking.

“Stiles, what happened?” Derek growls, already knowing the answer, eyes flooding gold. “Who did this to you?”

“Theo…” Stiles gasps, fingers digging into Derek’s arms painfully. “Theo’s alpha.”

Derek’s mouth falls open. “What?”

“Theo drugged him,” Stiles explains, like it makes sense. “He—he took me to meet him. He said, so that we could ask… But he slipped him some belladonna. It makes wolves… open to suggestion. Any suggestion. So Theo told him… told him I was asking for the Bite. And he…”

Derek swears, holds him up, sniffing around him almost frantically. Stiles doesn’t smell like a wolf, but—

“Don’t worry.” Stiles shakes his head, a hysterical laugh bubbles out of him. “I won’t turn. My magic, I… I was just very, very sick. Had to fight my way out of there.”

“Where’s Theo?”

“I don’t know.” Stiles starts shaking harder against him. “He tried to stop me, I had to… I knocked him out, and I left. I just left, Derek. I ran. I—”

Derek pulls him in the rest of the way, holding on to him in a way that is probably painful, but he can’t stop, he can’t. He had no idea Stiles was in that kind of danger.

“Wasn’t your fault,” Stiles mumbles into his shoulder, because apparently Derek has said that out loud. “Fooled me, too. He—he never wanted to be part of our pack. He thought if he separated me from my friends, alienated everyone I know from me, that I’d go with him. But when I told him about what you said, he realized the pack noticed, and I said I would never leave here. So he pretended he wanted to join, so that I wouldn’t be suspicious. He’d planned this. Called his alpha. He—he said, after I’d been bitten, the Hale Pack claim on me would be void. And he thought that I—” Stiles laughs again, a horrible, ugly sound. “He thought I would eventually forgive him.”

“I’m going to kill him,” Derek growls, only just managing not to claw out. “I’m going to rip his fucking throat out, I swear, Stiles.”

Stiles makes a choking noise, clinging to Derek, burying his face in Derek’s neck. He smells terrible—like Theo, like another alpha, like fear, pain, and blood.

“Stiles, are you sure you—an alpha’s bite—”

“And the power of belief, Derek,” Stiles exhales shakily, “wielded by a man who passed the impossible test with flying freaking colors. I’m practically a Vulcan at this point.” He shudders in remembered terror. “I was fast. I’m not going to turn.”

Derek believes him. Not that it would have mattered to him, but Stiles’s life as an Acolyte would have been over. Derek is pathetically grateful it didn’t come to that, because he doesn’t think Stiles would have taken it well.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” he says gruffly, tugging Stiles gently in the direction of the house. “I’ll call Laura. She’s left for her thing in Nevada tonight, but she’ll want to—”

“Call the Conclave office,” Stiles says tiredly. “I hate having to do this, but we must… I must report him.”

Derek resists the urge to scoop him into his arms and nods.

He sets Stiles up on the kitchen counter and gently cleans the bite mark before spraying antiseptic over it. Stiles hisses, but sits still. When Derek tries to dress it, though, he stops him.

“I’m a cop’s kid, Derek. You don’t heal the damage before you do a rape exam.”

Derek freezes, cold fury seizing him. “Did he—”

“What? No!” Stiles starts, glancing up. “God, Derek, no. No. Just a metaphor. A lousy one, sorry. Theo is an asshole, but he didn’t do that. Didn’t have to do that,” he adds bitterly, and Derek wants to punch something. “The inspector must see this,” Stiles finishes miserably. “Make the call.”

Derek does, growling down the line that they have to send someone right the fuck now. Then he goes back to cleaning Stiles’s injuries, his heart breaking over the way Stiles shuts down, shrinking into himself, radiating shame.

“Hey,” Derek says. “Hey. None of this is your fault.”

Stiles won’t meet his eyes, shakes his head. “I should have seen it. I should have… No one decent ever stayed with me, never mind committed. I should have realized at once, when he was so fucking persistent, that it can’t be true, that he has an agenda, that—”

“Stiles.” Derek shakes him slightly. “It’s not your fault you fell in love.”

Stiles’s eyes, huge and glistening with tears, finally find his. “That’s just it,” he whispers. “I didn’t. I was attracted to him, that was all, and I knew it, and I still… He was the only wolf who ever wanted more than to have sex with me, and I thought… I thought I could… with time, and…”

Derek wants to kiss him, badly, wants to tell him he’s amazing, and that everything will be okay, and Derek is right here, and Derek wants to have everything with him, if only Stiles will let him, and…

And he can’t say any of that.

“It’s not your fault,” Derek repeats. “Stiles, you’re twenty-four. You’re not a child, but it’s hardly the age of wisdom. We can be as smart as we want in other things, but when it comes to personal matters, we all make mistakes. I—I nearly married Jennifer, and she was sleeping with five other guys right under my nose and I never even knew.”

Stiles blinks up at him, startled. He’s not familiar with that part of Derek’s personal drama; all he knows is that Derek had a bad breakup when in college.

“Jesus,” Stiles whispers. “You wanted to marry someone?”

“I was an idiot—”

“You wanted to marry someone who thought you—you were not enough? I hope she never has a clean STD panel.”

Derek laughs involuntarily and presses his forehead against Stiles’s, breathing him in. “I’ve missed you. God, Stiles, I’ve missed you so much.”

Stiles leans into him, sighs against him. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “About all the things I’ve said. I know they weren’t true. I know you’ve never… I missed you, too, Derek.”

Derek turns more into him, and Stiles shivers.

“You’re in shock,” Derek mutters, pulling back slightly. “Stay here, I’ll get you a blanket.”

Stiles sighs, looking down, and doesn’t say anything.

Derek only just comes downstairs and wraps a soft quilt around his shoulders, when they hear a knock on the door. Stiles tenses, but Derek shakes his head. It’s no one they know, so it must be the inspector. The office is within an hour’s drive, but if they had someone already in the area—and they probably did, with so many wolves around…

The wolf standing on his doorstep is definitely a Conclave official. He looks middle-aged but has grey on his temples, which means he’s probably around sixty. He’s wearing a three-piece suit while traveling through rural California, and he has a look on his face like he’s heard it all before, and dealing with people’s messes is just an unfortunate byproduct of his existence.

“Derek Hale?” he asks, not coming in without permission. “Is your alpha present?”

He must already know that she’s not, but Derek suspects it’s all part of procedure, so he swallows his irritation. “She’s away for the night. We’re expecting her back in the morning.”

“Has she been informed of the situation?”

“Yes.”

Laura’s response to Derek’s frantic phone call consisted entirely of expletives and a promise to rip Theo apart limb from limb.

“Are you acting in your official capacity as her second or as the victim’s relation?”

Derek bites back a snarl at ‘the victim.’ “I’m Laura’s second,” he growls. “It’s as official as it gets.”

“In that case, may I have your permission to enter your residence, Mr. Hale?”

Derek wordlessly gestures him in.

Stiles has migrated to the living room, and Derek leads the inspector there. The man doesn’t introduce himself, and Derek doesn’t ask. Stiles stands up as they enter, his heart picking up the pace, as he visibly braces himself. Derek hates that he has to go through this.

“Mieczysław Stilinski?” the inspector asks, surveying him dispassionately. “You are the one bringing up charges of non-consensual Bite solicitation against Theo Raeken?”

Stiles straightens up, even as the pull against his shoulder makes him wince. “Yes.”

The inspector sets his phone on the coffee table and gestures for them both to take a seat. He turns on the recording app and nods at Stiles. “Proceed.”

Stiles doesn’t look like a broken mess he was ten minutes ago. Reliving the night’s events can’t be easy, but he does so in precise, succinct sentences that are all fact and no sentiment. Derek doesn’t know if it’s his training or being the sheriff’s kid or if it’s just Stiles, but he admires him even as he wishes this whole thing would be over.

Under the inspector’s direction Stiles stands up again, takes his clothes off, and allows the inspector to study his wounds. He’s stiff as a board as the man sniffs at the injuries, and Derek wants to growl at him to get the fuck away. There’s a nasty bruise across Stiles’s ribs, already quickening to black. Derek stares at it, and wants to murder Theo Raeken in gruesome, torturous ways.

The inspector takes some pictures, gestures for Stiles to get dressed again, and turns his phone off.

“This will do for now,” he announces. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Stilinski.”

Stiles pulls the blanket tighter around himself, says nothing.

The inspector looks up at Derek. “We have established your capacity as your alpha’s second. However, personally, are you responsible for him?”

Derek frowns. He thought these people were trained better than this.

“No,” he says, not bothering to hide his disapproval.

“No!” Stiles bristles at the same time. “He’s not responsible for me—and don’t think I don’t know what that’s code for! What the hell is wrong with you? No one’s responsible for me but me.”

The inspector blinks, clearly not having anticipated that. He lifts up a placating hand, but his expression of ‘must not upset the fragile human’ is not helping.

“I apologize, Mr. Stilinski. I intended no slight on your agency. It is merely that it is… tradition, whenever a human becomes involved with werewolves, that one of us would be uh… well, responsible for his conduct and er… experience. In whatever capacity. That’s our way.”

Stiles scowls. “Well, in the normal people way, we call ourselves sentient beings, and we don’t own one another. In fact, you could go to jail for trying. And I’ve had just about enough of the werewolf way for a lifetime.”

Derek tries not to stiffen at that. “Stiles,” he says softly instead.

Stiles turns his glare on him. “What? I’m not going to sit here and let some—”

Derek lets out a low whine and clasps his arm. Stiles blinks and shuts up, mercifully, probably for the shock of it.

The inspector clears his throat. “I apologize again for offending you,” he says formally. “Customarily—” he coughs. “Uh, it would be advisable for you to stay with someone for a night at least. If not your alpha, then a trusted wolf in your pack. But um, I’m certain you can, er… make your own arrangements. You might be going into delayed shock later on.”

Stiles glares at him, but says nothing.

“Well.” The inspector stands up, reaching for his satchel. “If there is nothing else you wish to add or ask, this will conclude our interview for now.” He pauses, but as Stiles doesn’t speak, he nods, clears his throat again, and reaches into his bag. “This is a scent-eliminating bodywash,” he says, pushing a neatly sealed packet toward Stiles. “It would be advisable for you to use it as soon as possible, so that your boyfriend—”

“My ex,” Stiles interrupts firmly, scowling at the packet.

“Right. So that he could not claim that you keeping his scent is a sign of you changing your mind.”

Stiles looks up, eyes wide. “He can do that?”

“It would not be accepted in a court of law,” the inspector replies, looking uncomfortable. “But a werewolf-friendly judge might view it as extenuating circumstances should your ex repeat his advances.”

Stiles’s fingers close around the plastic pack so hard it squeals. He’s turned pale, and his heart is beating erratically and too fast in his chest. Derek wants to sooth him, but he dares not reach out.

“Thanks,” Stiles whispers, his voice losing its indignant power. “Will one be enough?”

The inspector looks at him almost kindly. “As long as you’re thorough. Well, if that is all, I’ll see myself out. Someone from the center will contact you as soon as we apprehend Mr. Raeken.”

Stiles doesn’t reply, staring at the packet of bodywash in his hand unblinkingly. The inspector’s eyes slide over to Derek a little desperately, and Derek nods. The relief on the man’s face is all too obvious as he turns to exit.

Stiles sits rigid for a few long moments, uncharacteristically silent long after Derek can no longer hear the inspector’s car driving off.

Cautiously, Derek clears his throat. “I can, uh… I can drive you home if you want.”

Stiles’s eyes go wide, and he shakes his head frantically. “Theo has keys, I—”

Of course, he does. Derek curses at himself mutely. “To your father’s then? Or Scott’s?”

“No, no.” Stiles shakes his head even more vigorously. “No, God, I can’t… I can’t go to my dad when I’m like this.” He shudders. His eyes are tortured when he looks at Derek. “Can I stay here?”

Derek blinks, stunned, thinking he misheard. Stiles, of course, takes it completely the wrong way.

“I’m sorry, it just slipped,” he blurts out, arms flailing, as he hurries to distance himself from his words. “Of course, you wouldn’t want me here, I’m not thinking straight, sorry, I don’t know what I’m even—”

“Stiles,” Derek cuts him off firmly, grabbing him by the shoulders to drive the point home. “Of course, I’d like you to stay. I would have offered first, but you said you’ve had enough of the werewolf way, and I didn’t think you’d want to.”

Stiles blinks a few times, his heart still beating too fast, too loud. “Oh,” he says softly. “Well, I… You’re different.”

Derek tries to ignore the warmth that spreads through him at the admission. He lets go of Stiles carefully, nods. “Why don’t you go take that shower now?”

“God, yes,” Stiles exhales loudly, jerking upright. He’s halfway down the corridor, one foot on the stairs when he stops, pauses for a moment, and doubles back, looking suddenly sheepish. He’s radiating embarrassment and can barely meet Derek’s eyes. “Um, Derek? Might I… God, this is so… ugh. Do you think I can—can I borrow some clothes?”

Derek is on his feet before he knows it, his body moving closer to Stiles without his permission. “Of course,” he says softly, trying not to grumble happily at the thought. He knows Stiles is only asking because he doesn’t really have a choice, he just doesn’t want to smell like Theo, but Derek’s wolf doesn’t care. That Stiles would trust him like this and at a moment like this is doing his head in. “You’ll smell like me, though.”

Stiles looks up, a delicious blush spilling over his cheekbones. “I know. If that’s okay, I…”

Derek takes pity on him, and mostly on himself. If he has to endure even half a minute more of Stiles standing here, looking awkwardly adorable as he asks for his protection in this most intimate matter, Derek wouldn’t be responsible for his actions. They might have to call the inspector back.

“It’s okay,” he says, trying to sound reassuring and like it’s not a big deal. He goes for light. “I promise I’ll be able to keep my hands to myself.”

He’s not, in fact, at all sure about that.

Stiles snorts like the very idea is ridiculous, and some of his embarrassment dissipates in favor of rueful amusement. “Like that’s even a concern for you with me, right. Uh. Thanks, I’ll just—” He gestures toward the stairs with his thumb.

“Go.” Derek nods. “I’ll bring them to you.”

He busies himself with tidying up the kitchen while Stiles escapes.

Stiles still doesn’t think Derek wants him. Derek frowns at the thought as he goes upstairs into his bedroom. Much as Derek wants to show him exactly how wrong he is, now is not the right moment. In fact, now could be the worst possible moment. Not after what Stiles has just been through. Not after he came to Derek for help.

Derek.

He didn’t go home. He didn’t go to is father. He didn’t even run to Scott, his best friend in the entire world, capable and very willing to take on anyone who’s ever given Stiles grief. But Stiles still came to Derek, rushed to him, in fact, still bloody, scared, and angry. He ran to Derek as if Derek was the first person he thought of. Much as Derek tries not to read too much into that, it makes him slightly giddy inside. Underneath, that is, his raging fury and a single-minded desire to tear Theo’s throat out with his teeth.

His anger is pushing him to shift, and he has to take a few calming breaths to get himself under control. Stiles is his priority now, and Stiles doesn’t need any more displays of werewolf violent nature tonight.

When his claws are no longer threatening to break out, Derek goes to the basket of fresh laundry he hasn’t sorted yet and pulls out a pair of sweatpants and a henley he’d worn into softness ages ago. He folds them neatly and leaves them in a stack at the bathroom door. The shower is still blasting full-force, and Derek listens at the door for a few moments, reassuring himself that Stiles isn’t having a panic attack in there. But the sound of his heartbeat is steady now, though still too fast to be normal. Derek sighs and forces himself to move along.

He's in the kitchen making tea, the one that Laura claims has calming properties, when he hears the bathroom door open, followed by the sound of slightly hesitant footsteps upstairs. Derek fills the mug and inhales the minty aroma, steadying himself. He can do this. Stiles needs him.

He finds Stiles, somewhat surprisingly, in his own bedroom instead of the guest room. Stiles is toweling his hair dry vigorously, the thin fabric of the shirt stretching over his shoulders, encasing him like a gentle hug. Derek swallows. Not for the first time he sends a quiet prayer of thanks to whoever’s listening for Stiles being human, not capable of divining Derek’s emotional state by scent.

“Hey, um.” Stiles says as he sees Derek, the motions of his hands coming abruptly to a halt.

He’s barefoot. It’s distracting.

Derek steps closer slowly, not wanting to startle him. “Tea?”

He holds the mug out. Stiles drops the towel and takes it, long fingers wrapping around the warm ceramic. He inhales deeply before he takes a sip.

“Better?” Derek asks, trying to gauge his state.

Stiles lifts an eyebrow and steps a little closer. Only now does Derek notice that what’s visible of his skin is flushed red, scrubbed almost raw. It must have hurt with his injuries, but Stiles seems to have shown his body no mercy.

“I don’t know, you tell me,” Stiles says and tilts his neck to the side a little.

The bite is covered now by the shirt, but Derek knows it’s the injured side. He freezes for a moment, unable to believe Stiles is really asking him for this.

Derek takes a step closer and leans over just a little, inhaling. All he smells is Stiles, the slightly acidic scent of the bodywash, and his own scent, muted under the overlaying smell of laundry detergent. He relaxes slightly and notices Stiles doing the same not a second later.

“Better,” Derek confirms as Stiles takes another sip of his tea. “You need to rest. Come on. The guest room is all set up.”

He turns toward the door, eager for some distance, but is forced to stop when he realizes Stiles isn’t following.

“Derek?” Stiles’s voice goes unnaturally high for a moment, and he coughs as he looks away, his heart picking up the pace suddenly. He swallows once, twice, sets the cup down on the dresser with shaky fingers. “Can you… God, I really shouldn’t ask, but…”

“What is it?” Derek steps back toward him, studying his face anxiously, unable to read him. Stiles’s obvious distress is grating. Derek wants to sooth him, but he doesn’t know what Stiles wants. “What, Stiles, what do you need? You can ask me anything.”

Stiles’s eyes flick toward him before darting away. He’s staring resolutely at his feet, blushing furiously, as he says, barely audible: “Can you scent me? Not for anything! I just need to feel someone else. Someone I trust. Please? I’ll understand if you don’t—”

Derek darts toward him faster than his brain is done processing, arms wrapping around Stiles before he knows what he’s doing, though he’s gentle, careful not to crush him, as he buries his face in Stiles’s neck.

“Oh…” Stiles lets out a quiet gasp, startled, but not alarmed.

Derek presses his cheek against the side of Stiles’s neck, breathing in deeply. He feels Stiles go rigid for a moment, and then suddenly his whole body relaxes, and he melts against Derek, arms wrapping around his shoulders, holding on. Derek can’t—he can’t—not respond to that. He breathes over the dip between Stiles’s collarbones, drawing in deep breaths, before sealing his lips over the spot, sucking gently. Stiles shudders in his arms, his mouth opens around another gasp, this time a silent one.

Derek can’t stop now. He knows Stiles didn’t ask for this. Simply laying a hand on his shoulder or neck for a few moments would have probably sufficed, and that’s definitely what he’d meant, but Derek—Derek is drunk on him, he can’t tear himself away, not when Stiles needs him, so obviously, not when he’s asking for it in a jittery, trembling voice, like he’s afraid Derek will reject him, which can never happen in a million years. Derek refuses to let him go, and Stiles—Stiles isn’t pushing him off, either.

Somewhere in a sane world, Derek would be horrified at his own actions. Stiles is still clearly in shock, and there’s no way what Derek is doing doesn’t constitute taking advantage. But his wolf is howling with the overwhelming need to protect and comfort, and Derek can’t fight him, not when Stiles has asked for it.

He doesn’t know how he ends up on the bed with Stiles straddling him, arms and legs entwined, as Derek licks and kisses and rubs himself all over his neck, pulling the collar of the shirt further to the side to expose more skin. He doesn’t know, doesn’t want to know, because Stiles isn’t stopping him. Stiles is moving with him, following his direction instinctively, giving him all the access he wants, hands sliding over Derek’s back, gripping at his shoulders, like he’s holding on for dear life. He’s panting, breath hitching and releasing in uneven gasps, his mouth slack, eyes closed, his fingers sliding into Derek’s hair as he presses him closer, whimpering when Derek’s lips seal over the bite mark, but only holding on tighter.

Derek is close to losing his head completely, his every sense overpowered, saturated with Stiles, driving him to get even closer. Stiles whimpers again and then cries out sharply when Derek’s teeth—human, thank God, graze his skin.

Derek freezes, coming to his senses abruptly, jerking back, holding Stiles at arm’s length.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, appalled at himself. “Shit, Stiles, I’m so sorry.”

But Stiles is shaking his head, his eyes opening slowly, hands rubbing soothingly over Derek’s shoulders. “‘salright. Derek. Hey. Hey. Stop freaking out. It’s okay. I asked. I—I asked.”

Derek gets it. He’s trying to erase—to cleanse a non-consensual act with a consensual one. Which doesn’t mean that Stiles wants this, exactly, just that he’s trying to get control back. Derek stiffens.

“I’m sorry, I went too far, I—”

Stiles’s eyes soften. He leans in, kisses the tip of Derek’s nose. “You didn’t.”

It takes everything Derek has not to tackle him to the bed and kiss him silly. Stiles probably wouldn’t fight him now, and that—that is exactly why Derek can’t.

“I’m here for you,” he whispers.

Stiles nods, slumps tiredly against him, forehead pressing against Derek’s, pulse rate dropping down quickly, as his body gives in to the exhaustion.

“I should go,” he mutters, his muscles beginning to tense up, preparing to move.

“Stay,” Derek says immediately, before he can think about what he’s doing or question it. When Stiles pulls back to look at him, he repeats softly: “Stay here. With me.”

Stiles gives him a long searching look. Derek has no idea what he’s seeing, but eventually Stiles nods and relaxes again. “Okay. Thanks.”

Derek lets him go reluctantly and quickly changes for bed. He normally only wears pajama pants to sleep, but he doesn’t think Stiles will appreciate so much naked skin right now and dons on a shirt before getting the lights and settling in. Stiles doesn’t hesitate for even a moment to snuggle into him, and Derek pulls him closer, his back to Derek’s chest. They lie in the darkness for long moments, neither of them sleeping.

“It is my fault,” Stiles says quietly after a while. “It sounds like such a cliché, but I really walked right into that one. All the signs were there, right from the start. I mean, I’m the sheriff’s kid, I know what to look for. He didn’t want to meet my friends. He didn’t want me to see my friends, pouted whenever I met up with Scott or Lydia even back at Brown. He was manipulative, but I thought… I could see through his schemes, and that’s why I thought it was cute. Cute. That he wanted to be with me so much that he’d do that. God, I just… I’m such an idiot. The first few times he got possessive in public, I actually… I mean, it was embarrassing as hell, but I—I sort of got a kick out of it, because I’m so used to rejection. And rejection sucks, okay? And here was someone hot, smart, and he wanted me—me. Wanted me enough to not be shy about it. I dated before, sure, but I never had—never had anyone wanting to show me off before. Like he’s proud to be with me, like I’m something special. And I—I got so embarrassed every time he got jealous and was rude to someone, but I thought… You know, before, I always thought I’d enjoy everyone seeing how much someone wanted me. How much I could be wanted. But all I ever felt was completely terrible. It was humiliating, not flattering. Every time it happened, I kept wishing I could become invisible. I tried talking to him about it, but he always laughed it off. Said he was just dicking around, and can’t I take a joke. And I thought, he likes me and he’s a werewolf, so maybe that’s just how it’s supposed to be. Maybe that’s what I wanted all along. God, this is pathetic. I’m pathetic. I feel like I will never wash this off.”

It might be the hardest thing Derek has done in his entire life, but he forces himself not to interrupt, to temper down his anger. He still wants to rip Theo’s throat out, and he wants to shake Stiles and tell him he’s entirely too loveable, and anyone would be proud to be with him, including Derek, but he can’t say that. Stiles’s relationship has just crashed and burned in the most horrific way possible. Now is not the time to be selfish and stake a claim. And besides…

Guilt is churning at the pit of Derek’s stomach. If this is anyone’s fault, it’s his. Rejection sucks. It also tends to screw with one’s head and self-esteem. And whose fault was it that Stiles became convinced that rejection was the norm for him? He didn’t outright say it, didn’t lay it down at Derek’s feet, but he hardly needed to. It had taken Derek forever and a day to pull his head out of his ass and see Stiles for what he really was. And all the while, he’d been crushing his spirit, by teasing him about his crush, by drawing him close and then going out with other people right in front of him. Derek really did a number on his head, and part of him still can’t believe Stiles even allows him anywhere near him, let alone to hold him right now. It’s a miracle to be given this, and Derek can’t be selfish right now, not anymore, and not in the face of this.

“You’re not pathetic for wanting to feel loved, Stiles,” he says softly. “You’re not pathetic, period. You say you should have known better, but that’s just not true. Smart people can be deceived, too. Sometimes, even more easily, because they believe they’re safe. That they will see right through it. But for a relationship to work, you have to trust first. It’s not wrong to extend that trust. It’s—it’s brave. It’s a strength, not a weakness.”

Stiles is very still against him, as if he’s listening with his entire body.

“If I’m so strong and brave,” he mutters brokenly, “how come I feel so terrible?”

Derek tightens his hold for a moment. “No one likes to be taken in, Stiles. No one can feel good about it. But it will pass. And the only bad guy here is Theo. When they catch him, he’s going away for a long, long time. And I wouldn’t be surprised if his alpha washed his hands off him. He’ll be packless, an omega and an outcast. He’ll be effectively dead to other wolves.”

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?” Stiles asks, a hint of his old self resurfacing, coloring his tone slightly with sarcasm. “Because it doesn’t. I still feel like an idiot. I brought him home with me, Derek. I was so—so eager to prove myself. To tick off all the boxes. Education. A job. A mate. I was so focused on it, that when Theo came along, I was so happy that I had all the pieces now. I didn’t even care what those pieces were, and when I realized that it wasn’t exactly working, I’d gone too far and I felt so ashamed to admit that I made a mistake. When Laura asked me if I would vouch for Theo, I felt it in my bones, how very wrong that felt. But I don’t know, if I wouldn’t have gone through with it just so I didn’t have to look like a fool in front of all of you… How idiotic is that?”

“You wouldn’t have,” Derek says with conviction.

“How do you know?” Stiles’s tone is bitter. “I don’t know.”

“You wouldn’t have, because you’ve always put the wellbeing of the pack above your own. Deep down you knew Theo was no good. You wouldn’t have let him harm the pack even if you let him harm you.”

Stiles jolts in his arms. Derek presses a kiss to his nape in a non-apology. He regrets causing Stiles pain, but it’s the truth.

“I don’t think I can face anyone ever again,” Stiles whispers. “I’m so ashamed.”

“I know.” Derek holds him closer. “And I know telling you not to be isn’t going to work. But you won’t feel this way forever, Stiles. I’ve been through this with Jennifer. Trust me, I know.”

Stiles hums softly in cautious hope. After a while, he says, even quieter:

“Derek? Thanks. For putting up with me. I sort of put you on the spot here. You didn’t have to, and just… thanks.”

Derek gives in to the urge and nuzzles his hair. “It’s not a hardship, Stiles,” he murmurs softly, lips grazing Stiles’s ear. “You’re not a hardship. I… I like having you here. I’m happy you came to me. I mean… I’m sorry this happened to you, but I’m happy you trusted me with this. I wouldn’t…” He pauses, then bites the bullet. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Stiles is silent for so long that Derek thinks he’s fallen asleep at last. Then he feels Stiles’s hand covering his own where it lays over Stiles’s hip and squeezing gently.

“I trust you,” Stiles whispers. “I always have.”

Within moments, his hand goes slack and his body goes lax. He’s sleeping.

Derek holds him even when it becomes uncomfortable until he falls asleep, too.

--

Laura storms into the house at just past six in the morning, travel-frazzled and pissed beyond belief. Derek slips out of bed quietly, tucking the covers around Stiles, unable to resist pressing a kiss to his hair, and goes downstairs.

“Where is he?” Laura hisses, clearly mindful of Stiles. “Where’s that rat bastard? I want to tear his fucking guts out and hang him on them.”

Derek rubs the bridge of his nose. “I’ll make coffee.”

Laura snarls but nods.

Derek makes breakfast, too, while she’s calling the pack, telling them what had happened, not showing the slightest bit of remorse at jerking them out of bed. Scott roars so loudly over the phone that Derek’s windows rattle.

“Tell them to come to the main house,” Derek says, frowning. “I don’t think Stiles would appreciate them piling up on him all at once.”

Laura whirls at him. “I’ve just about had it with what Stiles will and will not appreciate,” she snaps. “He’s part of the pack and we protect our own. It’s not my fault he’s forgotten. If he thinks we won’t stand up for him, he’s a grade A moron, and if it inconveniences him, tough break.”

“Laura—”

“God, I want to shake that kid. He makes me feel like I’m a bad alpha.”

“Laura—”

“I’m not a bad alpha, Derek. But I can’t do anything if people won’t tell me things, or if they don’t show up so I can smell them, or if they lie to my fucking face and tell me they’re fine, and—”

“I don’t think you’re a bad alpha,” Stiles says from where he’s standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking sleep-rumpled and even worse for wear this morning. The cuts and bruises stand out in sharp relief everywhere the clothes don’t cover him. “I’m sorry, Laura. I’m so sorry.”

Laura stares at him for a moment, still geared for her rant. Then she strides over to him and gathers him into a fierce alpha-strong hug. Stiles squeaks, but wraps his arms around her.

“You idiot,” Laura growls, concern winning over her frustration. “Are you all right? Do we need to break a bond? You really haven’t turned, have you? You only smell like Derek and you, but—”

“I’m fine,” Stiles tries, but squeals as Laura grabs him by the ears and peppers his entire face with kisses. “Ow, ew, stop it, you wild woman, seriously, ow, Laura, stop!”

Laura, of course, doesn’t stop until she’s satisfied, and then pulls him to her again.

“I would go to war for you, Stiles, do you hear me? Never keep things from me again, just because you might be embarrassed. You understand?”

“Yes, Mama Bear,” Stiles grumbles, flushed all over, then yelps when she pokes him in the ribs hard. “Yes! Yes! I got it! I’m sorry!”

“Too right you are,” she says, ruffling his hair before finally letting him go.

Stiles stumbles further into the kitchen, looking like he’s been through a briar patch. He puts the counter between himself and Laura. Derek wordlessly slides a cup of coffee over to him.

“Thanks,” Stiles mutters, and he must still be half asleep or in shock, because he leans into Derek unconsciously and nuzzles the side of his neck for a moment, before wrapping his hands around the mug.

Laura’s eyes soften noticeably as she watches them.

“About damn time,” she mutters. When Stiles just blinks at her, she shakes her head. “Never mind. Are you going to feed us or not, Derek? We could all use some bacon.”

They don’t really have time for more than a few bites, before Derek’s front door bursts open and Scott tumbles in, still wearing his pajamas, bare feet caked with mud.

“Dude,” he whines, staring at Stiles accusingly.

“Hey, Scotty,” Stiles manages in a thin, squeaky voice.

Scott all but tackles him off the chair and then bullies him onto the couch in the living room. Derek wants to yell at him to stop tracking mud, but Stiles is making soft, hiccupping noises as they talk in abortive whispers, and Derek can’t be bothered.

Laura is watching him with a smirk. “You have it so bad, baby bro. So bad. I love it.”

“You would,” Derek sighs.

“It’s a good thing,” Laura tells him. “It means I might give you a turn when they find Theo. Maybe even give you mine.”

Derek glances over through the doorway to where Scott is wrapped around Stiles, rocking him gently, the scent of protective anger thick in the air.

“I might hold you to that.”

--

Theo is in the wind, having apparently left the state, but his alpha shows up the next day at the main house. Most of the pack is there, setting up camp in the living room for a Star Wars marathon, keeping Stiles in the middle of a snuggle pile at all times. He grumbles when they poke and prod at him, stuffing him with food and taking turns to cuddle him, and, while they’re not exactly shy in expressing their opinions about Theo or Stiles’s behavior, Stiles no longer smells like shame, which is a win.

It’s Saturday, so a lot of people are around. Derek, honestly, should be at the gym, but he dumped his shift on Boyd, privileges of being the boss. Boyd didn’t even grumble, which means Erica had told him.

Derek is in the kitchen with Laura drinking coffee, when the ward at the beginning of the driveway sends a shot of alarm through him way before the doorbell rings. Laura winces too, and Stiles lifts his head up from where he’s submerged between Erica and Malia. (Malia doesn’t really see what the problem is, since for her it’s pretty much ‘see Theo—commence throat ripping’ and done, but she never passes up a chance to cuddle with Stiles.) Derek waves Stiles back and follows Laura to the door.

The wolf standing on their porch is in his mid-fifties, more wiry than muscled, but definitely an alpha. He doesn’t make an attempt to step inside, but he doesn’t look pleased to be received on the porch either.

“Alpha Hale,” he addresses Laura with barely a hint of the requisite bow. “I’m Alpha Briggs. Theo Raeken is—was my beta.”

Laura steps outside rather than inviting him in. “What do you want here, Alpha Briggs? Our communication should be held through the Conclave office. You know this.”

He cringes. Laura is half his age, and it’s tangible how much it kills him to show her any respect. “I just want to see the boy,” he says. “They told me he hasn’t turned, but I need to see for myself.”

“Why?” Laura steps forward, squaring her shoulders. Derek flanks her, blocking the entrance to the house. “He hasn’t turned. You have no claim over him.”

He huffs. “Look, lady, I’m not happy about this whole thing, either. My fucking beta drugged me, I didn’t exactly have a say in this—”

“And how,” Laura cuts him off, “did you mismanage your pack so badly that your beta would do such a thing? If he’d succeeded, he would have gone to jail. You would have risked being put down. California still upholds the death penalty for Biting someone without their consent. If your beta thought he could get away with something like that, it doesn’t reflect well on your leadership.”

“My beta is a punk who thought he could kill me afterwards and claim he was only defending his human,” Briggs growls. “He was always a bad egg, but I didn’t think he’d go as far as that. I’m still not convinced it wasn’t that boy of yours who put ideas in his head and then cried foul when he chickened out.”

Derek steps forward before Laura can stop him.

“You’d want to be careful about what you say around here, sir.”

“Why?” Briggs sneers. “I asked around about him. Let’s not pretend your precious little Acolyte is a paragon of virtue. I know all about his little job at that bar in Frisco. It has a reputation, you know, and so does he. Bends over for anyone who’d flash his eyes at him, they say; no wonder Theo thought he’d be easy—”

Derek lunges. He’s never in his life attacked another werewolf with malicious intent, let alone an alpha, but his whole being is pure fury right now. Briggs is all too ready for him, he came here hoping to provoke a fight, Derek realizes distantly, probably to help him in court. Derek doesn’t care. The bastard had bitten Stiles, drugged or not. And he was responsible for Theo. That’s all Derek needs to know.

Briggs is an alpha and so much stronger than Derek, and this fight is doomed, and Derek doesn’t care. He’s filled with blinding, white-hot rage, and he ignores the claws digging into his ribcage, ignores the kick to his jaw, or the fact that his clavicle is most definitely broken, ignores all of it, and keeps fighting. He hears Laura yelling at him from somewhere far away, and ignores her too. This man has hurt Stiles, and the thought alone is enough to turn Derek into a berserker.

Everything blurs and speeds up, and all he hears is a deafening roar of blood in his ears and the sound of breaking bones. And then Briggs is on the ground under him, desperately tilting his head to bare his neck, and Derek roars, raising his free hand to slash his throat—

“Derek, stop!”

Stiles. It’s Stiles’s voice that cuts through the haze of rage. Stiles’s hand wrapping around his wrist fearlessly, ignoring the claws, holding steady when Derek snarls at him.

“Stop!” he pleads, eyes wild and terrified. “He’s not worth it! I’m not worth it!”

It’s like something goes off in his head, and Derek roars, eyes flashing and fangs out:

“YOU’RE WORTH EVERYTHING!”

Stiles staggers back, eyes wide as saucers, but doesn’t release Derek’s wrist. His other hand joins, the hold impotent, but persistent.

“Derek, please,” Stiles says quietly, eyes never leaving his. “They’ll lock you away for this. I can’t lose you.”

Derek takes one breath. Then the next. And then he jerks his arm free and releases Briggs, stalking a few steps away.

The alpha is in bad shape, even with his superior healing. He still reeks of terror, and Derek is suddenly intensely grateful to Stiles because killing him now would be no better than killing a kitten.

“Isaac, Erica,” Laura says, coming closer. “Get this bag of trash off my property. And you, Alpha Briggs. Expect another formal complaint lodged against you with the Conclave. And never show your face here again.”

Derek watches as the betas drag Briggs away, ignoring his whines of pain. He’s still breathing hard, still bleeding, and he can’t look at Stiles or Laura right now.

“Derek,” Laura says, and her voice is still full-alpha. “If you ever do anything like that again, I will kill you myself. Do you understand?”

Derek does look up at her then. She could have alpha-roared him into compliance, he realizes abruptly. She didn’t. And even now he can see through the whole alpha-disciplining-her-beta façade how the corners of his sister’s mouth are struggling not to curve upwards. He would have smirked back, if he hadn’t been in so much pain.

“I understand, Alpha.”

“Good,” she says and stalks back to the house. “Oh, and Derek? Those are wounds inflicted by an alpha. They’ll take forever to heal… unless you shift.”

Derek curses under his breath, because, while Laura may have disappeared inside, the entire pack is watching. And Stiles is still there. But Derek is hurt and Derek… really doesn’t want to be here.

His shirt is pretty much a rag when he pulls the remains of it off, and his jeans are a goner. He pops the button, pulls down the zipper, and shifts, knowing the rest of the fabric will give. He hears a sharp intake of breath from Stiles, and then he’s down on four legs, and it… hurts a little less.

He looks up at Stiles, can’t resist the temptation. Stiles’s eyes are huge, and his hands are shaking slightly. Derek lets out a low whine.

“Dude,” Stiles breathes out shakily. “You’re a wolf! Derek. Derek. Did you know you’re a wolf?”

Derek tries to give him his best ‘You’re an idiot’ look. Stiles laughs, and then falls to his knees, and wraps his arms around Derek. Moron. No self-preservation instinct. Derek closes his teeth lightly over the juncture between Stiles’s shoulder and neck to make a point.

Stiles doesn’t even have the decency to stiffen, just buries his hands deeper into his fur, muttering, “Oh, stop it, like you’d ever.”

Derek sighs, rests his head on Stiles’s shoulder.

“You’re an idiot wolf, you know that?” Stiles whispers. “If you’d gone through with it, you’d have been an alpha. In jail, you dick. If the Conclave would even have let you live. You never think things through, do you? It’s a good thing you’re so cute like this, because I gotta tell you, you don’t have much else working for you there—”

Derek growls and headbutts him, making him fall on his ass. Stiles squeaks indignantly, then laughs. “Jerk.”

Derek moves closer, noses against the side of his neck. Stiles goes still. Derek licks a trail up his throat, making Stiles squirm. He turns away and heads for the woods, the sound of Stiles’s laughter following.

--

The weeks that follow are… quiet. Derek doesn’t know what he’d expected, and he can’t say that he minds exactly. It’s just that it feels odd. Suspended. Like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Stiles stays with Scott for a few days while Erica and Malia take it upon themselves to disinfect his apartment, cleaning it of everything belonging to Theo and most importantly of his scent. Kira moves to the main house to spend some time with Laura, while Scott and Stiles catch up on their best bro time. Stiles is reluctant to go back to the sheriff’s house, and Scott insists anyway.

The sheriff, when Stiles and Laura apprise him of the situation—Stiles doing so with great reluctance, takes it about as well as one could expect which is not at all. He ignores all of Stiles’s protests, and puts out a country-wide alert for Theo Raeken in addition to the one the Conclave already has out there. He cuffs Stiles over the head, then hugs him for a good five minutes.

Slowly, things settle back to base, or rather to the level where they should have been ever since Stiles came back, bringing all the pack together. The pack keeps a close eye on him at first, but gradually things relax, and people move on. Stiles doesn’t miss any meetings, coming back to his normal vocal self, and hangs out with the others as much as he used to. He takes Scott, Isaac, and Kira on a tour of the village, from which they come back starry-eyed and almost high, talking about things like composting and hunting dumpsters for glass to make art.

Derek goes to work, teaches classes, trains the sheriff’s department new recruits. He sees Stiles often, always in a small crowd. Stiles usually smiles at him, a quiet, private thing, with a tinge of blush to it. Derek deals with Laura’s suitors and Peter’s schemes. And somewhere in all of that, he finds the time to sign up for an online history course which takes care of his free evenings.

Almost fives weeks after he nearly killed another alpha, Derek is sitting on his porch on a late Saturday afternoon, drinking beer and just breathing. He hears the sound of a familiar engine rumbling behind the trees, steadily getting closer. It’s not panicked-fast and erratic this time, just a steady slow climb, almost cheerful somehow. Derek braces himself.

Stiles pulls up next to Derek’s car, kills the engine, and climbs out, giving Derek a slightly nervous smile.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

Stiles shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans, approaches slowly. He looks flushed and a little windswept. Healthy. Whole.

“Whatcha doing?”

Derek looks up at him, squinting at the sun just behind him. “Nothing much,” he says, sounding more relaxed than he feels. “You want a beer?”

Stiles eyes the bottle uncertainly, then shrugs. “Uh, sure.”

Derek walks back into the house, fishes out a bottle from the designated human drinks part of his fridge. When he comes back, Stiles is sitting on the steps.

“Thanks,” he says, accepting the drink.

Derek hums in acknowledgement, resuming his seat.

For a while, they remain just like that, drinking in silence, watching the play of sunlight in the treetops. Derek doesn’t want to rush this. When everything is said and done, it will be over. For good, probably. He knows it’s futile, clinging to these last few moments, hoping Stiles would change his mind. It’s futile, but he can’t help it.

At long last, Stiles clears his throat.

“I’m worth everything?” he asks quietly, as if no time has passed between Derek saying the words and now. But Derek never expected them not to come bite him in the ass.

“You are to me,” he says.

Stiles looks at him for a really long time, his expression unreadable. Eventually, he turns away, rolls the bottle between his palms.

“So my dad told me a funny story the other day. He said, when I didn’t come back home after my first year in college, you were driving out to see me. He stopped you and told you not to. That you’d mess things up for me if you did. And you backed off and never went.”

Derek looks at the tree line with quiet despair.

“Is that true? Not that I think my dad is lying, but—”

“It’s true.”

There’s another long pause, until eventually Stiles sighs.

“This would have been so, so good to know a few years back.”

Derek closes his eyes, nods. He gets it. Stiles is over him. He had said as much and he wasn’t lying. Then or now. The words have been said; there’s no going back now. Stiles just needs to get this over with.

“My dad also told me,” Stiles says instead, because, apparently, he’s a sadist, “that you haven’t dated anyone since I left.”

Derek says nothing.

“I said, so what,” Stiles carries on, undeterred. “There are at least four halfway decent clubs around Beacon Hills, and it’s not like you make a habit of parading your hookups in front of the town sheriff.” He ducks his head before looking up at the trees again. “But there wasn’t anyone, was there? Not that there’d be anything wrong with—”

“There hasn’t been anyone since you left.”

“Oh.”

Stiles falls silent. He’s picking on the label on the bottle, long fingers restless and jerky. Then, with a sigh, he puts the bottle aside and stretches his legs in front of him.

“You know,” he says slowly, “the actual Acolyte training only takes a year. The rest is prep work, mostly filled with studying horrible subjects like organic chemistry and quantum physics. And the first thing they teach you once you’re past the preliminaries is how to—damn, this is going to sound so Twilight, but honestly, I think somebody tipped Stephenie Meyer off, I mean, it’s been used before her forever, I don’t—”

“Stiles.” Derek is amused despite the fact that his heart is breaking. “What do they teach you?”

Stiles bites his lip. “They teach you how to put a glamour around your heartbeat. There is a part of magic that is science, and there is a part that is mystery, and even pack members shouldn’t be privy to that part. So they teach us to make our heartbeat sound like whatever we want.”

Derek fumbles a breath, looks at him. Stiles turns, meets his eyes.

“I was so damn happy when they told us that,” he says. “Because I wanted to go home one day and not die of humiliation. Because I spent years away, saw something of the world, became something; I had a boyfriend, for crying out loud—and my heart would still go nuts as soon as I thought of you.”

Derek feels his chest expand around a breath for the first time in what seems like forever. He can barely handle it.

“Stiles…”

“Listen to my heart, Derek. I’m not doing the glamour thing now.”

Derek listens to the too-fast, too-anxious rhythm. And in the midst of it, he hears it, regular, continuous, familiar and precious.

Flip. Flip-flip. Flip.

Derek lets go of the bottle. Stiles watches it roll down the steps with a clatter, and then he gasps, eyes wide, because Derek is kneeling on the porch between his knees now, unsteady hands holding on to his thighs, their eyes level.

“I’m not who you want me to be,” Derek says, it’s words, and they are hard and messy, and he fumbles them like he does everything delicate he’s ever touched. “I’m not—I didn’t… I’m not the kind of man who… I’m not good at this, but Stiles… Stiles, if you’ll have me, I—”

Stiles makes a choked off noise, leans in, and kisses him.

Derek falls into it, grateful, incredulous, his own heart doing somersaults like it’s getting ready for Olympics.

And then Stiles is pulling back, making Derek whine in protest. Stiles’s beautiful big hands are gripping the sides of Derek’s face, his pupils are blown wide, his eyes are bright, persistent.

“You love me?” he asks, his grip tightening reflexively. “I’m serious, for once. I don’t want to get this wrong. You love me? This isn’t a ‘take care of the pack human’ thing? You’re not just—”

And just like that words are easy, like they have never been in Derek’s entire life.

“I’ve been hopelessly in love with you since you kissed me on the night of your graduation. Maybe since before then.”

Stiles’s eyes go wide.

“Jerk,” he whispers, almost in awe. “You absolute jerk, we could have been—”

Derek kisses him this time, and it’s no longer the tremulous, shaky thing from before. He slides closer, arms wrapping around Stiles’s back, holding him, as Derek takes his mouth in a possessive, claiming kiss that Stiles moans into, holding on to Derek like he never wants to let him go. Every sense Derek has hones in on Stiles like he’s a homing beacon, disregarding everything that isn’t him. Stiles’s fingers slide through his hair, and Derek shudders, because that—that’s what he wanted to do that night at the club forever ago, this exactly, swiping over the roof of Stiles’s mouth with his tongue, swallowing every tiny, abortive gasp he makes.

Stiles’s scent is spilling freely in the air, intense and intoxicating, and Derek growls, jealously wishing to hoard it, to keep it all to himself. Before he knows it, he’s picking Stiles up, making him gasp in surprise. Derek carries him up the steps and presses him against the door, unable to resist the pull of that exposed neck, needing to submerge it in kisses. He’s not as controlled as he wants to be, and it’s rougher than he intends to. The noise Stiles makes as his back hits the wood isn’t entirely one of pleasure.

“Woah, caveman much,” he mutters, looking and sounding half-drugged. “I’m all yours, big guy. Not going anywhere. Ah, shit, Derek.” His mouth falls open as Derek sucks a kiss under his jaw. “I just mean, I’m… I’m…”

Derek kisses him again then, gentling it, licking in apologies, as his hands slide under Stiles’s shirt, reveling on the feel of skin.

“I didn’t woo you,” Derek says, sad about his own incompetence. “You deserve b—”

“You took down an alpha for me,” Stiles cuts him off, slotting their hips together. “You roared your confession at me in front of the entire pack. I’m good, Derek. I’m so good, I swear, just—ah—”

Derek kisses him, deep, drugging, grinding into him until Stiles begins to shake with it.

“We don’t have to,” Derek mutters, nuzzling Stiles’s lips with his own. “I can wait, Stiles. As long as you need.”

And it’s true, because now that Derek has him, he doesn’t mind waiting at all. His wolf is satisfied, and his dick… His dick can take it.

“Nghah, no, nope, not waiting,” Stiles says, kissing along Derek’s jaw, hands dipping under his waistband. “Waited long enough.”

Derek tilts his head up, meets his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, yes.”

“You sure?”

The haze of lust recedes somewhat, and Stiles’s eyes soften. “I’m sure. I’m sure.” And then, because he’s a little shit and knows just how to press Derek’s buttons, he goes pliant in Derek’s hold, looks at him through his lashes, and says, “Derek, please, I need you.”

Derek is kissing him before he knows it, pausing halfway to growl, “You little—”

Stiles smirks. “Your wolf listens to me. Good to know.”

“That’s not playing fair.”

“Well, neither is subjecting us, mere mortals, to all this.” His hands run over Derek’s chest, his stomach. “I still…” And he ducks his head before he finishes. “I still can’t believe you want me.”

Derek tips his chin back up. “Stiles, look at me. I want you. I’ve never wanted anyone so badly in my life. You don’t have to trick my wolf. We’re both yours.”

Stiles holds his eyes, and Derek sees it, the moment he finally surrenders something, a core belief that had tortured him for so long, the one that had made him sleep with strangers and had nearly gotten him turned. It rises, it taunts one last time, and then Stiles discards it like yesterday’s news in favor of kissing Derek.

“Take me to bed then,” he commands, his confidence, despite the playful notes, not a pretense.

It’s everything Derek dreamed of and nothing like it at all, because his imagination could not have prepared him for the way Stiles looks stretched out on his bed, naked and flushed with arousal. It didn’t prepare him for the feel of all that skin against his own, for the way Stiles never stays still, for his curiosity and a complete lack of modesty driving Derek to his limits.

Derek wants to give him everything, he pretty much never wants to stop touching Stiles. He wants to feel Stiles inside of him, to feel him everywhere, to have him every which way. But this first time is different, Derek knows without being told. He’s not surprised that Stiles wants it that way. Derek wants it that way too—with Stiles on his back under the covers, submerged in Derek’s scent and hidden from the world, knees splayed wide and Derek sliding between them, rolling into him in smooth, slick motions.

Stiles’s hold on him is almost too painful. He’s gasping expletives and encouragements into Derek’s neck, egging him on and yet almost fighting him with how hard he’s gripping Derek on every thrust, how incredibly tight he is, with the way his fingers dig into the muscles of Derek’s back.

Derek feels the shift roll over him, fights it, tries to stop it, only to have Stiles hiss at him, “Oh no, you don’t, give it here.” Derek’s claws dig into the mattress, his fangs drop, and Stiles grabs his head, guides his mouth to the base of his neck, and pants, “Do it, let it go, I’ll heal, I swear, Derek, just—”

Derek roars and bites down, tasting blood, and Stiles screams, arms locking around Derek vice-like, as he spasms all around him, coming between them untouched as Derek drives frantically into him, losing all rhythm, even his sense of self, sinking into Stiles completely, dissolving in him.

Derek doesn’t know how long they stay like that, weightless and floating. Coming back to himself is almost painful. Stiles must agree because he whimpers when Derek tries to separate them, even though they’re both less than comfortable by now.

They make it eventually through the reemergence and the cleanup, and then Derek wraps himself around Stiles, pulling the covers back up. There’s a bruise at the base of Stiles’s neck, but his skin is mysteriously—magically unbroken. Derek kisses it.

“I love you,” Stiles says, quiet and serious.

Stiles is still Stiles, though, so Derek doesn’t get to enjoy the tight wave of bliss rolling over him at the words, before Stiles is talking again.

“You know, in case you weren’t sure after thirteen or so years. I’m such a cliché. And an idiot. I mean, here I am, surrounded by a huge pack of wolves, and I look at the grumpiest one, who doesn’t have the single fucking clue about anything, and I go, yes, him, that one’s for me.”

Derek hums contentedly and nuzzles his shoulder.

“What, no witty comeback?” Stiles nudges him.

“Nope.”

Stiles is silent for a moment, then pushes Derek onto his back and rolls on top of him. Derek seizes his chance to kiss him.

“Oh my God,” Stiles breathes out when they pull apart, eyes bright in a way that promises a round two soon. “You’re a complete sap, aren’t you? You’re just going to let me insult you, and not be a grumpy ass about it, because you’ll think that’s how I’m saying ‘I love you’ or something.”

Derek can’t help a shit-eating grin that spreads over his face. “It is.”

Stiles groans, dropping his forehead onto Derek’s chest. “I’m rethinking this entire relationship.”

Derek closes his eyes, settling into a nap. “You do that.”

“The worst,” Stiles mutters. “The actual worst.”

He snuggles closer, rearranging their limbs this way and that, until Derek growls at him.

He wakes up with Stiles spooning him from behind, his breath tickling the side of Derek’s neck. Derek wills the rising sun away, and it almost feels like it listens.

--

Stiles doesn’t move in with him until the lease on his apartment runs out. By the time it happens, most of his things are making a mess around Derek’s bedroom, and the window seat in the library has been thoroughly broken in.

Laura calls them both idiots when they come out as a couple and then hugs them both to within an inch of their lives. Scott high-fives Stiles in their usual classy way, then flashes his eyes at Derek, before breaking into a wide grin. A surprising amount of money exchanges hands at the next pack-meet. Derek growls at them all to no avail.

The next time Stiles drops by the sheriff’s station when Derek just happens to be there, Parrish winks at him. Stiles blushes scarlet and hightails it into his father’s office. Derek and Parrish exchange a look and grin.

The sheriff, when he learns, gives Derek a long look. It’s completely horrible because the man looks torn between apologizing and threatening Derek with a shotgun, and it’s a huge relief when Stiles butts in, saying: “All right, fine, staring match of the century, congratulations. I could go for some barbecue chicken wings, who’s in?”

And then it’s winter, and Stiles is quizzing him in history, and Derek is working him to the bone at the gym and then in bed, and Stiles threatens to sprinkle wolfsbane over his pancakes, and his muscles ripple when he comes, and Derek stills spoils him and brings him coffee in bed.

“Why?” Stiles whines as Derek kicks him out of bed at ten to six. “Why must we go running at this ungodly hour? We live together, Derek. In the middle of the fucking woods. We could go, like, any time.”

“Quit whining and get dressed.”

“I’ll give you a blowjob if you let me stay.”

“You’ll give me a blowjob anyway, but I’d rather you didn’t fall asleep in the middle of it. Again.” Derek throws his shoes at him.

“One time,” Stiles groans, fumbling for them. “It was one time, you ginormous fucking sadist, and it was mostly your own fault anyway.”

“It was a traumatic experience. I’m emotionally scarred.”

Stiles glares at him over the bed between them, as he ties his shoes. “You can’t milk that forever, you know.”

Derek smirks. “Probably, but there’s still a lot of mileage left. You were snoring.”

“Ugh.”

“Get up, let’s go.”

Stiles stumbles downstairs, deliberately uncoordinated and noisy. Derek shouldn’t feel a surge of fondness at that, but he does.

The morning is crisp and chilly. Stiles is shivering and swearing through the warmup and doesn’t really object, only grunts, when Derek sets off at werewolf-medium pace. He does object when Derek turns them to the rarely used trail up the hill, and Derek slows them down some, but doesn’t stop. The view from the hilltop is worth it.

Stiles’s breathing is elevated, but he’s not panting when they make it to the top. “Break!” he calls, and Derek nods, stretching.

Below them, the town of Beacon Hills is only starting to wake up, and a mist is hovering over the valley. It’s quiet, and almost magical.

Stiles comes over after a while, wraps his arms around Derek’s waist, kisses his cheek. His heartrate is slowing down, steady, steady…

Flip.

Derek grins.

Stiles sighs, dejected. “I can’t help it, and it’s not fair.”

Derek turns toward him fully then, arms circling his waist. “They didn’t tell you how to listen to other people’s heartbeats then, in Acolyte school?”

Stiles wrinkles his nose, shakes his head. “No. That’s a wolf thing.”

“Too bad,” Derek says, leaning in to rub their noses together. “Your heart’s got nothing on mine.”

A delighted grin spills over Stiles’s face. “Sap wolf,” he murmurs and kisses him.

Derek almost feels bad for shifting and running back as a wolf, leaving Stiles to carry his clothes—not like he didn’t suspect it when Derek took his backpack with him. Stiles still swears after him and promises revenge, and Derek is still going to time him.

Because it shouldn’t take Stiles longer down the hill than it takes Derek to start a pot of coffee and make French toast just the way Stiles likes and fry some sausage. And maybe Derek had invested in some hot plates for a reason, and now the food won’t get cold while he and Stiles take their shower, and Derek will press him against the wet tiles and blow him, and no one will fall asleep, and Stiles will be glowing by the end of it.

Derek grins a wolfy grin and flies through the woods, never losing the sound of Stiles’s heartbeat.

--