Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’s the same every time. 

Every unsatisfying date, every lackluster fuck with a stranger he sends packing as soon as it’s over. It all ends here, with Derek alone in bed, touching himself to the memory of the last person he should be thinking about.

Derek remembers it the way a vivid dream sticks with you upon waking, lingering days after the images have dissipated, that haunted feeling where you can’t tell if what you saw was real or not.

“Don’t stop on my account.” 

That trademark smirk that always made Derek shiver in anticipation, want. 

“Do you want to touch it? You can, if you want. You don’t have to ask, although you know I’d love to hear it.” 

He always made it sound like it was Derek’s decision, as though he hadn’t carefully manufactured the moment, steered the ship to assuredly land there every time.

“That’s it. That’s my good boy.” 

The praise that painted Derek’s cheeks red, making his cock stand proudly against his belly, his lips open to let out a helpless little mewl. 

Even though he knows he shouldn’t, even though he’ll be shrouded in shame afterward, a grimy film he can’t scrub off, Derek reaches inside his sweatpants and touches his cock, using the memory of his uncle to coax it to hardness, picturing himself at fifteen and Peter at twenty-four, the night at the cabin by the lake. 

***

They were supposed to be on a weekend trip together, an innocent two nights and three days of swimming, hiking, and fishing, grilling their spoils on the charcoal flame and howling at the moon.

But Derek could feel the unsightly thing that was building between them, fearing others could sense it too. It’s harder to keep secrets like that when you’re a wolf, your emotions wafting in on the evening air, swirling into the noses of the people you love.

Now, twenty-two and scrambling to retrace his steps, it’s hard for Derek to pinpoint when it started. It was so gradual and seamless so as to be undetectable, which was no doubt by design. Peter is a planner. He always has been, and he never lets anyone see more than he wants to, staggers every reveal piece by calculated piece. 

And the thing about wolves, especially family packs, is that they’re very tactile. It’s not unusual to snuggle for warmth and comfort, even as the children age. It never seemed out of the ordinary when Peter and Derek would end up by themselves, a two-wolf pile in a blanketed corner of the house, arms tight around each other, noses buried in necks.  

Derek doesn’t know when it started; he only knows that it kept building. The special attention, the outings with just the two of them driving in Peter’s car listening to his weird music that Derek loved, ice cream shared on the hood of the car, a casual hand on Derek’s knee, his thigh, the small of his back. Little touches that made Derek feel warm and soft as a kitten, strong arms that made him feel safe, fingers stroking his hair as he fell asleep. Long naps as the rain pattered against the windowpanes, lightning flashes casting ghostly streaks across the walls, Derek burrowing into Peter’s chest. He doesn’t know when Peter first kissed him, but he knows he didn’t even register it as something strange until days later, a funny feeling in the pit of his belly, a twist of heat and shame that made him feel itchy and wrong.

But then he wanted it again. He’d see Peter come through the door, all sparkling blue eyes and a mischievous smile, and want to be close to him so badly, it burned. He wanted Peter’s mouth, his hands, his husky voice. It was confusing.

The first night of their cabin weekend, Peter had been chopping wood for the fire while Derek was inside, peering out the window and watching Peter’s muscles glisten in the sunlight, lake water dappling his chest. Fifteen and unable to think about anything besides sex at the best of times, Derek couldn’t help it; he'd leaned back on the floor, reaching inside his swim trunks to lazily stroke himself. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought of Peter like that, closing his eyes and imagining what it might feel like to touch him in places he knew he shouldn’t. With a soft sigh, Derek sat up again, trying to catch another glimpse of Peter only to find that he wasn’t there anymore.

When the cabin door opened, Derek’s hand was still inside his shorts, fingers firm around his cock. That’s when Peter smirked, told him not to stop on his account, strode over in that confident way Derek envied, a man who knew the power and beauty of his body, someone who loved to live in their own skin instead of shrinking away from it. Derek hoped he’d grow up to be like that too. 

Peter knelt between Derek’s legs, and, in that silky voice, so hypnotic it couldn’t be ignored, he said, “Does it feel good?”

Derek whimpered, unable to form the words, but Peter took it as the answer it was.

“Show me.”

Derek squeezed his own cock but only for comfort, as though holding it tightly would keep it from getting harder, too embarrassed to masturbate in front of Peter but unable to take his hand away.

“Come on, sweetheart. Don’t be embarrassed. Do you know what you look like right now?” 

Every time Peter called him that, it made Derek’s heart beat faster, his blood run hot in a way he knew was wrong, but he couldn’t stop it. He was Peter’s favorite, and being Peter’s favorite was beyond special, the highest of honors. Peter looked down on everyone; he despised most people, found them tedious and boring, but he loved Derek, gave him all the attention and care.

“N-no,” Derek stuttered out, and Peter’s eyes went soft.

“You’re so beautiful, Derek. More breathtaking than the sunrise we watched today. Every part of you,” Peter said, running a hand slowly down Derek’s chest and stomach. Derek quivered under the touch, every press of Peter’s fingers better than anything he had ever felt, like a fire blazing across every inch of his skin, “is perfect. Touch yourself for me. I want to see you enjoy yourself, okay?”

Peter’s voice was smooth and sweet like honey, that low liquid tone that could charm the wiliest serpent. How could Derek not want to please him? When he started stroking his cock again, Peter looked at him like he couldn’t believe it, like he’d never seen anything more perfect, never wanted anyone so badly. 

Derek knew Peter slept with a lot of people. Men, women, everyone. Beautiful, impressive, sophisticated people that Derek could never measure up to. Why Peter, who could have anyone he wanted, was looking at clumsy, awkward Derek that way was beyond him. But he wanted Peter to keep doing it, wanted him to never stop, so Derek kept touching himself, lying back on the floor and staring up into Peter’s glittering eyes. 

When Peter started unbuttoning his jeans, Derek’s breath hitched. He was scared, but he wanted to see too. It was always like that, a mixture of desire and disgust for that desire, fear of what it would mean to give in. They’d never gone this far before. Only cuddles and kisses, a surreptitious petting over the clothes sometimes. Peter never rushed him although Derek wondered sometimes if he wanted to, if what they did was enough when Peter could easily call one of his past flings for more.

As Derek hesitated, he watched Peter’s face, looking for a flash of annoyance in his eyes, and swore he saw it for a second, a tightness in Peter’s mouth, but then the smile was back. Peter’s jeans hung around his thighs, his boxers still on. 

“Don’t you want to see me? I thought you liked my body. You don’t have to do anything. I just want to enjoy myself too. Is that alright?”

Derek nodded because he did want to see. Another thing about wolves is that it wasn’t uncommon to be in various states of undress. People of all genders were often shirtless or in their underwear, and Peter was the least shy of them all, strutting around with pride, toned muscles on display. Peter’s body was gorgeous, but Derek had never seen his cock, not like this. Maybe a peek when they were pissing in the woods, but nothing like this. Peter pulled his underwear down, and the sight of his dick, big and thick and red with arousal, made Derek moan, the pleasure of his strokes intensifying, making him want to come. 

“Do you want to touch it? You can, if you want. You don’t have to ask, although you know I’d love to hear it.” 

And there it was. Escalation. Peter always did that, said something was enough and then upped the stakes. Not just with this, but with everything in life. Derek didn’t recognize it then, but he sees it now. 

Derek didn’t really want to say it. But he knew it’d make Peter happy, and he wanted that, wanted Peter to keep looking at him with hungry eyes.

“Can I touch it, Peter?”

“Yes, sweet boy, you can touch it.” Peter’s voice had gone rough, his breath a little ragged as he gently wrapped his fingers around Derek’s wrist, guiding his free hand to his engorged prick. “Just pretend it’s your own. Touch it like you’d touch yourself.”

Derek obeyed, his hand small around Peter’s girth as he explored it, rolling the foreskin back, stroking the shaft, cautiously touching Peter’s balls. 

“That’s so nice, sweetheart, but you know what’d be even better? Can you lick it a little for me?”

Derek stopped touching himself, removing his hand from his shorts, his other hand pausing on Peter’s cock. He didn’t want to use his mouth, not yet. He wasn’t ready for that.

“Just a little, Derek. Please? Move your tongue like you do when we kiss, okay? Don’t you want me to feel good?”

“Yeah, but—I don’t know how.”

“It’s okay. I’ll teach you. Just lick right here for now and keep moving your hand like you’re already doing.” Peter pulled his foreskin back to expose the head, pointing to the soft, wet glans, and when Derek looked up at him with pleading eyes, Peter stroked his thumb across his cheek, his bottom lip. He always knew when to ply Derek with a little sweetness. Derek still didn’t want to do it, but he did want to satisfy Peter. “Please?”

Derek leaned forward and stuck his tongue out, licking across the head, Peter’s answering moan making him bold enough to do it again, his hand moving up and down the shaft.

“Yes, yes, that’s it. Now put your lips around the head and suck a little bit.” Peter threaded his fingers through Derek’s hair, giving him reassuring pets that felt so good. Soft. Gentle. It made Derek want more. He tried to do as Peter said, but a hand tightened in his hair, pulling him away. “Careful of your teeth, sweetheart. A little’s okay, but don’t hurt me.”

“Sorry,” Derek said, shame blooming in his cheeks as he pulled away, but then the hand was back in his hair, an encouraging caress.

“It’s okay. That’s why I’m here to teach you. I’ve got you, sweetheart.” 

Derek went back to it, trying to work his mouth and hand in tandem, encouraged by Peter’s moans, his fingers running through his hair, stroking his cheek, massaging his shoulder, all that glorious attention. When Peter came in his mouth, it was an unwelcome surprise, bitter, hot liquid that made Derek cough and pull away. He spat on the floor, and Peter lifted his chin, looked into his eyes and started that soothing routine again, placating him.

“Shhhh, it’s alright. I’m sorry. I should have warned you, but your mouth felt so good, Derek. So hot and wet. I couldn’t help it.” Peter kissed him, sucking the come from his mouth, and Derek was disgusted but intrigued by it, fascinated by the way Peter seemed to love it, licking into Derek’s mouth and making those satisfied groans. “Come here, darling. Sit in my lap.”

Derek did as he was told, grateful for Peter’s warm embrace, his hand running up and down his back.

“I love you so much, sweetheart. You did so well. Made me feel so good. I’d do anything for you. You know that, right? You’re my favorite person in the whole world,” Peter murmured, covering Derek’s face with kisses: on his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, his lips.

“Promise?” Derek said in a weak, desperate voice. 

He loved nothing more than this. The sex stuff was good, but it was complicated. Derek didn’t know how to explain it, but it was like he wanted it so badly, or thought he did, and then when it happened… It made him feel sick to his stomach, like he immediately wished he could take it back. But this? This always felt good. Being in Peter’s arms, showered in praise and given a million kisses. When Derek saw Peter with the people he dated, there was never warmth like this. Peter didn’t talk to them this way. They were in and out of Peter’s apartment for a night and never heard from again. Peter treated them more like appointments than lovers, but he made Derek feel treasured. Derek wanted to live in Peter’s arms, to be loved and held forever.

“Promise. Always. Let me take care of you.” Peter’s hand tugged at Derek’s swim trunks, pulling them down enough to free his hard cock, and wrapped his fingers around it. Derek squirmed in his lap, burying his face in Peter’s neck, deeply inhaling his scent. It always calmed him to scent Peter. The hand around his cock felt good, and Derek forgot to be worried, to remember the reasons this was bad, and just surrendered to the pleasure. Peter was so sweet throughout it all, telling Derek how beautiful he was, how much he loved touching him, how he wanted to make him come. “My good, good boy.”

Those were the words that took Derek over the edge, crying out and panting into Peter’s neck, hand clamping onto Peter’s shoulder as he came all over Peter’s hand. 

Peter licked his hand clean, and then he licked Derek’s cock clean too.

“You’re gross,” Derek said with a laugh, trying to swat away that complicated feeling before it could descend, trying to live in the golden sunshine of this moment, Peter’s freely given love, the affection he was so stingy with when it came to anyone else.

“I’m just addicted to your smell, your taste, your everything. You’re mine, Derek. All mine. My good boy.” 

Derek can still hear those words echoing in the caverns of his fucked up mind, the lurid but loving timbre of Peter’s voice, the fucked up comfort of it. Now, alone in bed, twenty-two years old and unable to shake the scars of his past, Derek furiously fists his cock and thinks about those words, those big, rough hands on his teenage body, and comes so hard, it almost hurts. 

“Peter,” he whines in the dark, quiet like he’s afraid the universe will hear him, will punish him for what he’s done. 

He never comes like that with anyone else. Every casual fuck, every failed, short-lived relationship, all of it pales in comparison to Peter. The memory of having sex with his uncle makes him come harder than any real person can.

This is how Derek knows he’s broken and always will be.

***

“There’s an Alpha killing people. I don’t know who it is, and I don’t—there’s no one I can ask for help. If you were here…” Derek is sitting next to his catatonic uncle. Half of Peter’s face is covered in third degree burns from the fire that killed nearly all of their family when Derek was eighteen. 

Not long after that, Derek fled from Beacon Hills. There was no reason to stick around anymore. Laura was the only one who remained, the Alpha by default, but she was stoic and uninterested in rebuilding a pack from the ashes. Instead of coming together, they pulled apart, the weight of their shared tragedy too much to bear, and Derek felt like more than just an orphan. He felt like an endangered animal who was being hunted to extinction, running across the plains with the sort of desperation only the last of one’s kind can have.

But even with that tenuous connection growing weaker with every passing day, Derek felt it when Laura died. He woke up in the middle of the night with a roar, claws tearing the sheets to shreds, fangs descending and ready to tear through flesh. He knew. He just knew.  

So he came running back, hunkered down in the burned out husk that was once their home, and slept among the rubble and severed bones of the house, the structure that no longer held a familiar shape, melted and ruined into something ugly and unwelcoming. 

Before Derek left Beacon Hills, in the strained months of limbo where he didn’t yet know what to do, he came to visit Peter every day. Talked to him. Held his hand and smoothed his hair back. Cried and cried until there was nothing left. Strange to be back now and see no change. Peter hasn’t healed. He’s in stasis forever, trapped in a body that neither of them ever thought possible for a werewolf.

“I didn’t know.”

The voice startles Derek, shaking him out of foggy memories and back to the present. Stiles. Of course. He’s standing in the doorway, those sad, compassionate eyes making Derek feel a strange spark of warmth. If anyone would follow him here and figure it out, it would be him. Scott’s going to need Stiles; so far, he’s pretty useless on his own.

“Not many do. We kind of… Well, money isn’t an issue with us so he’s well cared for and always will be, but… I hate it. Shutting him away in here makes it easier for everyone to forget what they did. They should have to—they should see what they did. Every day.” Derek stands up, turning to leave before he can say anymore because this isn’t like him. He doesn’t break down in front of people. He doesn’t open up to anyone, let alone ramble to a boy he barely knows, but Stiles is magnetic like that. He softens Derek, and he’s not really sure why. 

“Derek.” Stiles puts a hand on Derek’s chest, but when he sees Derek glaring down at it, he removes his hand and holds it up in surrender. If Derek weren’t going through about fifty loaded trains of thought right now, he’d laugh. The little brat loves to spout sarcastic bravado until he’s confronted with a real threat. He knows when to back down. Smart. “Tell me what happened. Please?”

There are those eyes again. Trusting and full of concern. Derek doesn’t know how he finds himself being led to the hospital waiting room by a sixteen-year-old boy, sitting down and telling him the story of how the Argents tried to kill his entire family, but he lets it happen, following Stiles like he’s in some kind of trance. 

“Jesus Christ…” Stiles lets out a long exhale and rubs his eyes. “Scott is not gonna be able to wrap his head around this. He has a tendency to—”

“Be extremely naïve?”

“He’s not like you and me. He doesn’t know that life is dark and about eighty percent of people are total shitbirds.”

“You and me? Stiles, you know nothing about how dark life can get.” Derek rolls his eyes at Stiles’ attempt to bond. They are not equals.

“How about watching your mom slowly lose her mind from frontotemporal dementia when you’re about, oh, ten years old? And at the end, just before she dies, she alternates between not knowing who the hell you are and having these paranoid delusions that you’re evil and you’re going to kill her. How’s that for dark?” When Stiles looks at Derek, there’s a fiery challenge in his eyes, but it’s quickly replaced by a bone-deep sorrow, a quivering in his lower lip that makes Derek regret being such a reactive asshole.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Not many do,” Stiles says, mocking Derek with his own words. “Anyway, I’m sorry too. I don’t know why they did that to your family, but I know there’s no reason that could ever, ever make that okay.”

“They did it because they’re Hunters. It’s what they do.”

Stiles doesn’t seem to know what to say to that, and Derek can’t blame him. With the whole Allison and Scott thing, it’s all pretty complicated. 

“Why didn’t he heal? I mean, that’s what you guys do, right?”

“Usually, but we’re not invincible. We get injured, we feel pain, and what happened… It was so severe, it put him in a coma. Not everything heals the same way, but I honestly thought someday he would. Slowly, maybe, but eventually, he’d be—whatever, it doesn’t matter. What are you doing here anyway?” He’s said far too much. Best to deflect before they wade any further into this murky water.

“I followed you. I could tell there was something you weren’t telling Scott. I tend to, um, snoop a lot? Call it a natural curiosity and tendency toward delinquent behavior,” Stiles says with a playful smile. “A cop’s kid has to get their thrills somewhere, right?”

“You’re an idiot. Snooping in this town is the quickest way to die before you’re old enough to leave it.”

“Yeah, no shit. Kinda learning that after the whole ‘trapped in the school while a deadly werewolf tries to kill us’ incident. At least I have you and Scott to protect me. You’ll figure it out, right? Who the Alpha is?” Stiles’ smile wavers with uncertainty, and Derek doesn’t have any reassurance to give him. 

All this carnage, and he’s still no closer to finding the Alpha. It could be anyone.

***

After the cabin weekend, a door was opened. They’d reached a new level of inappropriate, and there was no turning back. Derek spent more weekends at Peter’s apartment, and his mother Talia seemed none the wiser. If anything, she was happy to see them growing closer, happy for Derek to have a man in the pack to look up to in lieu of his absent father. So much of his mother’s focus was devoted to taming willful Laura and young, energetic Cora. Derek had always been lost somewhere in the middle, independent enough for everyone to think he didn’t need constant monitoring.

“My strong, silent boy,” she would say with a proud smile and an affectionate ruffle of his hair.

Maybe that was why it was so easy to fall into Peter. Peter understood what it meant to be overlooked. Peter understood what it meant to ache with a need that could never be filled.

Derek fretted about his pungent chemosignals, but then again, teenage wolves were constantly steeped in arousal. Maybe there was no way to tell who he was feeling it for, only that he was feeling it. Showers helped to cover the scent of come on each other’s skin, but he worried about that too. It was like spraying luminol over blood: a wolf with a truly sharp nose could smell what was buried underneath. 

He worried, but he loved having a secret too, the deliciousness of it, the way it made him feel special. He’d never had anything to hide from the pack before, and this felt like an entirely separate life. 

In Peter’s apartment, the rules were different. They stayed up late and kissed and touched whenever they wanted. Peter ordered whatever delivery food Derek wanted, and they ate out of paper containers on th e living room floor, music pouring from Peter’s record player. They danced and laughed and watched movies, and Derek forgot about everything outside of the walls that confined them. Peter actually cared about Derek’s thoughts. He asked Derek about himself in a way no one else really did. It was like they were a real couple, and Derek cherished every second.

That sick, guilty feeling started to fade although he still experienced a pang of regret when his mother asked him how the weekend was, if he’d had fun with Uncle Peter. But it was no longer present when they had sex. Derek only felt the pleasure of it, the warmth of Peter’s mouth on his, the comforting weight of Peter’s body on top of him, the orgasms that were a thousand times better than anything he felt when he touched himself alone in his room. It only seemed to get better each time too, like Peter knew everything about his body, all the secret buttons to push, all the ways to make him moan and claw at the sheets. 

They never did that thing Peter had with other men, but they did everything else. Peter loved when Derek would get shy about doing something new. The first time Peter put Derek on his stomach and licked across that spot, the one Derek couldn’t believe Peter wanted to touch with his tongue, he wriggled and blushed his way through it, grateful to be able to hide his face in the pillow.

“You make the most gorgeous noises, sweetheart,” Peter said, spreading Derek’s cheeks apart and licking like he wanted to consume him. “You don’t know how much I love this, how good you are for giving it to me. You taste divine.”

Sometimes Peter would make a game of it, seeing how many times he could make Derek come until his cock pulsed dry, his balls completely empty.

They’d sleep together, of course, pressed close in Peter’s bed. Derek would wake to the smell of pancakes, eggs, and bacon. Peter cooked the best breakfast feasts.

It went on like this for months and might have kept on forever, but Derek didn’t count on Paige.

Paige, with her sweet smile and rosy cheeks and nimble fingers dancing across the strings of her cello. And her smell. It was intoxicating, a strange blend of floral and loamy scents, a note of something mysterious that he couldn’t quite name. Derek, sixteen and smitten, loved her the moment he saw her in the high school hallways, and he tried to stay away, really, he did. He knew Peter would be angry, but he couldn’t help it.

Gradually, the weekends with Peter became weekends with Paige instead. Derek made fake excuses at first, but Peter found out in no time at all. There was no hiding from him. There never had been. Peter knew everyone’s secrets. 

“Pity. I thought you had better taste than that. It’s so… juvenile. I hope you enjoy blowjobs with too much teeth and long walks under the fluorescent lights of the mall.” Peter didn’t look at him as he said it, but Derek felt the venom dripping from every word.

“Don’t be mean,” Derek said weakly.

“I’m not being mean, sweetheart. I’m doing what I do best: saying what no one else will. In a month, you’ll be forgotten to her, and she’ll be forgotten to you.”

After that, Peter rarely said anything at all to him. He regarded Derek with a cold dispassion interspersed with biting insults. Gone were the abundant hugs and reassuring touches. As Peter grew more distant, Derek grew closer to Paige, but something was wrong. Derek didn’t understand why, but he couldn’t enjoy himself with Paige the same way he did with Peter. He liked her, liked spending time with her, loved her laugh and her kindness, but when they’d fumble around under the bleachers, against a tree in the Preserve, ducking into a classroom in the middle of the day, Derek struggled to get hard. He got distracted, anxious, numb. 

Even when he’d finally get excited enough to really do something, it was like he was standing on one side of a wall and Paige was on the other. He couldn’t feel much, his orgasms forgettable and weak. It was nothing like it was with Peter, that mind-blowing, toe-curling sensation that made him howl and bite at Peter’s shoulder.

“Feeling frustrated, dear nephew? Dissatisfied, perhaps?” As Derek came home one night, a smug Peter was waiting for him on the porch. He was sitting in a rocking chair tipped back, his legs crossed at the ankle and resting on the porch railing, arms folded behind his head, smiling like he knew everything without needing to be told. “You smell awful.” 

“Shut up,” Derek muttered, rushing past him, but Peter caught him by the wrist. 

“Maybe there’s a fundamental element missing, if you catch my drift.”

Derek’s mouth twitched with fury, his eyes flashing gold.

“Why are you looking at me like it’s a full moon, and I’m a helpless rabbit you’re about to devour? I mean that she’s human, not a werewolf. Did you think I meant something else?” Peter’s grin widened into something evil, and Derek shook his wrist hard, twisting out of Peter’s grasp and walking into the house.

But Peter didn’t leave it at that. He kept planting the idea into Derek’s head bit by bit, showing up when Derek least expected it.

“Why does she eat alone?” Peter asked, sitting down across from Derek and motioning to Paige, who was perched on a bench a few yards away. Derek was eating lunch at a table in the outdoor courtyard at school. He’d never even heard Peter approaching, but then again, he had no reason to be listening for him. He’d never stopped by Derek’s school during the day. He used to occasionally pick Derek up when school was over, but not anymore.  

“What are you doing here?” 

“Looking out for my favorite nephew. Making sure no one has a crossbow aimed at your throat,” Peter said, smiling like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he always came to check on Derek throughout the day. 

“I could get you banned from school grounds, you know. You’re too old to be here.”

“No one would ban me from anywhere. I’m too good looking. And if you call me old again, I’ll be the one pointing a crossbow at your throat.” Peter glared at him before nodding over to Paige. “Doesn’t she have any friends?”

“A few, but she likes studying during lunch. And I kind of don’t think she likes my friends.”

“No one should like your friends. They’re a bunch of hormonal halfwits.” Peter pilfered an apple from Derek’s lunch box and nodded toward Paige. “But her… I’m beginning to understand what you see in her. She’s perfect for you. And perfect combinations are rare in an imperfect world. It would worry me too, though. I’d probably be thinking about it all the time.”

“Thinking about what?”

“Her finding out. You’ve thought that through, right?” Peter took a hearty bite of the apple, the loud crunch almost menacing, and raised an eyebrow at Derek’s lack of response. “You know it always happens. One minute you’re in blissful teen romance, and the next she’s seeing fangs, glowing eyes, the claws. There’s screaming, shouting. ‘Oh my god, what are you? Don’t touch me. Stay away from me!’” 

“She wouldn’t be like that! And she doesn’t have to find out anyway,” Derek insisted, arms crossed defensively. He wished Peter would leave. Why was he here anyway? What did he want? He’d forgotten how cruel Peter could be, how he delighted in crushing the joy of others when he thought it was something too simple and naïve to be taken seriously, something worthy of an eye roll. 

“But they always do. There’s really only one way to make sure you’ll always be together,” Peter said with a final bite of the apple, tossing the core to the ground. “Turn her.”

“Why would you say that? You’ve been making fun of me for weeks. You made it sound like you hated her, like you—” Like you hated me too. Derek didn’t say it. He wasn’t the best at understanding Peter’s mind games, but he knew when to shut up and not add fuel to his vengeful fire.

“That was before I paid closer attention, before I saw you two together. I just want you to be happy, Derek. You know that, right?” Peter’s smile was warm, but there was something slimy underneath it, a cold strangeness Derek didn’t understand until days later, when he found himself holding Paige’s body, black blood oozing from the werewolf bite in her right side, dark rivers pouring from her mouth and eyes as Derek wondered how this all went so wrong.

Paige begged him to snap her neck, to end the pain, and Derek obeyed, tears streaming down his cheeks as he honored her final wish, his eyes flashing a hard, bright cobalt. 

It was only then that Peter stepped out of the shadows.

“I guess she wasn’t strong enough to survive the Bite. Not everyone is. You know,” Peter strolled forward, his arms held behind his back, “I kept thinking about that smell, did you notice it? She had the most unique scent, but I couldn’t place it until now. Some illnesses, they have a scent only creatures like us can identify, a scent too weak for humans to detect. Lupus. Nothing fatal, but it would have surely dampened her quality of life when she reached her twenties. Or maybe she would have been one of the lucky ones who—”

“You knew this would happen!” Derek screamed, the words half human, half wolf, a roar creeping into the syllables.

“How could I have known that, Derek? Who survives the bite and who doesn’t… It’s mostly speculation. Supernatural life doesn’t follow the principles of modern science. I’m only guessing. Autoimmune disorders weaken the—”

“Shut up! Just shut the fuck up! You did this! You always do this, you—you make me think everything is my idea, but you’re the one doing it. You’re always the one doing it.”

“You make it sound like I’m God, Derek. Or the devil himself. I’m just a person, same as you. I’m your family or did you forget that?” Peter sneered. “You chose to ask Ennis. You chose to have him turn her and see what would happen. You did that, Derek. Not me. Maybe next time you’ll be a bit more discerning. Decisions have consequences, Derek. It’s best to think everything over before you do something reckless that you’ll regret.”

Part of Derek believed him. Part of Derek still believes him because he’s always been prone to guilt and self-flagellation. He’s always been ready to assume the sole blame for every misfortune that befalls him. 

And Peter knew that. 

***

He should have figured it out. He should have known. Of course the Alpha is Peter. Even when he seems helpless, he’s still pulling the strings. Nothing’s changed. Time is a flat circle, and Derek is making the same mistakes again. Peter’s the one who’s been on a murderous rampage this entire time, sedate in his hospital room during the day, feigning catatonia until he can wreak havoc at night. 

“That wasn’t nice. She was my nurse,” Peter remarks as he looks down at the woman Derek just knocked out cold, eerily calm as he strides closer.

“She’s a psychotic bitch helping you kill people. Stiles, get out of the way,” Derek warns, fangs dropping as he gets ready to strike. 

“He must like you, Stiles. Derek doesn’t usually like to share with the class, but the words just seem to pour out around you.”

So he’s been listening too. How much has he heard? Derek starts to sift through every vulnerable confession he’s made, knelt next to Peter’s hospital bed, believing he would never get up again. But there’s no time for that. Peter’s killed, and he’s going to do it again if Derek doesn’t stop him.

“You think I killed Laura on purpose? One of my own family?” Peter says, as if reading Derek’s mind, and maybe he is. He’s always been in Derek’s head to an uncomfortable degree, able to excavate the hidden thoughts without permission. Derek charges at him, but Peter intercepts the blow easily, slamming Derek into the wall, bits of plaster raining down. “My mind, my personality, was literally burned out of me. I was being driven by pure instinct.”

Derek tries to lunge at him again, but Peter kicks him square in the chest, sending him back to the floor. Derek tastes the coppery tang of blood filling his mouth. 

“So what is it you want, Peter? Forgiveness?! She was my sister, your niece—” 

“I want understanding, that’s all, dear nephew. Do you have any idea what was happening to me in those years? Slowly healing cell by cell. Then even more slowly coming back to consciousness. But I suppose you wouldn’t know. You left me here. Families are supposed to take care of each other, Derek.” 

“There was nothing I could do.” Even as he says it, Derek feels guilty. It’s not like he didn’t think about it while he was away, not like he didn’t wonder if he was doing the right thing. But the pain of staying here was too much. Everywhere he turned, there were reminders of past horrors, an inability to move on and build new memories. Leaving felt like the only viable option, the only way to make a life that added up to something more than ashes and bitterness.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. Becoming an Alpha, taking that from Laura, it pushed me over a plateau in the healing process. Maybe if you’d been here, you could have found me someone else. Maybe it wouldn’t have come to this. I can’t help that now. I tried to tell you what was happening. I tried to warn you. You have to at least give me a chance to explain. After all… we’re family.” The way Peter says it, a sinister smile spreading across his newly healed lips, it sounds like less of an avowal and more of a threat. And when he bends down and kisses Derek, hard and bruising, it feels less like love and more like a promise of ugly things to come.

“Are you going to kill me?”

“No, sweetheart. I could never do that. I love you, you know that. Everything I’m doing? It’s a chance for us to start over. I did it for you, for us. We can be a family again, a pack, just you and me. But first, the people who did this to us have to pay the price for their sins. Wouldn’t you agree?” 

Peter strokes Derek’s hair, his cheek. He dips his nose into the crook of Derek’s neck and inhales deeply. That’s when Derek notices Stiles, still crouched on the floor, paralyzed in fear and watching all of it.

***

“You've already decided. I can smell it on you,” Peter whispers, his eyes a bright contrast to his charred skin as he stares up at Derek. He’s lying on the ground, his breathing labored and slow. Scott and Stiles may have torched Peter’s body with incendiary chemicals, but it’s not finished yet. This final step? It’s for Derek and only him. Maybe it should be that way. He feels responsible for Peter, guilty for too many things to count. “I love you, Derek.”

Derek hesitates, his clawed hand raised in the moonlit night, his mouth quivering as he thinks of simpler times, rainstorms and campfires and warm embraces. It’s not like he doesn’t understand what Peter was trying to do. Derek’s angry too. He understands the need for revenge on the Argents and everyone who helped them, but he also knows Peter won’t stop there. Not unless someone else stops him first.

Derek closes his eyes, and, with a deep breath, he shakes free of the past and slices his way into the present, severing Peter’s artery and watching him bleed out, watching the last spark of light leave Peter’s eyes and dance over to his own irises, shifting his doleful blues to a blazing red.

Derek doesn’t want to be an Alpha. He resents the power the very second he feels it snaking under his skin, sizzling like the flames that nearly killed them all, a crackling blaze that might burn him from the inside out. But the deed is done, and in the end, there was no other way. He knows that.

What he doesn’t expect is for Stiles to show up at the door to his new loft (it was time to stop cowering in the wreckage of the Hale house) days later, a nervous look in his honey-colored eyes, his weight shifting from foot to foot, the usual sarcastic deflections all gone.

After a certain amount of stern, intimidating looks from Derek, Stiles finally says, “He kissed you.”

Jesus Christ. In the middle of everything, Derek forgot that Stiles saw.

“He also murdered a bunch of people in a frenzy. What’s your point?” Maybe he can get Stiles to drop it, convince him it wasn’t anything.

“Look, I know you’re probably going to slam me into a wall and tell me to fuck off since that’s basically your default response to anyone trying to get to know you, but… Some of the stuff you’ve said, it’s starting to add up. And when I saw him kiss you like that and touch you and—” Stiles stops mid-sentence when Derek punches the wall, knocking a brick loose. He has to get it together, compose himself. If he seems rattled, Stiles will know something’s there, and he’ll keep poking at it. “I just wanted you to know I’m here if you ever want to talk, okay?”

“There’s nothing to talk about. It wasn’t what you think. It’s not the same for wolves. We’re physical creatures. Family lines are—” He has to stop. He’s only digging the hole deeper. Every attempt at justification is only going to add to Stiles’ suspicions. “It’s nothing, Stiles. Leave it alone.”

“If it’s nothing, why are you shaking?” Stiles says, a cautious hush to the words as he gestures to Derek’s hand. 

When Derek looks down, he sees the tremor in his fingers, and he knows it’s not an itch to destroy something. It’s what happens when you shove the painful memories into the recesses of your mind, hoping to tamp them out like a candle snuffer sealed over a fledgling flame. They never really disappear. They find a way out.

“Derek, I know you think you’re alone. I know you’ve gotten used to feeling that way, but it’s not true. Maybe it was for a while, after the fire, but it’s not anymore.” Stiles looks so earnest. He really means every word of it. Derek almost hates to send him away, but he has to. This isn’t something he can bear to share. Not with Stiles, not with anyone. 

When Derek slams the loft door behind him, he sinks to the floor and braces his hands on the concrete, afraid to lift them up again until he’s sure they won’t shake.

***

After what happened with Paige, maybe Derek shouldn’t have fallen back into the comfort of Peter’s arms, but he did. Derek was hurt and withdrawn, and Peter was there. He was always there, even when no one else was, even when Derek’s presence barely registered to the rest of the family. Peter was ready to lick the wounds he’d created, to soothe the bruises over with kisses.

In time, Derek started to believe Peter was right, that he didn’t know what would happen, didn’t plan Paige’s demise. How could he? He couldn’t see into the future. He wasn’t a Druid blessed with the gift of visions. Surely he wouldn’t have staked someone’s life on a mere guess. If it had backfired and Paige’s body had accepted the Bite, Peter would have only made her and Derek closer. Why would he risk that? Peter would dole out these explanations, and they would take root in Derek’s head, planting seeds of doubt until he wasn’t sure what was true anymore.

And so they took up together again, Derek soaking in Peter’s love like a flower reaching toward the sun. Derek was getting stronger, coming into his own as a wolf, seventeen and full of vigor as they ran together in the Preserve, wrestling each other to the ground, laughing and howling in the dark. Crouched in the back of his mind was a shadowy figure of portent, a reminder that this couldn’t last forever, someone would find out and tear them apart. Or maybe one of them would meet someone else, realize how unsustainable this was, that it was always meant to dissolve into vapor. 

But that didn’t happen. They only grew more tangled as time went on, entwined like two interminable vines deep under the earth, impossible to extricate. Every bit of shame Derek had felt was gone. He let Peter fuck him, really fuck, because he wanted it now, was ready for it, couldn’t think about anything else but the blinding pleasure. He wanted Peter inside him all the time—his fingers, his cock, his tongue, anything he could get—and Peter was all too happy to oblige. They were getting reckless, too blinded by their desire to be careful anymore, grabbing at each other whenever they could, and Derek’s mother started to ask him pointed questions.

Perhaps she thought they were subtle, but Derek could tell what she was after.

“You’re spending a lot of time with Peter. Everything okay with you and your friends? You’d tell me if something were wrong, wouldn’t you, Derek? You can tell me anything.”

Derek doesn’t know if she ever saw them together or if it was only speculation. He never had a chance to find out, not before she died in the fire.

***

Derek does his best to fulfill the Alpha role, but it’s a cursed endeavor from the start. He thinks he’s selecting teenagers who need him, who would benefit from confidence and freedom and a way to escape the yokes around their necks, the stifling limitations of lives they didn’t choose.

In the end, it’s like he handed the keys to a brand new Ferrari to impulsive drunk teenagers who will wrap it around a tree the first time they take it out. It’s too much power for their fractured, traumatized, hormonal minds. It doesn’t heal what ails them; it amplifies the pain and makes them mistake revenge for moving forward, vendettas for healthy coping mechanisms. He might as well have given them a bag of cocaine and a sack of AR-15s.

It isn’t until Derek starts to notice Isaac wanting him that way, a needy little boy looking for a father and a lover, that he realizes he’s set himself up for this. He’s made them dependent on him when he’s just as much of a fucked up, stunted person as they are. He’s a messed up kid posing as an authority figure, and they can sense it. They get restless and bored and don’t listen to him. They know he’s a fraud, and he can’t take it anymore. 

That’s why he throws the glass at the wall, not close enough to hit Isaac, but close enough to look like it was meant to. He hates himself for doing it that way, but he knows it’ll work. He knows it’ll remind Isaac of his abusive father and send him skittering away for good.

He’s no better than Peter, is he? Making people dependent on him, giving them gifts they never asked for, only to cast them aside when they need him the most, turning them out into the dark without a road map to find their way home.

When he overhears Erica and Boyd talking about their plan to leave town together, to search for an Alpha who will be everything they need, he’s relieved he won’t have to send them away too. 

Good for them for knowing their worth. God knows Derek didn’t at that age. He hopes they find what they’re looking for.

He’s grateful when they’re gone, but then the silence surrounding him fills up with regret. There’s no one here to distract him anymore, no one to keep him from sinking into despair when he remembers that Peter’s gone, that it’s his fault. 

Despite everything, he misses him and always will. Misses his touch, his voice, his poisonous love that, even at its worst, was better than anything else Derek’s ever experienced.

It’s terrible to admit it, but as devastating as the fire was, after years away, Derek started to think there was a silver lining to it. After all, it gave him a clean break, an excuse to walk away from Peter without the messy complication of his influence, his smirk, his possession. Derek got away, never having to confront the hard questions, to find out what would have happened if they’d kept on long after he turned eighteen, a dark secret consuming them both.

Now, with Peter buried in the ground, that lack of a future together doesn’t feel like a blessing at all. It just widens the already gaping hole inside of Derek, a void of loss and pain he’s been trying to outrun for years.

It’s probably twisted of Derek to think this, but what Peter gave was true devotion. Who else would kill for him?

***

“It's quite a situation you've got yourself in here, Derek. I mean, I'm out of commission for a few weeks, and suddenly there's lizard people, geriatric psychopaths, and you're cooking up werewolves out of every self-esteem-deprived adolescent in town.” 

As soon as Peter was resurrected, emerging from the ground covered in dirt and ash, poor Lydia Martin sitting in the corner of the burned-out Hale house, baffled at how this came to be, how Peter could have infiltrated her head and steered her like a puppet to accomplish this strange ritual, Derek knew he’d be coming for him. It was only a matter of when. Derek really needs to upgrade the security system on his loft.

“What do you want, Peter?” 

“Well, I want to help. You're my nephew. The only relative I have left. You know, there's still a lot I can teach you. Can we just talk?” 

Derek looks him up and down, taking in the New and Improved Peter Hale 2.0. He’s less disheveled and unhinged than the last time Derek saw him, hair and beard neatly trimmed, clothes fitting his body obscenely well. He looks much more like he used to, a haughty, suave gentleman who could tear your throat out with his teeth. Derek tries to ignore how much he likes it, discards the ping of attraction it sounds off in that sealed part of his brain, and focuses on his unresolved anger instead.

“Sure. Let's talk.” Derek grabs Peter by the collar of his ridiculously low cut v-neck t-shirt and tosses him across the room. Peter lands in a brutal crash, the wind knocked out of him because he’s weaker now. He died an Alpha but came back barely an Omega. 

“I can see those communication skills of yours are sharp as ever.”

“What is it you think I need from you, Peter?! Why are you here?”

“You’re as alone as I am, Derek. We only have each other.” Peter’s voice is grave as he stands up and dusts himself off. If Derek didn’t know any better, he’d say Peter’s a little scared.

“Which is exactly the way you wanted it. You made this happen.”

“How could I—”

“Spare me! I’m not a teenager anymore. You can’t bend the truth and make an idiot out of me like you used to. You made me this way. You made it so the only thing I’d have in my life, the only thing I’d want, is you. You didn’t want me to have anything in my life that wasn’t you.” Derek’s voice is breaking now, and he hates it. Peter might not be responsible for every tragedy that’s befallen Derek, but he’s been behind too many disasters to count. He doesn’t want Peter to know how much he’s hurt him, how deep all of this cuts. He wants Peter to think it’s all been water off his back, that he’s thriving without him, but… anyone can tell that’s not true.

“Yes,” Peter says, taking a cautious step closer, and Derek’s brow furrows at that. It’s not like Peter to be that honest about his machinations. “You’re right. I was selfish and calculating, and I wanted you above all else. I still do. But I’m sorry for so many things, Derek, you have no idea.”

“I don’t believe you. You haven’t been sorry a day in your life. You haven’t regretted a damn thing, Peter.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I had a lot of time to think because thinking was literally all I could do. I was confined to my own head for years, strapped to a hospital bed, and then… Well, let’s just say that experiencing a transformation like death and rebirth can be… transformative. Who knew?” Peter smiles weakly, letting out a muted laugh as he walks another few paces toward Derek. “I know there are veritable rivers of baggage running in the space between us, but all I’m asking for is a little—”

“Understanding? Fuck you, Peter. Get the hell out of my house.”

***

Rejecting Peter doesn’t have a lasting effect because he’s still lurking around every corner, watching Derek, biding his time in a way that makes the hairs on the back of Derek’s neck stand up. What does he want and when is he going to strike next? Derek needs to be ready, but he doesn’t know what he’s bracing himself for, exactly. As usual, it’s all mixed up in his head. 

He’s glad Peter’s back. He hates that Peter’s back. He wants him to leave. He wants him to stay. He loves Peter. He’s scared of Peter. Sure, he could deal with all of this or he could keep working it all out with his fists instead. Derek’s partial to the latter. 

Boyd, Erica and Isaac are gone, but there’s still the Gerard and Jackson of it all to contend with. Peter loves to drop little bits of information under the guise of “helping” Scott, Derek and Stiles.

Stiles hates him most of all, and it makes Derek smile to watch them snipe at each other. Sometimes he thinks that, in a different life, if Peter hadn’t been quite such an asshole, he and Stiles would have liked each other. They could have traded coded quips over everyone’s heads, congratulating each other on their wit. 

“Well, I never knew charred meat could look okay if you gave it a shower and some new clothes. I wouldn’t get too attached to your new life though, zombie wolf. I think I speak for everyone when I say we’d be happy to put you back in the ground, like, tomorrow.” Stiles glares at Peter like he’s ready to throw all one-hundred forty-seven pounds of himself at the wolf, and it touches Derek’s dead heart. He really is a great friend. Too bad his compassion is completely wasted on a lost cause like Derek.

“Aren’t you charming? Sorry, Stiles, but I think you’re a little young for him. If you’re hoping for compensation in the form of a hormonal grope fest, look elsewhere.” Peter crosses his arms and leans against the loft door, a smug, completely unbothered smile on his face.

Stiles tries to lunge at him, and Peter laughs as Derek holds him back.

“Trust me. Not worth the broken ribs,” Derek assures Stiles, who flashes him a fiercely protective look that lets Derek know exactly why Stiles is so motivated to take him down.

Stiles doesn’t mention it again though. He shoots Derek knowing glances, but he doesn’t put a name to it. Derek is grateful for small mercies because he doesn’t think he can have that conversation again.

***

Derek’s dreaming he’s outside of the Hale house watching it burn, but his feet are glued to the floor and his open mouth refuses to scream. He can’t do anything but watch the flames lick at the beams, melting them like ice cream as he listens to the shrieks of dying women and children.

“Derek!” 

He jolts upright to find Peter sitting next to him in bed, shaking him by the shoulders.

“Why are you here?” Derek puts a hand on his chest as though he can slow his erratic heartbeat. Sweat is dripping down the back of his neck, and he’s breathing hard, like he’s been running through his dreams all night. 

“Because I heard you howling across town.”

“You did?” 

“Yes. I’d recognize that sound from miles away.” Peter’s staring at him intently, like a nurse checking for vitals, fearing for the life of his patient. Derek doesn’t know what to do with that. Peter still has a firm hold on his shoulders, but Derek shrugs out of his grasp and slides to the other side of the bed. Peter seems to take that as an invitation to slot into the vacant space, lying next to Derek but not attempting to touch him again. They both stare up at the ceiling. Derek knows why he’s avoiding meeting Peter’s gaze, but he doesn’t know what Peter’s thinking. “What were you dreaming about?”

“The fire.”

“I dream about it all the time too.”

Derek risks a glance in Peter’s direction, and he’s beautiful as ever, the moonlight giving him an almost ethereal glow, his eyes bright, his neck long and lovely. His lips look soft and inviting. When Peter turns his head, Derek knows he’s smelled it. Sometimes being a wolf isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. In fact, Derek would say that’s true most of the time. There’s no way to deny the whiff of arousal Peter’s picked up on, but Derek’s prepared to wage that losing battle anyway. He waits for Peter’s smirk, for a clever little taunting comment, but it doesn’t come.

“Do you want me to leave?”

Derek is too stunned and tired to say no, so he doesn’t. Peter doesn’t shift closer, doesn’t turn on his side to face Derek. He just keeps lying flat on his back, and Derek swears he can feel the heat pooling in the space between them.

Knowing Peter’s lying there next to him, knowing he’ll be there to shake him awake if the nightmares descend, makes it easier for Derek to fall back asleep.

***

The next time they’re alone, it’s during the full moon, and Derek thought Peter would have known better than to show his face on this night of all nights. Derek is feeling particularly jittery, but then again, it’s been that way since he became an Alpha. Full moons are even more heightened now, a sensory overload that drives him straight into the center of a confusing triad of horny, angry, and euphoric.

When Peter comes through the door, Derek’s fist immediately collides with his face.

“Go ahead, sweetheart. After all, we both know I deserve it.” Peter wipes the blood from his lip, and Derek doesn’t know if he wants to lick it away or hit him again, turn the red streak into a gush. When Derek punches him again, the force of it knocks Peter to the floor, but his sass is still intact. “Well, now we’re bordering on excessive. Don’t you think there are healthier ways to express your anger? Perhaps we could have a nice chat like real adults.”

Derek growls and lifts Peter up, his hands wrapped around his waist, and hurls him toward the stairs, where he lands with a sickly crunch of metal against bone.

“Okay, fine. Do it. Hit me. Hit me all you want. I can tell it’s cathartic,” Peter says through labored breaths, slowly scrambling to his feet. “You’re getting out the rage, the self-loathing, all of the anger that comes with total and complete failure. You’ve lost all your Betas. You’ve suffered incalculable losses, one after the other, and I know I’ve played my part. So go ahead and hit me if it makes you feel better. After all, I did say I wanted to help you.”

“You can’t help me. You’ve never done anything in your life resembling help. You make things worse, and you fucking revel in the ruin you leave behind.”

“You’re not wrong.” Peter shrugs and holds his hands out in supplication. “But you know I didn’t mean to kill Laura. You know I wasn’t myself, and you can see that I came back different. Yes, I’m still a manipulative, narcissistic asshole, but the noise is gone now. No incomprehensible rage with a side of deeply degenerative confusion.”

“You think—fuck, Peter, it’s not just about Laura! Were you in a coma-induced psychosis when you convinced me to find an Alpha to turn Paige? Or when we started fucking when I was fifteen?” Derek shuts his mouth tight as he realizes what he’s just said. In the years since the fire, he’s had an unspoken pact with himself to never name it, to never say it out loud. It’s bad enough that he says Peter’s name when he fists his cock and comes all over his hand. 

Judging from the way Peter’s gaping at him, Derek’s guessing he’s surprised to hear it too.

“This is why we need to talk. Not that I don’t appreciate your need to pummel your problems away, but—”

Derek cuts Peter off with another blow to his chest because talking is the last thing he wants to do. While Peter is doubled over in pain, Derek rushes him, sending him to the floor again. Derek is straddling him now, hitting his face, his chest, his stomach, claws shredding Peter’s shirt and leaving scratches across his torso, blood trails running down his skin. 

Eventually, the surge of adrenaline passes, and Derek’s still straddling Peter’s hips, catching his breath as he looks down at the destruction he wrought and realizes something.

Derek’s hard. Painfully hard. The hunger for destruction and sex are laced together, and that’s when he realizes it was no mistake that Peter came here tonight. He wasn’t being foolish about the elevated atmosphere of the full moon. He wanted it. Derek grinds his hips down, an undeniable heat flooding his groin, and Peter makes a noise that’s halfway between a groan of pain and a request for more. God, he looks gorgeous like this. Dirty with blood and sweat, panting and helplessly pinned underneath Derek. 

“Take your shirt off,” Derek says, the words slurred and unbidden, like he’s drunk and can’t control his tongue.

“What’s left of it, you mean?” Peter jokes, lifting up just enough to shuck off his torn t-shirt.

He’s beautiful. All rippling muscle shadowed in moonlight, blood running down his otherwise spotless skin, no trace of the burn scars that once marred his body. It’s very unfair of him to somehow get even more attractive after dying and clawing his way out of the dirt. Derek wants to lick the blood off, and maybe if he weren’t the victim of lunar influence tonight, he’d swat that thought away, but he doesn’t. Instead, he bends down and traces his tongue over one long line of crimson. 

Peter trembles. He moans like a starved man taking his first bite of a divine meal. 

“Yes, god, Derek, you have no idea how much I—”

Derek shuts him up with a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue, a bite more than anything else, and it’s like he blinks and they’re both naked, pushing against each other’s bodies on the concrete floor, two ravenous animals in heat. Tomorrow, Derek will wake from this pheromone stupor like an alcoholic emerging from a blackout, shameful snapshots of the night clicking by, a reel of regret playing in a theater constructed solely for his torture. But right now, Peter’s sucking on his neck and squeezing his ass, and it feels so fucking good. It’s that apex of pleasure he’s been seeking with every failed partner since, everyone a poor substitution for the real thing. 

It’s not gentle. They’re snarling and snapping, wolfed out and rapacious. They don’t have to be careful with each other. They have the same supernatural bodies equipped for force and impact, pain and transformation. Eventually, Derek manages to stand and stagger to the bedroom, looking over his shoulder to make sure Peter’s following. 

“Do you know how utterly perfect you look right now?” Peter’s eyes soften into something less hungry and more worshipful, his wolfish features fading to leave behind his human face, and it’s strange that Derek didn’t think about how many times Peter might have imagined this union, how much he might have longed for it. Derek assumed his mind was as stagnant as his body during those supine years.

Derek lies on his back, shyness creeping in because Peter complimenting him like that brings on a torrent of memory. Peter gets on top of him, pressing his full weight down, pinning Derek to the bed, and it’s an anchor that’s more soothing than it has any right to be. Peter kisses him in a way that’s so familiar, it makes him want to cry. A hundred memories of clandestine kisses flash across Derek’s mind, and he whimpers without meaning to, chasing Peter’s mouth over and over again, letting his hands roam over those strong shoulders and sculpted back, moaning every time their cocks slide together. 

“What do you want?” Peter asks, and it’s a strange question to hear from a man who loves to take, take, take. But he rises up on his elbows, hovering above Derek, the first real pause they’ve taken since this all started, and he looks like he means it.

“I don’t—I don’t know.” Derek shuts his eyes, embarrassed to be fumbling when he was taking charge only a minute ago, but this is catching him off-guard.

“Yes, you do. My good boy,” Peter whispers, trailing kisses down Derek’s neck. Derek gasps, struck by the weight of hearing those words after so long. It stirs something inside him that he didn’t know was there, like he’s been missing some fundamental part of himself that he’d forgotten, an empty space on a shelf that he’d fill if only he could remember the shape of what used to live there. “Tell me.”

“I want your mouth on me.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

“Excellent choice,” Peter says with a lascivious grin, kissing and licking his way down Derek’s body. He flicks a nipple with the tip of his tongue, taking the hard bud into his mouth and sucking with a light scrape of his teeth. 

He remembers what I like.

It’s an indescribable feeling, having the person who knows his body best lavish attention on every inch, taking his time and leaving no spot untouched. It’s like he’s inside Derek’s head, knowing exactly what he wants and how he wants it. Peter’s tongue is hot and wet, laving over Derek’s ribs and his stomach, sucking gently on his hip with that perfect pressure that almost tickles but not quite. It makes him squirm in the best way, and he remembers being sixteen and moving just like this under Peter’s mouth, laughing delightedly and fisting his fingers in Peter’s hair.

When Peter reaches Derek’s cock, he doesn’t touch it yet. He noses in the crease of his upper thigh, deeply inhaling his scent, tracing his tongue along the fold, dipping down until he reaches Derek’s balls, gently rolling each one in his hands, sucking a little bit but not too much. Just enough to make Derek buck his hips and let out a breathy, “please, Peter, please.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Peter murmurs, licking along the underside of his cock once before he swallows him down without warning, enveloping Derek’s cock in that tight, velvet heat.

It makes Derek cry out and thrust up, unable to stop seeking more, more. Maybe he should back off, but he doesn’t want to. He wants to fuck Peter’s mouth and watch him take it, so he does. Peter surrenders to it, moaning around his mouthful until he can’t anymore, Derek’s cock so deep in his throat that the only sound in the room is the wet, choking squelch of it. Derek plunges his cock in and out, holding Peter’s head down and using him. 

“Oh fuck, your mouth—” Derek moans, a merciless speed to his thrusts because Peter can take it; Derek knows he can. When Derek comes down Peter’s throat, he keeps holding him down, not letting go until every last drop has been spilled, his cock pulsing and pulsing with each rush of sensation. Peter moves away, letting Derek’s sticky cock fall from his mouth, and he looks so debauched and sexy. His mouth is red and wet, saliva dripping down his chin. He also looks ready for more, and Derek’s happy to oblige. Derek’s healing factor makes it easy to have marathon sex if he’s in the mood for it, but there’s never been anyone he wanted to do that with. Not since Peter. 

“Turn over,” Peter says, a gravelly note to his voice, and Derek can tell the roles have flipped. 

Derek does as he’s told, whining in anticipation because the tension of this moment is beyond loaded. Derek’s about to get something he hasn’t had in years, to fulfill the promise of those memories that kept him going in Peter’s absence. He hears Peter rooting around in the nightstand, but he doesn’t look. He buries his face in the bed and lets Peter spread his legs and slick his hole, shamelessly thrusting back and forth on the sheets to let Peter know how much he wants it. 

The first press of Peter’s cock to his hole makes them both gasp, and when he’s fully seated, it’s amazing. He fills Derek like no one else ever has, chases away the emptiness in every sense of the word. It starts off slow, but it’s not long before Derek’s begging for Peter to go harder, faster, to fuck him like he means it. 

Peter doesn’t waste any time. Soon, they’re both wolfed out again, fucking in a frenzy, destroying the sheets, the bed threatening to break underneath them from the force of it. Peter’s chest is pressed to Derek’s back, his hands wrapped around Derek’s wrists, holding them to the bed as he bites and licks at Derek’s neck, whispering filthy things in his ear, telling him how good he feels, how he wants to be inside him all the time, how he’s the best fuck Peter’s ever had, the only one for him, the only one he ever wants.

Derek comes untouched, a thing he didn’t even know he could do anymore, and Peter keeps fucking him through it, coming inside his ass and staying there for a while, collapsed on top of Derek as they both catch their breath. 

When they separate, Peter gets off the bed and extends a hand to Derek, who gives him a puzzled look but takes his hand all the same.

Peter leads him to the bathroom and turns on the shower, stepping in once the water’s warm. After Derek gets in behind him, Peter steers him toward the water and starts to lather body wash between his hands, rubbing it all over Derek’s torso.

“What are you doing?”

“Washing you,” Peter simply says, tenderly massaging Derek’s muscles, working from one section to the next, and it’s then that Derek remembers they used to do this. A ritual of cleansing afterward, something he used to think was only for the sake of helping them evade detection, but it wasn’t just for that. As Peter touches him, careful and thorough, Derek realizes it’s a gesture of love too. 

Peter tilts Derek’s head back under the warm spray, wetting it before rubbing shampoo into his scalp.

“When was the last time someone took care of you?” Peter asks. It’s a simple question, but it cuts deep. 

Derek doesn’t say it, but they both know the answer: not since you, no one since you.  

“Oh sweetheart, you’ve been so alone. I’m so sorry. Not anymore. Never again.” Peter kisses Derek’s damp neck, and it feels like salvation.

Afterward, when they’re back in bed, Peter holds him tightly, draped around Derek’s back, his arm fastened around his waist, and suddenly, Derek’s twelve and asleep, being carried from the living room to his bed and tucked in safely. Fifteen and cuddled in a rainstorm, listening to Peter’s heartbeat as the thunder rolls. Seventeen and riding his cock, having the bittersweet feeling that it’ll be the last time before he graduates and goes away, meeting people his own age, starting all over again. Twenty-two and choosing this in an irrefutable way, a change he knows will usher them past a new frontier. 

No turning back now.

***

“We can’t do this.” Derek groans and rolls over. They’re in bed and have been for the better part of two days. Now that Derek can touch Peter again, he can’t stop. He knows there will come a time when he has to emerge from their nest of lust and take a long, hard look at what he’s done. He was hoping to put it off for a while longer, but apparently his mouth has other ideas, blurting this out of its own accord.

“I think it’s a little late for that. We’ve been doing this for a couple days now, longer if we’re counting all the years before the fire.” Peter stretches out long and lean, his arms folded behind his head, that distracting body on full display. 

“You know what I mean. We can’t keep doing this.”

“Are you saying that because you don’t want to or because you’re scared?” 

God, he’s infuriating.

“Of course I’m scared! Who in their right mind wouldn’t be scared of this?”

“You know, most of the taboo surrounding incest comes from the fact that you shouldn’t produce children. All those European aristocrats of yore with their inbred features, smashed noses like those dogs who can barely breathe.”

“You think this is funny?” 

“A little, yes.” Peter smiles playfully, but when he sees Derek’s scowl, he adds, “I’m simply making the pragmatic point that we can’t have children, Derek. No danger of birth defects and strange consequences to the gene pool. Just you and me. Together.”

“How do I know you’re not going to kill me?” 

“How do I know you aren’t going to kill me? You did once before, dear nephew. One could argue I have a lot more reason to be wary than you do,” Peter says, but Derek is still dubious. “You don't actually think I want to be the Alpha again, do you? That wasn't my finest performance, considering it ended in my death. It was a means to an end, nothing more. I understand I can be a bit Machiavellian, but I’m also incredibly lazy when faced with all the boring responsibility that leading a pack entails. You’re not in danger there.”

Derek doesn’t speak for a while, mulling over the endless complexities of everything that’s happened between them from his early teen years to now, and Peter surprises him by breaking the silence with this, “I’m sorry for what I did with Paige. I’m getting the distinct feeling you need to hear that so there it is.”

“Keep talking.” Derek sits up in bed, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Peter rolls his eyes, but he sits next to Derek and continues.

“I felt… possessive of you long before anything happened between us. I was there when you were born. I held you when you were a baby, big wide green eyes looking up at me. I knew I wanted to protect you. And later… I couldn’t look at you without thinking mate.”  

Derek knows he shouldn’t find that as alluring as he does. His heart shouldn’t soar at the thought of Peter claiming ownership over him since birth, but even after everything, all the blood and tears and broken promises, there’s a thrill that thrums through him. The prospect of being Peter’s everything, the only one to win him, still hits him like he’s fifteen years old, all raw nerves and hormones and emotions too wild to tame, wanting desperately to be loved and to figure out who he is.

In a way, Derek never stopped being that little boy. He never stopped wanting someone to hold him, protect him, and tell him it’ll be okay.

“When?”

“You might not like the answer.”

“When?” Derek asks again.

“When you were eleven or twelve. But it wasn’t sexual, not yet. It was just this fierce need, this sense of you belonging to me. I don’t know how to describe it, but I knew it was what Talia had meant when she told me about the feeling wolves get, when they know they’ve met their mate. And then a few years later, you started to grow up and fill out in all the right places. When I’d enter a room, your scent was so addictive. You were aroused every time you saw me.”

“I was, but I was also fifteen.”

Peter looks at Derek with that unnerving thousand-yard stare, the kind that always makes Derek nervous because he can’t remotely tell what Peter’s thinking.

“Do you regret it? Did you not—I thought you wanted it.” The break in Peter’s words is surprising. Is he doubting himself for once?

“I did and I didn’t, Peter. It’s all jumbled. I’d think I was ready for something, and then it happened and… I’d realize too late that I wasn’t ready. Or we’d do something, and I’d love it while it was happening but then I’d feel guilty afterwards. Like we’d done the worst thing.”

“I know. I did too sometimes.”

Derek snorts.

“Is that so hard to believe?” Peter genuinely looks hurt, which is hilarious, given the way he’s proudly spent his life as the master of machinations.

“Yes! You get a thrill out of doing the wrong thing, Peter. Guilt isn’t an emotion you’re really known for.”

“It’s not one I like to let people know I’m feeling because it’s a weakness that can be exploited, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there. I’m an excellent liar. You know that.”

“Oh, I definitely do.” Derek moves to get out of bed, but Peter clasps his wrist and pulls him back.

“Doesn’t killing me make us even? I mean, you could hardly find a more severe punishment for my transgressions, past and present.”

“I don’t know. Maybe we should try it again, just to be sure.” 

“Well, now look who’s making inappropriate jokes. I knew there was a sense of humor underneath those judgmental eyebrows.”

“What do you want with me, Peter?” 

Peter frowns like it’s a crazy question, like he can’t fathom Derek not knowing the answer.

“I want to be with you.” It’s a deceptively straightforward response because that could imply so many very complicated things.

“How?” 

“Preferably in every possible way—pack, family, friend, lover—but I’ll take what I can get. I know I’m not in the position to be asking for things.”

“We should get some sleep,” Derek says, sliding under the sheets and pulling them up tight around his shoulders. That’s enough talking for one day. There’s a rustle behind him, and a moment later, Peter’s warm body is curved around him, his soft cock pressed against Derek’s ass, his hand skating across Derek’s stomach. Derek can feel the rise and fall of Peter’s chest against his back. Derek tugs him closer, pulling at his arm until he’s locked in so tight, he can’t wriggle away, like Peter is a cage safely rooting him in place. 

“I’ll make breakfast in the morning,” Peter murmurs, kissing Derek’s ear before Derek drifts off to sleep.

***

“What do you want?” Peter asks the next morning, after they’ve finished eating the breakfast feast he crafted while Derek was still asleep. He grumbled about Derek’s barren fridge, complaining that he had to duck out for groceries because Derek “apparently only eats rotting kale and overripe oranges shoved at the back of the crisper drawer,” but he made a veritable buffet of food: buttermilk waffles with a mixed berry compote, crisp bacon, eggs Benedict, a garnish of fresh tomatoes and basil.

“Jesus Christ, Peter, the only thing I know less than what I wanted then is what I want now.” Derek’s seated at the kitchen island, Peter across from him. They haven’t bothered to get dressed. He takes a bite of waffle slathered in compote. The sauce is perfect. Not too sweet. The berries are ripe and a little tart.

“Don’t think of it in the biggest sense. What do you want right now? This very minute, not days from now, not long term.” 

Derek is quiet for a moment, considering his options, trying to grasp at his immediate instincts instead of plunging into overthinking.

“If you want me to go… If you really want that, I will,” Peter says, leaning forward, elbows braced on the island, and because Derek knows him better than anyone, he can tell that’s not entirely true. Peter is a persistent man, and when he knows what he wants? He doesn’t stop until he gets it. Still, there’s something to be said for Peter even pretending he’d back down. He’s being careful with Derek, watching what he says and does with a level of consideration that Derek’s never seen from him before.

“No, I don’t want that. I…” Derek drags his fork through a pile of berries on his plate.

“It’s okay to ask for what you need, Derek.” Peter covers Derek’s hand with his own, and Derek thinks about the many times Peter’s reminded him of this very thing, encouraging him to be bold and speak up for himself, to not fade into the background of the pack. There are upsides to Peter’s selfishness, lessons to be learned about knowing your worth.

“I want you to hold me. I want to stay in bed for another day. I want to sit in your lap like I used to. I want you to bring me everything I need today so I don’t have to move. I’m so… tired. Just everything that—I’m tired.” It’s the first time Derek’s admitted that out loud, really confronted the bone-deep exhaustion caused by the endless parade of disasters and bad decisions and unresolved trauma. It’s also the first time in a long while that he’s just opened his mouth and told another person what he needs. He’s blushing because it’s a naked, unguarded moment, but he doesn’t regret it. It feels good to be asked, and it feels even better to answer and know he won’t be judged. 

Peter smiles and clears the plates, rinsing them in the sink, and then walks toward the bedroom.

“Come here,” he says, turning around and reaching out a hand for Derek to take. Derek twines their fingers, and god, something that gentle shouldn’t feel so powerful. It lights up every nerve ending, makes Derek want to whimper and curl into a ball. Every tiny touch sends a thousand sparks through him. 

When they get in bed, Peter sits with his legs crossed and pats his thighs, motioning for Derek to sit down. It feels a bit ridiculous, being a grown man trying to arrange himself on the lap of another grown man, but Derek sits sideways across Peter’s lap, slinging his legs over Peter’s thighs, his arms around his neck.

Peter cups Derek’s cheek and gives him a deep, filthy kiss that makes him tingly everywhere. It’s not long before Derek’s moaning into his mouth and clutching at his shoulders. By the time Peter gets a hand around Derek’s cock, he’s completely gone. Nothing exists in the world but this, Peter’s mouth and hands on him.

“Peter,” Derek whines, and he sounds like he’s fifteen again, small and desperate in Peter’s arms. He knows that’s why he wanted this, a reenactment of the past he can’t shed, can’t stop longing for, no matter how far he runs.

“Derek, sweetheart, I’ll take care of you. You know I will. Don’t I always?” Peter whispers, his hand working Derek’s cock so well, his grip tight and so fucking good, Derek can barely breathe. “That’s it, darling. Just enjoy yourself. No one touches you like I do. It’s never enough with them, is it?”

“No, never. They’re never enough for me. God, Peter, I—I missed you so much. I need you,” Derek gasps because it’s pointless not to say it anymore. Peter knows. They both do.

“I need you too, sweetheart. I always have, and I always will. I love you,” Peter says, peppering Derek’s face and neck with kisses, and Derek comes hard, practically yelping as it takes him by surprise, nipping at Peter’s shoulder as the waves crest again and again.

“I love you too,” Derek whispers into Peter’s shoulder. He clings to him for a long time, no longer embarrassed to be sitting in his lap. How could he be? It’s the place he belongs.

***

Unfortunately, they do have to leave Derek’s bed eventually. Thankfully, no one (other than Stiles, of course) seems to notice anything off with the two of them as they help Scott with his Gerard and Jackson problem. 

Weeks go by, and Derek and Peter settle into a domestic routine that shouldn’t be as easy and natural as it is. Peter cooks, he grumbles about Derek never helping with the dishes, he makes fun of Derek’s perpetual scowl, comparing him to Grumpy Cat. Derek makes fun of Peter’s need to primp in front of the mirror for an hour before they leave the house, his haircare and skincare products crowding the bathroom sink. They bicker like, well, family, which they’ve always been and apparently still are despite the untraditional arrangement. To people who didn’t know any better, they’d look like a very regular couple.

“What do we do now? I mean… what if we get caught?” Derek asks, stretched out on the couch as Peter reads next to him. It’s a question that’s been on the tip of Derek’s tongue for a while. Once the bliss of multiple orgasms and a warm, familiar body in his bed wore off, the pragmatic reality reared its head.

“No one gets to decide how we love each other, Derek. That’s between you and me. We can go where people don’t know us, if you want. We can start over somewhere.” Peter puts his book down, grabs Derek’s hand and kisses his wrist.

“I keep waiting for you to…”

“To disappoint you?” Peter says it matter-of-factly, like he’s not even offended by it. “I will, but not in the dramatic ways you’re imagining. Just the mundane ways everyone disappoints their partner. It’s different now, Derek. You’re not a little boy anymore, and technically, you’re my Alpha. Narcissistic as I am, that should enrage me, but it doesn’t. If anyone has the upper hand now, it’s you.”

“Why do you smell like you’re aroused by that?” Derek asks with a laugh.

“Because I am.” 

It’s then that he realizes Peter’s right; Derek has power he didn’t have before. He has what Peter wants. He’s holding all the cards. And yes, he is an Alpha who can kick Peter’s ass in a fight now, but it’s not about that either. Derek’s made his choice, and it was on his own terms this time. 

“I heard you when you spoke to me, you know. When I was in the coma, before you left town. Everything you said, I heard it. It kept me going,” Peter says, putting his hand on the back of Derek’s neck and pulling him in for a kiss. “I’d do anything for you, sweetheart. Burn down a thousand villages, kill a hundred more hunters.”

“That shouldn’t make me as happy as it does.” Derek smiles, and Peter kisses him again. “I’d do the same for you.”

“That’s because you’re as violent and vengeful as I am. You just forgot that for a while. You forgot what you are , but it came back to you when you made your Betas, didn’t it?”

“Yeah…” Derek sighs because he’ll never stop lamenting the way that went down. Those kids didn’t deserve to be in the middle of his mess. He’s glad they came out relatively unscathed at least. “I’d rather not have it happen like that again, but I’m no Scott McCall either. I do miss… really being a wolf. The way we were when our family was alive. I want that with you.” 

“Well, the incestuous couple that enacts violent revenge together stays together, isn’t that how the saying goes?”

“There’s something severely wrong with us both.”

“We’re imperfectly perfect, darling. Don’t question it.”

“Just give me a couple weeks to think about it, okay?” Derek averts his eyes, unsure if that’ll make Peter petulant.

“Weeks? As many near death and actual death experiences as I tend to have, I could perish before then.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

“You know who you’re talking to, right? Besides, I do have a point. We’ve lost a lot of time already,” Peter points out, his words riddled with regret.

“I know,” Derek says because he’s starting to feel that way too, an incessant need to make up for all the time apart.

***

Derek shouldn’t be doing this, but he feels compelled to say goodbye to the one person he connected with in his Peter-less years. He makes sure to stop by on a night when the Sheriff is at work because he’s not sure how he’d explain himself.

“Knocking? That’s a change of pace for you,” Stiles says when he opens the door, looking Derek up and down before stepping aside and letting him in.

“Thought I’d try something new,” Derek says with a small smile, taking a seat on the couch in the living room. Stiles sits down next to him, and they descend into an awkward silence because Derek still hasn’t figured out how to start this.

“Soooo are you going to tell me why you’re here or…?” Stiles chews at his bottom lip, and Derek wonders if he’s nervous or just being his regular twitchy self.

“I came to say goodbye.” Maybe short and to the point is best.

“You’re leaving Beacon Hills? Why?”

“Because it’s time. I never meant to come back, but then… Well, you know why I had to come back. But that’s over now, and the memories here… I don’t really want to live in the place where I lost almost everyone important to me.”

“Is he going with you?” Stiles doesn’t hide his disdain. It’s funny, for a small, sweet-natured human, Stiles can look very murderous when he wants to.

“Stiles—”

“Just tell me. You came here so just… tell me.”

“Yes.”

“Did you forget that he’s a raging psychopath?” Stiles throws up his hands in exasperation, and it makes Derek chuckle.

“He’s not anymore.”

“Oh really? He’s reformed? They have a twelve-step program for that?”

“Peter will always be Peter, but he’s not—Let’s just say he’s a mitigated version of what you think you know about him. I don’t expect you to understand what it’s like for our kind to be in a coma for that long, what it does to us, but it’s different now. And he’s my family. He’s everything to me in a way I’ll never be able to explain to you. He’s all I have left.”

There’s no way to really get Stiles to understand the lives of born werewolves. When you’re an apex predator, a deadly creature who can easily take a life, your scale of forgiveness is skewed differently than it is for humans. Derek thinks about all the dramatic things that happened in the Hale pack when his family was alive, the kills and grudges and truces. It’s a very “eye for an eye” kind of world, and in the end, he thinks Peter was right. Derek killing him is about the most severe punishment possible, a great equalizer, and now? Derek’s happier than he’s ever been. There’s no gaping hole in the middle of his life anymore, no permanent unrest and lack of purpose. He feels understood and safe again. Is there a chance it’ll all go sideways? Of course, but he has to see what happens next.

“I know you think you’re alone without him, but you’re not. You have a friend. More than one. Scott may be a little dumber—okay, a lot dumber than me, but he’s got the best heart. If you just—”

“Stiles, this isn’t a negotiation. You’ll see me again, okay?” Even as Derek says it, he knows it’s not true. He’s pretty sure Stiles does too, but Stiles sighs resignedly, like he knows there’s not much he can do about it.

“You’re a really stubborn asshole, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.” 

“I see the way he looks at you. I know there’s something—”

“Stop it. I didn’t come here to talk about that.” Derek will never admit it to Stiles. It’s a can of worms neither of them need to open.

“Then why did you come here?”

“I told you. I wanted to say goodbye. You were nicer to me than I deserved. You tried to be my friend when I needed one, even though I kept telling you I didn’t want it.”

“You’re only gonna clam up even tighter if I keep asking you about the shit you don’t want to talk about, huh?”

“Yes.”

Stiles shakes his head, his nose wrinkling in that way that makes him look like an annoyed little puppy.

“Fine, but if he hurts you, I will find him and send a whole pack of rabid Alphas after him.”

“I don’t doubt it. You’re a good friend, Stiles.”

“I’m really gonna miss those angry eyebrows.”

“I’ll miss you too.”

***

Maybe it should make Derek sad that his whole life can be packed up into a couple of suitcases that fit into the trunk of a car, but it’s actually freeing. Nothing can hold him back from doing what he wants. He’s an object in motion, and nothing can stop him from forging ahead. 

Peter comes out of the loft, leather jacket slung over his shoulder.

“Isn’t that mine?” Derek points to the jacket, and Peter grins as he puts it on.

“Yes, but it looks better on me.”

Derek rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but smile. Peter’s right. It does look better on him, and without thinking about it, Derek grabs him by the waist, pushing him up against the car and kissing him hard.

“Not worried about people seeing?” Peter says, breathless as he pulls back, his eyes hazy with lust.

“What are they going to do? Run us out of town?” Derek shrugs and walks over to the passenger side of the car.

“Well, it only took a couple of decades, but you finally learned how to make a joke.” Peter smiles and opens the driver’s side door.

When Derek left at eighteen, he felt like a criminal fleeing the scene, a man on the run who didn’t have time to stop and experience anything around him, the whole world rushing by in an unfocused blur. But as they drive off now, Peter’s hand on Derek’s thigh, it’s the exhilarating escape Derek always wanted. Their first step together into the wild unknown, neither of them looking over their shoulders as Beacon Hills recedes into the distance.