Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ah, sleep. A brief, quiet respite from all the craziness Beacon Hills served up daily.

Stiles was sprawled across his mattress, limbs spread every which way, head tipped back, and mouth open wide as he snored. Peaceful. Content.

Blissfully unaware of the shitstorm that was about to hit.

When his cell phone rang, he yelped and flailed, nearly launching over the side of his bed as he lunged in its general direction. Hands smacking wildly across the surface of his bedside table, he found the device and fought to open at least one eye so he could focus on the screen.

“Wha-? What happened? New monster? Anyone dead?” he demanded as he sank back against his headboard with his neck tilted in an awkward angle.

He ran a hand over his face, scrunching his eyes closed as he listened to Scott’s reply.

“Uh huh,” Stiles yawned. “I remember. I thought you guys had that under control? And I thought we agreed I was taking a month off of supernatural stuff to get my grades up?”

Scott went on frantically.

Stiles scowled. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait. What do you mean you LOST Derek? What the hell happened?"

As Scott filled him in on the details, Stiles stood and began clumsily pulling on clothes.

“Alright, I’m on my way. Don’t worry. We’ll find – ” Stiles said as he turned to shut his bedroom window but stopped mid-sentence.

In the darkness of his backyard, red eyes glowed brightly up at him.

Stiles froze, not knowing what to do, then exhaled sharply when Derek stepped into view in wolf form.

"Found him!" Stiles declared.

“Wait, what? Derek’s there?” Scott demanded.

“Um… sort of?” Stiles answered with a wince.

Without warning, Derek leapt up onto the roof, and then again through his window.  

Stiles gasped and rambled shrilly, “Oh! God! Yes. Yes he is here. He is here. He is RIGHT here.”

“We’re on our way!” Scott called just before Stiles ended the call and dropped his phone.

Derek stalked toward him purposefully – shoulders up, head low, eyes locked on Stiles.

“Heyya, Der,” Stiles greeted nervously. “You, uh, planning to shift back at any–? OH! Hey now!”

Derek huffed all over the legs of Stiles’ pants, then on Stiles’ hands as he used them to shield his crotch.

Stiles voice rose several octaves, cracking as he backed across the room, “Whoa! Hey! Easy on the goods! Not that you aren’t generally terrifying in human form, too, but you, uh… you seem to respect personal boundaries at least a smidge better when you’re bipedal.”

Derek gave a low sort of grunt and whimpered in reply, undeterred by Stiles’ verbal protests as he continued his attempts to check Stiles over.

Stiles brows drew together at the whimper. His feet slowed as he abandoned his efforts to retreat. The fight left him when he noticed the trail of blood following Derek’s path across his floor.

“Oh… shit,” Stiles breathed, his voice and features softening with worry. “Der, you’re really bleeding, man. You’re–”

Stiles was shaken from finishing that sentence when the wolf bumped into him, causing the backs of his legs to connect hard with the side of his bed. Stiles flailed uselessly before falling back onto his ass on the mattress.

Derek did not slow his approach, walking up onto the bed as Stiles tried to scurry backwards. Stiles only made it a couple of feet before Derek was walking ON TOP OF him, snuffling at his chest and face while whimpering.

“What… in… THE… Hell, Derek?!” Stiles squawked as he was pinned down by massive paws. “Aw, dude, noooooooooooo!” he groaned when Derek began licking his face.

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Less than ten minutes later, Scott showed up at the house with several of the others. Using the spare key, he opened the front door and led everyone inside. They rushed to Stiles' room to find wolf Derek lying with his torso and front paws across Stiles' chest. Before they could even enter the room, Derek curled back his lips and growled in warning bringing everyone to a halt.

Stiles waved anxiously, looking a bit pale and queasy. "Uh, hey, everyone."

“Derek is… a wolf,” Isaac noted in surprise.

"Why is Derek a wolf?" Lydia asked, arching a brow.

"Maybe he can't shift back," Malia guessed.

Scott's nostrils flared and he winced as he scented the air. "He's bleeding."

"Yeah. My mattress and I noticed that," Stiles griped, holding up a blood slicked hand. "And I can assure you, I am doing my very best not to vomit.” He took a moment to steady his breathing and swallow back an involuntary gag. “The wound is over on his side here. He won't let me move to look at it, though. I’ve been keeping pressure on it with my blanket… which he will SO be replacing, in addition to my mattress." Stiles sighed and grumbled, “You’re just lucky you’re not bleeding on my pillow, Sourwolf.”

Seemingly in reply, Derek’s tail swiped across Stiles’ face, earning a sharp glower from Stiles.

“Asshole,” Stiles huffed.

"Maybe the injury is what's preventing him from shifting back?" Lydia offered.

“Is he healing at all?” Isaac wondered.

"Judging by what I can feel, if he is, it's a hell of a lot slower than normal," Stiles answered.   

"Maybe I can – " Scott tried to step forward, but Derek let out a fierce growl-bark and stood, planting his paws, and staying hunched over Stiles as he snarled and bared his teeth.

“Nope. No. Bad move, Scott,” Stiles called.

Lydia caught Scott’s arm and pulled him back. “Easy. He is literally a wounded animal right now,” she reminded. “He probably feels vulnerable, like he needs to defend himself.”

Scott frowned and shook his head. “That’s… not it.”

“No,” Malia agreed. She looked over at Lydia, holding her hand up at Derek and pointing out, "Look at the way he's standing. He's not defending himself. He's defending Stiles."

“What?” Lydia asked with wide eyes.

Stiles arched a brow, pushing Derek’s tail aside and peeking out from around his furry shoulder. “I second that. I’m sorry, what?”

“I’m calling Peter,” Malia declared as she pulled out her cell.  

Peter answered on the second ring.

“Malia, my girl! To what do I owe the pleasure of – ?” Peter began, only to be cut off.

“Something’s wrong with Derek,” she informed him bluntly.

Peter sighed in disinterest and assured, “Darling, your cousin is a big boy who can handle his big boy problems all on his little lonesome. It’s probably nothing.”

Malia shook her head. “Nuh-uh. This is definitely something.”

Peter groaned and pouted before asking, “What’s wrong now?”

“He’s stuck in wolf form. He’s not healing. Plus, he’s guarding over Stiles like his favorite chew toy or something.” Malia winced at the sound of the vehicle coming to a screeching halt on the other end of the line.

“Come again?” Peter asked in disbelief.

Malia frowned in confusion. “What? The chew toy thing? Is that like a slur or something to you werewolves?” She snorted and declared, “Because I thought it was hilarious.”

“No, no. Back up a bit,” Peter urged. “You say he is ‘guarding over’ Stiles? How so?”

Malia looked back in through the door. “He is literally laying on top Stiles’ chest, pinning him on the bed, and threatening to murder anyone who takes a step into Stiles’ bedroom.”

Peter was silent for a long moment…

The smile was evident in his voice when he finally said, “Oh, I’ll be right over.”

Malia turned and announced for the benefit of those without supernatural hearing, “Peter is on his way.”

“Anybody else notice how he didn’t need to ask for my address?” Stiles asked in barely contained alarm. “Huh? Why didn’t Peter ‘the Creeper’ Hale need to ask for my address? Anyone?”

Derek growled in displeasure.

Chapter Text

Peter stood at the door to Stiles’ bedroom, his fingers steepled in front of his mouth as he took in the scene before him.

“And you say he just raced right over here, leapt through your bedroom window, and pinned you to the mattress?” Peter recapped in feigned surprise.

Stiles scowled.

Derek huffed.

Peter’s eyes sparkled with with barely concealed glee. His jaw flexed with the effort it took not to crack so much as a smirk. He turned his head slightly, addressing the growing group of teenagers packed into the hall behind him while keeping his eyes glued to hilarious situation his nephew had gotten himself into.

“And no one has hazarded a single guess as to what prompted this?” He turned then, his eyes passing from one befuddled pack member to the next. He bit his lips and looked back at Derek. “Hmmm… A real mystery.”

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The sun had just started to shine through Stiles’ bedroom window when, miraculously, Derek stood and hopped off the bed. Stiles snorted awake, wiping drool from his mouth before grimacing and gagging when he realized he had used his bloodstained hand.

“Ugh. God. NO,” he groaned.

“Hey, Scott! Derek’s up,” Malia called, shaking Scott’s shoulder to wake him.

“Oh, thank GOD,” Stiles groaned in relief and raced for the bathroom. He disappeared around the corner, failing to notice the immense black streak that raced down the hall behind him. A second later, the sound of the door thudding against a solid barrier caused the others to wince. “Dude! REALLY? I can’t even take a leak alone? What the hell, Der?!”

Stiles came back to the room a moment later, grousing the entire way with Derek right on his heels.

“Alright, somebody needs to take over wolf-sitting duties because I need to take a shower,” Stiles huffed.

“He’s not going to let you out of his sight,” Peter commented knowingly.

“Thanks, Peter. Helpful as ever. Can always count on you for… something,” Stiles called snidely.

Peter bit back a smile in reply.

Stiles turned and looked down at Derek. “Alright, I am taking a shower. You and ALLLLL of your pointy wolfy teeth are not coming anywhere near me while my junk is uncovered, got it? So, if you want to stand outside the door for whatever reason, fine.”

Derek growled in reply, then trotted along after Stiles toward the bathroom.

“Stay. STAY.” Stiles attempted to command, watching Derek suspiciously before slamming the bathroom door.

As soon as the sound of the shower started, wolf-Derek slowly backed down the length of the hallway…

“Is he…?” Scott breathed as they all watched.

“He is.” Peter answered as wolf-Derek took off and barreled into the door, easily breaking the handle, and sending the door swinging open.

Stiles yelped in surprise, peeking out from behind the shower curtain in disbelief to find Derek laying on the bathroom floor, back turned to the shower, guarding him.  

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Stiles rushed around the crowded house, gathering his stuff, and jamming it into his backpack all the while grumbling furiously.

“Don’t you think maybe you should stay home today?” Lydia asked.

Stiles scoffed. “Can’t. Got two tests to take and a report due. I am already on thin ice – as my teachers so happily informed my Dad a few weeks ago. Do you think I want to repeat my Senior year? Huh? Because it’s been so much fun so far, why not go for another round? NO thank you. I’ve barely survived the first half of the first run.”

He turned and attempted to pick up his backpack, only to find it inexplicably immovable.

With a look of alarm, he leaned to the side, finding wolf-Derek latched onto the bag.

“Oh, no… No. Let go. I am going to school,” Stiles declared determinedly.

Derek growled and gave the backpack a forceful pull.

Stiles yelped and got a better grip. “Come on, man! Whatever supernatural drama is going on this week, I’m gonna have to take a raincheck, ’kay? I’m sorry you’re stuck in furry form, but – hey – your side finally healed up. So, that’s something, right? We’ll find a way to change you back and you’ll be good as new. Same old Sourwolf we all know and…” He trailed off, his brows drawing together as he amended thoughtfully, “Well, actually, we don’t really ‘know’ because you majored in antisocial behavior, but…” He waved it off, trying to get back to the point. “Look, you won’t even notice I’m gone. I’ll even throw a stick around for you in the backyard when I get home. It’ll be great. Just… Let… GO!”

Stiles gave up trying to reason with Derek and with a groan, began an ill-advised attempt at tug of war.

Stiles’ father walked in the door dead on his feet. He had pulled a double shift ending with an all-nighter and he just wanted sleep. He came to an abrupt halt as he took in the numerous faces in his living room.

“Good Morning, Mr. Stilinski,” Lydia greeted sweetly.

“Lydia…” Noah answered hesitantly, his eyes narrowing. “Scott… Malia… Isaac…” he greeted as his eyes passed around the room suspiciously. His tired face shifted to a scowl when he focused on, “Peter Hale. What the hell are you doing in my house?”

Peter waved, “Good Morning, Sheriff. I just came to watch the show.”

Noah frowned. “The ‘show’? What ‘show’?” he asked, only to trail off at the sounds of commotion.

Stiles came into view… out of breath, sweating, and fighting to pull his backpack down the hallway an inch at a time with a giant, black, snarling wolf attached to the other side of it.

Noah’s jaw dropped open.

“Release! Drop it! Spit out!” Stiles pleaded in exhausted frustration as he tried to plant his feet in the doorway. With a final, defeated sigh, he collapsed to the floor and yelled, “BAD WEREWOLF!”

He groaned in disbelief as he was dragged back down the hallway on his ass, losing the hard earned ten feet of space he had gained.

“No. Screw this. Fine. Keep the backpack! It’s yours! I’m going!” he declared stubbornly.

He had just rolled over and moved to climb onto his feet when he felt hot breath on his lower back and a set of powerful jaws clamping down on his belt.

“NO! Derek, come onnnnn!!!!” he cried as he was held in place.

“Derek?” Stiles’ father asked in astonishment, standing at the end of the hallway, and taking in the scene before him.

Stiles looked up at his Dad and sighed in relief. “Dad, finally! Thank God. Can you please tell Derek that you’ll shoot him if he doesn’t let me go to school?”

The Sheriff narrowed his gaze on the wolf. He took a long, calming breath, digging down deep to find the patience and energy to deal with this. “Okay… so… I take it Derek is not able to shift back for some reason?”

“Right,” Scott answered from behind him.

The Sheriff scowled as he spotted the dried blood caked to Derek’s side. He pointed at it suspiciously. “Is that his blood?”

“Yeah,” Scott confirmed. “Something happened to him last night. He had a big wound on his side when he showed up here.”

The Sheriff arched a brow. “So Derek came here… stuck in wolf form… bleeding… and his only concern so far has been to guard over Stiles and not let him leave the house?”

Everyone chimed in with their agreement.

Derek released his hold on Stiles, moving around in front of him and letting out a series of deep, hoarse barks in reply.

The Sheriff tilted his head and frowned, studying the anxiousness in Derek’s posture and body language. “Stiles? You’re staying in this house until we figure out what’s going on.”

“But I was just starting to get caught up!” Stiles insisted.

“And you’ll do it again. But whatever is happening, Derek is pretty damned certain you’re in danger. That’s good enough for me.”

Wolf-Derek let out a long series of vocalizations at that. He moved forward, rubbing his body along the sides of the Sheriff’s legs before returning to his post beside Stiles.

“Stiles? Do the man a favor and get that blood off of him, will you?” the Sheriff instructed as he walked to the kitchen to get some coffee.

Stiles’ jaw dropped. “You want me to give him a freaking DOGGY BATH?”

Scott and Malia both snorted at that.

Lydia was already pulling up the camera on her phone to collect evidence.

The Sheriff gave Stiles an unimpressed look. “I want you to clean the blood off of him. He’s clearly trying to help you out. You can help him out.”

“Come on, Cujo,” Stiles groused. He glared down at Derek as he made his way to the bathroom. “I think I’ve got bubble bath in there that smells like strawberries from the last time I babysat. Prepare to smell fresh and fruity, you big bastard. It’ll serve you right.”