Archive of Our Own ^beta

Stiles is up on the brewstand and Derek can see him from the large window in his second floor office as he runs through the cleaning cycle at the end of a long brew day. Stiles is holding a pencil in his mouth as he checks the vessels that have already been cleaned. His buff colored work pants are wet at the hems from and frayed from chemicals and, even though his back is turned, Derek knows his t-shirt says “Hop to it” with a hop instead of an O. 

Derek can’t look away from the way Stiles’s arms flex as he opens and closes the last of the valves and removes the pencil from his mouth.

“Derek,” Boyd’s voice breaks through where Derek’s mind is about to go and he is grateful and also frustrated. 

The fantasies are all he has, but he shouldn’t have them at all, so he shoves them down where he stores all the other things he’s not supposed to think about and turns to look at his Head of Brewing Operations. Boyd hasn’t changed much in the twelve years since Derek has known him. He’s steady in their business life and in the Pack and Derek is thankful for him every day.

“What?” Derek refocuses.

Boyd sighs, his eyes flick towards the open door of their office. From his desk he can look out and see the brewstand too. He doesn’t comment on what the view is and says, “The anniversary is coming up in two months. The foeder batch will be ready, but I was thinking of having a couple other fun things, a new IPA and a new wheat for the occasion. We have time for both in the schedule.”

Derek does what he does best, and focuses on one thing, anything but Stiles, and plans with Boyd. The Anniversary Party was always a big deal, for the town and for the Pack. There were a few times a year when everyone came back home and this was one of them. The brewery is more than a business, though it started out that way, and it has become a sign of stability both to themselves and to others. 

Back when they were still finding their way, and the younger members were in college, Derek knew they all needed something. They needed some kind of outlet for all of them, a place they could work if they didn’t have any inclinations for some other profession, and Stiles came up with the brilliant idea of running a brewery and taproom. Like all other things Stiles did, he threw himself in one hundred and twenty percent, getting double degrees in brewing science and microbiology from UC Davis. 

The brewery served multiple purposes, as it turned out. It was a successful and growing business, which meant they could employ any Pack members who were so inclined to work there. It provided a steady income to individuals and the Pack itself. Lastly, it enabled them to do the thing that the Pack had always wanted to do: help omegas and other supernaturals that needed a safe place to be while they found their way.

By the time Stiles graduated, Boyd and Derek already had the barn at the edge of the Preserve renovated, the equipment in, and the permits in hand. Moon Tower Fermantarium was born, and by the second year, they were expanding with new tanks and tap offerings. Now, five years later, the brewery has a national reputation, awards under their belts, and it’s everything they ever dreamed. 

His computer pings and Derek glances at the notification. What he reads makes his heart speed up. The more he reads the more annoyed he gets and he can’t stop a low growl from escaping.

“What is it?” Boyd asks, alert.

Derek rolls his eyes. “Another email from the Carlsbad Brands and another offer to buy us out. I’ll say this, they are persistent.” Carlsbad Band was a group of breweries run out of New Mexico by the pack there and they had been hounding Moon Tower for two years, ever since Moon Tower’s first gold medal from the Great American Beer Festival.

“What is that, twice this month?” Boyd shakes his head.

“And a phone call. Scott is going to have to contact their Alpha and put this to rest. No means no.”

By the time Derek and Boyd finish up and walk down the stairs, Stiles is gone, the vessel doors are open, and the equipment is quiet. They pass the packaging area, clean and ready for tomorrow, then go through the open door that leads to the taproom.

While the production and cellar area are new construction made to look old, the taproom is old. The refurbished barn has exposed beams, rustic lights, and wooden tables of various sizes. There is a raised stage area in one corner. The front of the barn opens up with two garage doors that lead into a large front lawn with more chairs, fire pits, and more outdoor space for large parties. Despite it being a Wednesday, there are people sprinkled through both areas. 

Derek and Boyd grab their shifties, nodding to Malia who is training a new beertender, and head over to the table next to the bar that acts as the employee table most days. The regulars know to steer clear of the table and visitors who sit at the table often find themselves joined by some unexpected company. The table is already filled with people. Boyd gives Erica a kiss before he sits between her and Liam, and Derek sits in the open space between Stiles and Cora.

Stiles leans his shoulder into Derek without slowing down the conversation. Derek allows himself to soak in the pressure of Stiles shoulder and the sound of his voice so close Derek can feel it on his skin. Stiles talks with his entire body and his movements jostle Derek, but he loves it. He can feel Stiles talking, both physically and audibly, and Derek allows himself the pleasure of letting both sensations roll over him.  

“I think we should name the foeder beer for the anniversary party Hair of the Wolf. We can have a picture of ol’ grumpy face here.” Stiles jerks his thumb in Derek’s direction.

Derek scowls at Stiles because he knows that’s the expected reaction even though he thinks it’s a brilliant idea. “Only if we can call the IPA for the party,” he pauses, turns to look Stiles straight in the eye, and lets his eyes bleed blue just long enough for Stiles to see it. “Bite Me.”

The table explodes into laughter and Stiles’s crowing is the loudest of all. “Oh, this dog has jokes!”

Derek growls at Stiles but can’t help the smile that twitches at his mouth. Stiles looks at him a moment longer, a smile still transforming his face, before he turns back to the rest of the table. Derek takes a deep breath and relaxes into the settled feeling he has when Stiles is within arms reach. He takes a sip of beer, the ESB that is one of their flagships because Derek loves it so much.

Derek asks, “Liam, how did packaging go today? I didn’t hear any swearing so I assume well.”

“The new labeler is a dream so canning was smooth. We got all 100 cases done and ready to go out tomorrow on pallets.” Liam’s blue eyes shine. 

Derek nods in response and smiles at Liam. “I’m glad you talked us into the new labeler. I appreciate not having to hear the never ending stream of inventive curses as you struggle with it.”

“Hey, that was my favorite part of my day. You’ve deprived me of a pleasure that got me through the day,” Stiles protests.

Liam and Stiles look at each other and burst out laughing. Derek chuckles at both of them. Liam is playful but he’s also loyal and smart. Derek can’t throw stones at Scott for making Liam a werewolf the way he did, but he long ago told Scott that adding Liam was a great choice.

There is a brief moment when everyone at the table pauses when Scott pulls into the parking lot. A visible energy runs through everyone as their Alpha steps into the taproom. Scott, still a handsome, innocent looking man, is the Alpha Derek always knew he would be and Derek is more than happy to play Second to Scott. 

Scott stops at a few tables before he catches Malia’s eye, then heads to their table. 

“Scotty, how was your day?” Stiles yells when Scott is still ten feet away.

Scott’s smile is easy and wide. “Great. I saved a great dane that was hit by a car.”

“You’re a hero, bro.” Stiles raises his glass in a salute. 

Malia put a pint of amber ale in front of Scott. “Here you go. Is Allison coming?”

“No, she had to stay late today,” Scott replies before taking a long pull from his beer. Allison and Chris run an extreme tour guide service for outdoorsmen and hunters, the traditional kind. “I did get a call from Kira today.”

The jovial atmosphere of a few moments ago stills into attentiveness. Even Stiles stops moving next to Derek, though he can feel the held back tension in the other man. Everyone at the table pauses to listen. A call from Kira means one of two things, she is coming to visit, which everyone loves, or she is sending someone their way, which requires all hands on deck.

“She ran into an omega named Emilio in south Cali that she gave our information to. She said he is too handsome for his own good, but seemed like he might head this way. Keep an eye out for him in the next week or so.” 

Derek knows the Pack will take care of Emilio if he ever shows up and his mind goes back to the email from the Carlsbad Group. They are persistent, too persistent for Derek’s liking. Wolves are only persistent with things they really want and if they really want Moon Tower, it means the Pack could have a bigger problem than just a company trying to take them over.

Derek’s thoughts are interrupted by the warm feeling of Stiles grabbing his wrist under the table and rubbing his thumb over Derek’s pulse point. Stiles does that whenever he thinks Derek is worried or thinking of something he needs to let go for the time being. The thing is Stiles’s touch does redirect Derek’s thoughts. It anchors him in a way he wishes he didn’t need so much but in a way he craves like air. Derek tries to relax. Stiles’s thumb doesn’t stop moving.

Scott takes the time to look at each of them. His eyes stay on Derek.

“Is everything okay?” Scott tilts his head.

“Fine.” Derek did not want to talk about why he is feeling so flustered with the heat of Stiles pressing into him. He thought that after all these years the electricity of having him near would lessen. 

It never did.

Stiles turns to look at him and when Derek mirrors the movement, their faces are close.

“By fine, Derek means that Carlsbad contacted us again.” Boyd leans back and puts his arm around Erica. “I think eventually they may stop asking nicely.”

Scott’s eyes flash and everyone at the table sits a little straighter in response. “As a business proposition, it is irritating that they won’t take no for an answer. As an offer from another Pack, and one that is known for less than amicable takeovers, they may need to be told no in a language they can understand.”

“Like español?” Stiles asks.

Just then, Malia swings by the table with a tray full of beer and starts handing them out. She touches each person on the shoulder as she goes and, despite the conversation, Derek watches how each person leans into the touch. He smiles at her when she hands him a new ESB.

Scott relaxes and chuckles. “I’ll try any language that keeps us out of a fight. We only fight when we have to, but I’m not above overt threats.”

Malia slams the beer down in front of Erica a little too hard, earning her a frown from Erica. “I volunteer for the threatening. It’s been too long since we had a good rumble.”

Erica bounces in her seat, irritation forgotten. “I want to go too.”

“I’m in.” Cora smacks her hand on the table.

Derek wishes, not for the first time, that his sister had more caution.

Scott growls at the table and Derek crosses his arms. Scott has learned over the years that some things need to be nipped in the bud by the Alpha before they get out of control. In this case, out of control is three less than patient and definitely fang happy members of the Pack buying trouble. They all had short tempers and were terrible influences on each other. The Pack had learned the hard way that Erica, Malia, and Cora could never go out alone without some grounding force with them. The roadside dive bar three towns over still told stories about the last fight they started there four years ago. 

Scott pins each of them with a glare. “If it comes to that, I promise you three can be as scary as you’d like but we aren’t there yet. Now, how was the day here?”

***

Later that night, Derek makes the trip around the house, checking doors and windows. Boyd and Erica have another house on the Preserve and Noah lives in a cabin not far away from the main house. Melissa and Chris and Cora, Lydia, and Parrish all have houses in town. Everyone else lives in the Pack House they rebuilt together. Every part of the new Pack House reminds Derek of the amount of love and sweat that went into building it. His heart is full in a way he thought it never could be again after his family burned. 

He runs his fingers over the wards Stiles etched into the wood after the house was finished. It may be his imagination, but he can feel the particular spark of Stiles’s magic in the tips of his fingers as he touches each one.

Derek can hear Scott in the kitchen and he heads that way.

Scott is in the kitchen making his lunch for the next day. The kitchen is big, but with a lot of wood and tile features. It’s cozy and functional, something a large Pack needs. There is a dining room table that seats six against a window, and through an archway on the north side, the kitchen opens into a formal dining room with a long banquet style table that seats twenty.

“Boyd and Erica are on patrol tonight,” Derek tells his Alpha. Beacon Hills may be settled these days, but that didn’t mean the Pack wasn’t still vigilant. Derek knew all too well what happened when one let their guard down.

“I heard you checking the house. Thanks.” Scott puts his lunch bag in the fridge and turns fully to Derek. “You want to tell me what’s on your mind?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Scott moves into his space and runs his hand over Derek’s neck. “One of these days, we’ll have to talk about it.”

For a moment Derek considers opening the well, but he nails the cover down instead. “Things are good. Balanced. Everyone is doing great. The Pack is flourishing and we’re able to help people. We have a good life and I have people I love close and safe. That’s enough.” 

It’s more than he meant to say, but Scott, for all that he has retained his boyish good looks, has grown into an emotive and supportive Alpha. It was the emotional side of Scott that made him so good at being an Alpha and Derek trusts and admires him for it. Scott notices things and for once, Derek wishes he wasn’t so damn good at it. 

“If you say so.” Scott clenches the back of Derek’s neck and Derek relaxes into the touch, relieved to not have to face the things he wishes he could change and thankful to Scott for giving him more time. “Goodnight.”

“Scott.” Derek stops him before he leaves the kitchen. “I don’t know if I’ve told you lately, but you’re a good Alpha.”

Scott’s smile is blinding and Derek can feel it. “Only because you helped me along the way. Our Pack is more of a group effort. I couldn’t do it without you and Stiles.”

Scott leaves and Derek hears him go upstairs. 

There is one area of the house Derek hasn’t checked yet. He saved it for last because he hopes to linger. He may not want to talk to Scott, or anyone, about it, but Derek has no trouble admitting to himself that the best ending to his day is when he can sit in the study with Stiles, alone. He can sit and just be in the same space as Stiles and everything feels right in his world. 

He finally allows himself to go in the direction his body has been wanting to go ever since Stiles disappeared after dinner. While he knows where Stiles is, Derek allows himself the pleasure of following the scent trail Stiles left behind. The scent gets stronger as Derek walks and Derek allows it to root in his soul. His wolf settles the closer he gets to Stiles.

The study sits in the back half of the house. It’s less of an office and more of a library and meeting room combined. There’s an oval table where the Pack can meet to plan on one side of the room. The other side has a couch, overstuffed chairs, and reading lamps. A writing desk with a computer is nestled into the corner. One wall has windows looking out into the Preserve, but the rest of the walls are shelves filled with books that range from the newest Brandon Sanderson to texts that are hundreds of years old in archaic French that only Allison or Lydia can read.

Curled up in the corner of the couch is Stiles, book in hand and a laptop open next to him.

Stiles doesn’t look up so Derek prowls in slow, his eyes fastened to Stiles and allows himself to breathe in deep the smell of paper, leather, and Stiles. Stiles looks up from his books when Derek is still six feet away. He blinks, then Derek can see Stiles’s body relax and his lips turn up.

“Hey, Sourwolf. I was wondering if you were going to join me.”

Derek sits on the opposite end of the couch and Stiles immediately moves so that he is sitting next to Derek. Where Derek is concerned, Stiles has no concept of personal space and Derek will never, ever complain about this. Everything settles in Derek, the way it always does when Stiles is close, and Derek relaxes. All Derek ever has to do is sift through his Pack bonds and find the brightest one that belongs to Stiles and all is right in his world.

It’s no secret that Stiles is Derek’s anchor and Derek suspects that he is Stiles’s as well, though a Spark and Emissary doesn’t need an anchor the way a shifter does. Stiles does use their connection to concentrate for particularly difficult wards. Some days Derek feels like he uses it to survive. Derek mentioned Stiles being his anchor after a particularly bad fight with a wendigo four years ago in the Pack debrief and no one had ever mentioned it again, which Derek prefers. Stiles has never confirmed it works the other way around and Derek doesn’t want to know one way or the other.

It wouldn’t change anything. Derek thinks.

“What are you reading? Supernatural or brewing?” Derek asks.

Stiles angles the book towards Derek. “Pack politics, actually. I already worked on some new recipes for the brewery after dinner.”

Derek puts his arm around Stiles’s shoulders and Stiles moves in closer. What they had is good and Derek is able to have Stiles close. It is more than he deserves.

“I’ve been thinking,” Stiles starts.

“Not sure that will lead anywhere good.”

Stiles twists to glare at Derek. “You lie. I’m brilliant and you know it.”

“I can’t very well acknowledge that all the time. You’d be even more full of yourself than you already are.”

“Rude, but true.” Stiles points to a paragraph in the book. It looks like a fairly recent printing, something that was published in the last forty years. “I was wondering if there is an Emissary thing I could do, formally, that might help with the Carlsbad Pack, get them to ease off before you and Scott have to go in all teeth and claws a-blazing.”

Derek rolls his eyes even though Stiles can’t see it. “Stiles, we only fight when we have to.”

“And that, dear Sourwolf, is why you have me. It’s literally in my job description now to plan things, be sneaky, and mediate.” 

Stiles talks with his arms, despite how close they are and it jostles Derek. Derek loves it.

“What is your sneaky, not at all nefarious, plan?”

“I sense much sarcasm in you.” Stiles’s voice changes and he gets serious. “I need to write their Emissary a formal letter, though it’s the twenty-first century, so I think I’ll send an email. I’ll ask politely for them to back the fuck off. If that doesn’t work, we’ll have to send a more formal and strongly worded request, probably in person and on neutral ground.”

“Those are all things you already knew,” Derek points out.

“I know.” Stiles slams the books closed, “but I was hoping to find something that would let me be more forceful right off the bat. I don’t like the way they are harassing you.”

Derek’s heart clenches for a moment and he tightens his arm around Stiles. “It’s nothing.”

“It makes you upset and angry, which makes me want to pull out my warded bat and smash stuff or come up with a devious plan to get them to leave us alone.” Stiles’s voice isn’t loud when he says this, but it roars in Derek’s ears. Stiles is fierce and cares with a depth that floors Derek and it always breaks him a little to have it directed his way.

“It’s just words on a screen. I’m easily annoyed.” Derek brushes it off.

Stiles chuckles and Derek can feel the reverberations everywhere he is touching Stiles. “Oh, I know. You lose your patience enough with me and I am charming and gorgeous. I’m going to draft a letter tomorrow, run it by you and Scott, and send it.”

“You don’t have to show it to me. I’m not the Alpha.”

Stiles gets up from the couch and scoops up his laptop. He looks down at Derek, honey brown eyes twinkling. “I need Scott’s approval, technically, but you’re the one with the most wolfy know how.”

“I think you know more than me at this point.”

Stiles shrugs as he moves to the desk and puts down his things. “Maybe, but I still want you to read it. I’m heading to bed. I’m on second shift again tomorrow, but I’m tired and I’m looking forward to an extra couple hours of sleep.”

Derek follows Stiles up the stairs. The air wafts behind Stiles as they go and Derek doesn’t feel bad one bit that he breathes extra deep the entire way, letting Stiles fill as much of his senses as possible before the worst part of his day. 

Stiles pauses outside his door and bumps Derek’s shoulder. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite.” Stiles blinks slowly at him with tired eyes. Derek clenches his fist to keep from running his hand down the side of Stiles’s face. Instead, he does what he’s allowed. He wraps his hand around the back of Stiles’s neck and slides his hand down to his shoulder. With a small smile, he turns around and forces himself to continue the few more feet needed to reach his own door.  

Derek crawls into his bed content, except for a part of him he can never completely banish that wants something down the hall he can never have, not completely. 

***

Stiles sprays the floor and uses the long squeegee to move the water towards the drains. Cleaning the floor is the last thing they do on Fridays and he always volunteers for this part because it allows him time to think. He loves the way the brewery feels on a Friday, clean and gleaming with potential for the next week. The sounds of the taproom, a mingle of music, voices, and laughter, filter back and Stiles smiles as he pushes the last of the water into the drain.

Derek is still in the office above and, Stiles can’t see him, but he knows Derek is there. Stiles always knows where Derek is and he can pinpoint it fairly accurately if he concentrates. Once he started cultivating his Spark to help him do simple magic and wards, Derek became something more than an anchor. Derek is his cornerstone. For a were it’s called an anchor because it grounds them to their humanity. That word never fit for what Derek is to Stiles, which is something heavier, more substantial. Derek doesn’t tie him to his humanity. Derek is part of what makes Stiles’s own brand of magic work. In magic, without something to ground it, it can turn wild, be uncontrollable. 

Derek is the building block of Stiles’s purpose, the cornerstone that keeps everything else in place and safe. He would never tell Derek that, though. It would expose too much of what he wants to the man who will never be able to give it to him. He knows he’s Derek’s anchor, but it’s not the same. An anchor can be a person, an emotion, or a memory. It’s a treasure. A cornerstone is everything and Derek is everything to Stiles.

A movement out of the corner of his eye freezes his movements. Stiles grips the handle of the squeegee and moves with a practiced speed to face the open back garage door of the brewery. His heart ratchets up but he sweeps the area and he shifts his weight to the balls of his feet. 

The movement startles a man standing in the doorway. He is shorter than Stiles with dark hair and that is all Stiles can ascertain of his looks because the rest of him is a mess. There’s a gash going down from his temple and his nose was clearly broken at some point but has healed. There is blood from those two injuries all down the front of a shirt that may have once been gray. He holds one of his arms close to his body and more crusted blood is on his skin.  

Stiles knows one thing for certain. He can feel from the man’s aura that he is a were of some kind. He does not know if the man is friend or foe. His hands shift on the handle of the squeegee and he widens his stance just enough.

The man holds out his good hand, palm out. “Kira told me this is a safe place.”

Stiles relaxes and drops the handle of the squeegee. “Derek,” Stiles says in a normal volume, knowing the wolf will hear him. “I need you in production. Now. Everyone else, stay where you are.”

To the injured man he says, “This is a safe place for those who need it. What’s your name?”

“Emilio.”

“Estevez.”

The man tilts his head. “Young Guns or Breakfast Club?”

Stiles takes a few steps closer. “Young Guns, obviously.” Emilio isn’t his real name, but a were on the run is often too scared to use their real name. It takes time for the Pack to gain their trust enough to learn their real names. They almost always do, eventually. 

The man smiles but it fades quickly as his eyes move over Stiles’s shoulder the moment Stiles feels a familiar heat at his back. 

Emilio licks his chapped and bloody lips, his eyes dropping down to his feet. “I need sanctuary.” 

“We can help you. Who did this to you?” Derek asks, coming to stand beside Stiles, leaving enough room to move if attacked.

The man’s eyes move back and forth between them then drop to the floor again. “After I met Kira, I tried to go back to my Alpha, tried to make it work.”

“Your Alpha did that to you?” Derek asks, his voice a cutting edge.

The man nods. “It’s why my face hasn’t healed yet.”

“We have a med kit in a back room here. Can we take you there?” Stiles takes a step closer, his tone and posture open and welcoming.

Emilio hesitates, then nods. 

“I’ll lead the way. Derek will follow us and some others will make sure you weren’t followed here.” Stiles gestures for Emilio to follow him.

When they built the production facility, they added a safe room they could use for Pack purposes. There is a twin bed in the corner, a stool with wheels, and a wall of cabinets that hold everything from weapons to hydrocortisone. Instead of it being white like a doctor’s office, it is done in grays and blues. 

“Have a seat on the bed,” Stiles says as he pulls out supplies from the medical side of the cabinets.

Emilio perches on the edge of the bed and keeps his eyes on Derek. Derek stands in front of the door with his arms crossed. Stiles looks at Derek and nods. This is a scenario they have been through many times. Derek may be the scary wolf in the doorway, but Stiles is the one more likely to punch first if someone even looks like they might be threatening the Pack and Derek. It is their version of good cop, bad cop.

Stiles uses the time he is gathering what he needs to assess the man on the bed. The ones coming in for help always dismiss Stiles because he is human, but they would do better to pay more attention to him. Stiles likes playing the good cop because it allows him to learn more when people have their guard down.

Stiles sits on the stool and wheels over to Emilio. “Let’s clean the gash on your head first. I have some glue and butterfly bandages. If your Alpha made those, they’ll still take a few more days to heal all the way. The glue and bandages will keep it from bleeding and seal the edges together.” Stiles used to hate the sight of blood but he’s gotten used to it over the years. 

Emilio is quiet while Stiles works. This close, Stiles can see Emilio’s eyes are brown with hazel rings around the outside. He is well built and relaxes as Stiles cleans the blood from his skin. The gash isn’t deep, but it does look painful and Stiles is careful not to cause more damage. Next, he moves on to the arm. That gash is deeper and requires a bit more time.

Stiles can see Derek out of the corner of his eye and Derek shifts slightly. “All clear. He wasn’t followed.”

Stiles nods to Emilio. “We had the Pack check as soon as you showed up. Protocol, just in case.”

Emilio grabs Stiles by the wrist, and Stiles jerks at the contact but Emilio’s grip is firm. Stiles wants to break contact, but he also wants Emilio to trust him. There’s a story here that Stiles wants to know. Stiles can feel his own tension reflected back to him from his connection to Derek, who has gone into high alert, ready to pounce mode. 

Emilio’s eyes are on Derek, but his hand contracts on Stiles as he says, “Thank you.” He releases Stiles immediately after.

Stiles snatches his hand away too fast and gives him a quick nod, then stands and dumps the bloody rags in the bowl he was using. He can still feel Emilio’s grip on his wrist and Stiles uses cleaning up to cover the way it disconcerts him. No one touches him like that, except Pack, and they normally run their hands over each other. Only Derek grips Stiles by the wrist and having someone else do it is a sensation that Stiles can’t quantify, except it feels like oil on his skin.

“We have a place you can be safe, but if you abuse our hospitality it will no longer be safe. Do you understand?” Derek asks. There is power behind the words and the tension from a moment ago is still there. 

Emilio nods quickly, looking contrite. “Yes, of course.”

To Stiles, Derek says, “Scott is coming back now to meet him.” He faces Emilio and says, “You need to meet our Alpha first. He’s not like the Alpha you left. He won’t hurt you, no one here will. Unless you threaten us.”

Emilio stands, his body tight with tension. Scott walks around Derek and into the room throwing off enough Alpha vibes to make sure that regardless of whatever had happened before he arrived, there’s no question who is in charge for the newcomer. They need Emilio to know that while they offer sanctuary to supernaturals, it doesn’t mean they are weak. The opposite is true. They can offer help because they are strong and can face any dangers this kind of offer brings their way. Stiles would normally think Scott is overdoing it a bit, but the heaviness of the Alpha vibe helps relieve the tension in Stiles from before.

The power in the room makes Emilio’s eyes drop quickly, his shoulders roll down, and his head dips down and to the side. “Alpha,” he murmurs.

Scott reaches out a hand and lifts Emilio’s chin so he can look him in the eyes. He gives Emilio a smile that is still all boyish charm. “I’m Scott McCall. I offer you sanctuary here for as long as you need it. Once you feel well enough, we can give you a job and help you find a new pack. If there is trouble following you, we can help you deal with it when the time comes.”

“Your offer is generous, Alpha.”

Scott nods but his face gets hard and his voice harder. “It is, but know that we will retract it if needed. We may offer sanctuary to any who ask, but we protect what is ours. We do not take kindly to those who abuse our hospitality.”

“I understand. Thank you.” Emilio swallows and nods quickly.

It took time a few close calls for Scott to find that hard edge of violence that is sometimes needed as Alpha. He gained respect over the years from other Packs and groups because he only uses it when needed. 

Stiles has to suppress a smile. He knows the posturing is important, but sometimes it’s hard not to laugh at Scott, easily the softest heart in the Pack, when he is threatening. The threat is deadly serious, but Stiles still thinks it’s funny when Scott does it. People never understand the most dangerous threat is always standing directly behind the Alpha.

Scott’s face changes, loses some of its fierceness and he swings an arm around Emilio. “Stiles and Derek will take you to the Pack House and get you settled. You can meet some of us tonight at dinner and the rest of us on Sunday.”

“Sunday?” Emilio asks.

“Pack dinner, every Sunday. Non-negotiable.” Derek says in the monotone way he has sometimes.

“I’ll get Liam to finish cleaning the production area. I was just about done anyway. Emilio can get cleaned up at the house, and Derek and I can start dinner,” Stiles says as he washes his hands.

Stiles and Derek both drove this morning, but by unspoken agreement, they head towards Derek’s truck, Emilio behind them. They never drive alone with a newly arrived super asking for sanctuary for a few days. 

“Stiles,” Derek says when they approach the truck. "You drive.”

Stiles slides his copy of the truck key into the door and unlocks the car for everyone. As they pull out of the parking lot, Stiles starts talking, both to put Emilio at ease and to give him information.

“The brewery sits on the side of the Preserve closest to town. The Pack House is farther into the woods. The Pack owns a large portion of the Preserve, but the rest of it is public land. Not everyone lives at the Pack House, but you’ll meet the ones who do tonight.”

It’s a short drive and they are already pulling into the drive to the house. “This house sits on the same spot where the Hale Pack had their original house,” Stiles meets Derek’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “It’s not the same house but it fits our needs and it’s ours.” Stiles doesn’t even try to keep the pride out of his voice.

The Pack House is a Craftsman style house that doesn’t look as large as it is, until one goes around the corner and sees how far back it goes. There is a front porch with large pillars and a wide sweeping back porch that leads to a lawn that ends at the trees. Stiles parks the truck on the gravel pad near the house and they all get out and walk towards the house.

Emilio stays close to Stiles.

“I’ll start dinner while you get Emilio settled.” Derek heads into the kitchen and Stiles can hear him opening the fridge and opening drawers.

Stiles leads Emilio up the first flight of stairs. “This way.” Stiles keeps going to the third floor, where they have empty rooms for guests.

Stiles grabs a towel and washcloth from a linen closet in the hall, then goes into one of the room. “There are clothes in different sizes in the drawers. Wear whatever you like. There’s shampoo and soap in the bathroom already. When you’re ready, come on down. If we’re not in the kitchen, Derek and I will be on the back porch.”

The kitchen is empty so Stiles keeps walking through it. The back door is open with the screen door closed. Stiles pauses before going out. Derek is standing with his shoulder planted into one of the pillars, looking out into the yard. Stiles allows himself a moment to take in Derek’s form even though he knows Derek has already heard him approach. 

Stiles admires the way the plain blue shirt looks stretched across Derek’s shoulders, and the way his ass looks in the jeans he has on. Derek has changed over the years, his body has matured and hardened. It’s Derek’s heart that’s grown the most, more open with those he considers his, and that’s what Stiles has come to love the most. Stiles swallows and closes his eyes, the image of Derek burned into his eyelids. He can’t afford more because it takes effort to lock away those feelings so they don’t produce enough chemo signals for Derek to notice.  

Stiles opens the screen door and walks until he can reach out and run his hand over the back of Derek’s neck. Derek reaches out without looking and wraps his hand around Stiles wrist, covering the area Emilio touched earlier. Stiles feels tension he didn’t know he was still carrying uncoil within him. He can feel Derek relax under his hand and they both let go.

Derek leans over and grabs two pint glasses of beer that were sitting by his feet and hands one to Stiles “Got him settled?”

“For now.” Stiles looks into the glass and feels Derek’s eyes boring into him.

“What is it?” Derek asks. 

“How do you know there’s something?” Stiles takes a sip of beer, a hazy IPA they brewed on the pilot system last month.

Derek holds Stiles’s eyes for a beat longer than necessary. “I know you. When something doesn’t sit right with you, I know. You press your lips together and make a huffing noise.” Derek offers Stiles a barely there smile.

Stiles lets himself return the smile. “I’m not the big bad wolf. That’s your department. I do not huff.” Stiles picks the easiest subject that’s eating him. “Emilio, real name unknown, wasn’t treated well by his pack.” 

“That’s nothing new. We’ve seen that often enough.“

“Yeah, but I’m tired of it.” Stiles moves to face Derek. “I’ve been thinking about something for a while now. I want to ask you a question. You have the most were knowledge.”

Derek interrupts him. “At this point, I think you know more than me.”

Stiles wants to accept the praise but he needs to get this out. “I know there are other Packs out there with Alphas that care about them and with strong bonds. Why don’t they help the way we do? Why is it just us?” 

Derek shrugs. “It’s not a wolf’s way to care for one that’s not their own. Packs stay safe by protecting their own and making their own strong, not by letting weak members in.”

Stiles turns to face Derek. “What about all those Omegas and other supernaturals we’ve placed with other Packs and groups over the years?”

“Those groups took in new members because we vetted them first and proved they were worthy of acceptance elsewhere. We had already taken the risk and made it safe for them.” Derek raises an eyebrow at Stiles. “Did you not realize it was our risk and reputation that made that possible?”

Stiles sighs. “No, I know, but I want people to be better. Turns out people suck.”

Derek chuckles. “You want people to be better but you always have contingencies for when they aren’t.”

“Damn right.” Stiles clinks his glass against Derek’s. “Let’s sit. It’s been a long day.”

They sit and finish their beers and Stiles soaks it in. It’s easily the best part of his day. When their glasses are empty, they go back inside to finish making dinner.

Emilio comes down while they are making dinner. Stiles is searing chicken and Derek is chopping vegetables for a stir-fry. When Derek comes closer to dump vegetables in the pan, Stiles hip-checks him and Derek growls at him. Stiles laughs. Stiles amends his previous thought on the porch. This time in the kitchen with Derek is his favorite part of the day. If he is truthful, every part of the day with Derek in it is his favorite. 

I need a non-Derek Hale or werewolf hobby, he thinks to himself. Unfortunately, he doesn’t really want something else. Everything he needs is here.

Emilio watches them without talking. His face is closed off and observant. New people they take in stay that way for a few days, but the Pack breaks almost everyone down eventually. Stiles can feel his eyes on them, but they don’t feel threatening, so he lets the man sit in silence.

Scott, Allison, Malia, Liam, Boyd, and Erica show up for dinner. It’s not the rowdiest gathering but it definitely isn’t quiet. Stiles watches Derek keep an eye on Emilio to make sure the new wolf isn’t overwhelmed, but the evening is smooth and incident-free. 

After everyone has eaten a few bites, Erica leans around Malia to ask a question. “Emilio, there is one thing I need to ask you before I trust you.”

Malia rolls her eyes at Erica. “No one cares about what order to watch Star Wars in.”

Erica growls at Malia. “Excuse me, Stiles and I have a theory, plus I wasn’t going to ask him that question… yet.” Erica smiles sweetly at Emilio but there is just a touch of too much fang. “What is your favorite Star Wars movie?”

Emilio, who had been mostly quiet up until now, swallows his food and says, “I’m partial to Rogue One, actually.”

Erica leans back in her seat. “Unexpected, but admirable. He can stay,” she announces to the table.

Scott laughs. “Glad you approve.”

After that, the conversation devolves into what order Star Wars movies should be watched in and why. Malia and Stiles almost come to blows but only because Malia is trying to shut Stiles up. It’s a typical night.

Everyone retires to their own rooms and Stiles makes sure Emilio is settled before tumbling into his own bed. He has his own lingering doubts about the newcomer, but to be fair to all involved, he always does. Stiles gives people the benefit of the doubt, but, as Derek said earlier, he plans for the worst. He just hopes Emilio doesn’t make him implement any of his contingency plans. 

***

Sunday is the best day of the week, because the entire Pack shows up starting after lunch, then stays until after dinner. It reminds Derek so much of when his mother was Alpha that he knows she’d be glad they’ve carried on the tradition of weekly Pack dinners. The Pack he’s built with Scott and Stiles is definitely not traditional, but Talia Hale would approve of the things they’ve done. Derek can feel it in his bones and he smiles as he works on marinating the chicken and pork for fajitas.

Scott is next to him on the counter, throwing roasted tomatillos into the food processor to make salsa. Allison kisses Scott on the cheek and drops cilantro into the food processor. Cora and Stiles come into the kitchen arm in arm, laughing. Emilio is trailing behind them. 

Stiles talks over his shoulder. “I’m telling you, we should have called the spent grain dog biscuits Derek’s Dog Treats. Everyone loves a little alliteration. Sourwolf here though,” Stiles waves the empty pitcher in his hand in Derek’s direction. “Wouldn’t let me do it. Now they’re just called Wolf Pup Cookies. Not nearly as fun.”

“Party pooper,” Cora says. 

Emilio met Derek’s eyes briefly before refocusing on Stiles and laughing. Derek feels something ugly crawl up his spine, but he ignores it. He knows it really has nothing at all to do with Emilio and everything to do with Stiles. The trio make two more pitchers of margaritas, grab more cups, and head back out to distribute the beverages. Stiles is within arm’s length of Derek the entire time. Before they go back out, Derek reaches out and wraps his hand around the back of Stiles’s neck. Stiles responds by running his hand down Derek’s spine before following Emilio and Cora out. Derek watches Stiles leave and can’t help the smile on his face.

Allison’s eyes meet Derek’s, then look at the doorway Stiles just walked through. She opens her mouth but Derek cuts her off. 

“Don’t,” Derek says.

Allison presses her lips together and shifts her gaze to Scott in a clear message. Scott keeps his mouth closed and shrugs. Derek makes a note to be more careful in the future.

By the time Derek walks out the back door, there’s a vicious game of volleyball being played on the back lawn. Derek accepts a refill from Cora before settling on one of the benches under the large oak tree. If the angle gives him the best view of Stiles, no one has to know that. 

Malia and Lydia, the two most competitive Pack members, are team captains. Cora screams the loudest and runs onto the court in between serves to smack Parrish or Lydia’s ass after a particularly good set. Parrish winks at her each time and Lydia acts offended until her team wins the game. Then, Lydia grabs Cora as she runs past, threads her hand into Cora’s loose bun, and kisses her thoroughly. Parrish watches with an indulgent grin. The game breaks up and everyone grabs seats on the porch or in the yard with a drink.

Emilio and Chris are talking on the side of the porch farthest from Derek. He wants to listen but Stiles flops onto the swing next to Derek and his focus is instantly on the sweating man exuding happiness next to him. 

“Remind me to choose something less vicious next week to play.” Stiles leans into Derek.

Derek presses back into Stiles, the contact is both soothing and a special kind of torture. “You mean like the lawn dart game you dried last month?”

Stiles snorts. “I didn’t think Malia, Liam, and Erica would end up using them as spears to throw at each other.”

“You didn’t? I could have predicted that.”

“I’ll put it this way, I was hoping everyone would be more mature about it.”

Derek points to Scott and Malia who are wrestling on the grass, trying to take off each other’s shoes. “Really?”

“Point taken.” Stiles clinks his glass against Derek’s.

They stay sitting there until dinner, watching the Pack and talking to the others when people drift close enough. Derek’s heart is near to bursting with the Stiles next to him and the Pack gathered. 

Dinner is loud and boisterous. The summer evening is clear and they eat outside. While the Pack is cleaning up, Scott pulls Derek and Stiles aside to talk to Emilio. They go into the study, Emilio between them, and Stiles closes the door. Emilio sits on one of the chairs, Scott sits on one of the other chairs, and Derek and Stiles take the couch.

Derek can smell a small level of anxiety coming from Emilio. He could calm the other wolf, but he waits and lets Scott, as the Alpha, lead the discussion. Scott indicates a chair across from the long couch. Emilio sits and then Scott sits directly across from him in the middle of the couch. Derek and Stiles sit, flanking Scott’s sides.

Scott gives Emilio an open grin and puts off calming Alpha vibes. “You seem to be settling in okay. Do you have questions or things you’d like to talk about, now that you’ve been here for a few days?”

The smell of anxiety in the room increases. Emilio fists his hands on his thighs. “I don’t want to talk about where I’m from.”

Scott and Derek glance at each other, then Scott looks back to Emilio. “We aren’t asking about that.”

Stiles leans forward. “We just want to know if you’re doing okay. If you want to talk, fine. If not, that’s fine too. There’ll be time for that conversation later.”

Emilio visibly relaxes and looks at Scott, before dropping his eyes in deference. “Thank you again for taking me in. I’m feeling better, I’m mostly healed up, and I’d like to help out if I can.”

Scott’s grin is back. “Fantastic. You can work in the front of the house serving beer or in production washing kegs.”

“If you stay long enough, we’ll train you on the canning line. We always need people to be able to wash kegs and run the line,” Derek says.

“Washing kegs?” Emilio asks.

Stiles stands up and nods. “Yep. Most people don’t know it, but brewing is like ten percent science and ninety percent dishwashing.”

Emilio nods. “I can do that.”

“Great.” Scott smiles at all of them. 

When Emilio stands, Scott shakes his hand. “Now, that’s settled, let’s enjoy the rest of the night.”

***

The next week is a blur with Stiles running doubles on the brewhouse and helping to train Emilio on cleaning the tanks. By the time Friday hits and the brewery is cleaned for the week, Stiles wants nothing more than to sit on a couch, watch some movies, and sleep forever. 

He’s the last one out of production and he heads behind the bar. Malia is pulling glasses from the dishwasher and Stiles goes behind the bar and helps with the last row.

Malia leans into him briefly with an arm around his waist. “Thanks. All done back there?”

Stiles gives her a kiss on her temple. They still have soft spots for each other, even if those spots are more sibling-like than lovers. “Yes, finally. I need a drink.”

Malia laughs and breaks their embrace. “Well, we definitely have the cure for what ails you here.”

Stiles pours four ounces of the sour from the tap and asks, “How are people liking the new Lydia’s Libation?” 

“People seem to like the cucumber, though we did get one complaint that we didn’t use berries this summer.” 

Malia pours a pint of brown and carries it to the far side of the bar before answering.

He sips the sour and it is tart, but the tartness is cut with the refreshing cucumber. There are no off flavors and it’s well balanced. Stile is proud of it. He takes another sip.

When Malia comes back, Stiles says, “Let me guess, Lady Gray.”

“Yep. I told her if she asked real nice, you may be able to find a few bottles from last season for her.” Malia rinsed two more glasses and started pouring more beer.

Stiles shakes his head.

Lady Gray is a local woman who has claimed a permanent stool at the bar. Her real name is Matilda Gray but no one calls her that. She is a regal beauty in flannel and jeans with a crowning glory of gray hair. She’s here every day the taproom is open, rain or shine, from 2pm-4pm, and while she loves all the beers, the sours are her favorite. Stiles likes to keep her happy because she’s a town favorite and anyone who is eighty years old should be able to drink and do whatever the hell they want.

“I’ll see what I can find in the cooler and leave it here with her name on it for tomorrow.”

“Great. I’ll send a text to the Saturday crew and let them know. Lady Gray is sweet on you.”

Stiles does a slow twirl. “Everyone is sweet on this.”

Malia rolls her eyes. “No comment.” She nods towards the table of staff drinking their shifties. “Seems like Emilio is working out.”

Stiles glances over at the table, his eyes snagging and staying on Derek’s face. He’s listening to the discussion and that small uptick of his lips into an almost smile is there. Desire dances up Stiles’s spine and too late he remembers Malia is talking to him. He refocuses and pulls his eyes off Derek.

“Emilio works hard and learns fast. Can’t ask for much else.”

Malia pauses. “He watches you.”

Stiles shrugs. “He watches Scott and Derek too. He’d be foolish not to keep tabs on the Alpha, Second, and Emissary of a Pack.”

“Do you trust him?” Malia presses, her eyes narrowing.

Stiles eyes slide to Emilio. “Of course not. I don’t trust anyone who’s not Pack. We learned that lesson a long time ago. I’m not going to change that now just because he has a pretty face.”

Malia waggles her eyebrows at Stiles. “You think he has a pretty face?”

Stiles grabs his pint and the two others he poured before he moves away. “No comment.”

Malia’s laughter chases him and he knows he hasn’t heard the last of that. Dammit.

He does not want to think about that as a possibility. Not yet. He  isn’t celibate or anything but Stiles hasn’t dated since college. Most of the hookups Stiles has had, he kept discreet, far in between, and away from the Pack. He doesn’t want to deal with the teasing and, even though he knows it is colossally stupid, he never wants Derek to know on the rare occasions he has gotten laid. Not that Derek would care, but the wave of guilt is a little worse every time and Stiles got tired of trying to reason himself out of it. He is happy with the equilibrium he has with Derek. He cherishes their closeness and if he guards it with more exclusivity than close friendship deserves, that is only for him and his defunct love life to know.

Stiles pulls in his thoughts to even out whatever signals he’s throwing and slides onto a stool next to Erica. She lays her head on his shoulder. 

“Hey, Red.”

“Afternoon, my love. How were things upstairs today?”

Erica sits up and gives him a blinding smile. “Cora and I are working on the new marketing campaign for the Fall Equinox.”

“That’s the special saison and extra bitter we’re doing next month, yeah?”

“It’s going to be great.”

Stiles waves his arms. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense.”

Erica laughs and it’s got an evil tinge to it that Stiles knows means trouble. “Oh, I don’t think so. Cora and I are keeping this campaign under tight wraps. It’s a surprise.”

“Aww, come on.” Stiles leans around Erica and raises his voice to Cora who is on the opposite end of the table. “Cora, my love, Erica told me your great idea for the Equinox.”

Cora rolls her eyes. “Nice try, Sparky.”

“Dammit.” Stiles looks at Derek who is directly across from him. “Derek, are you going to let your sister and Erica do this to me? Throw me a bone here.”

Derek’s lips twitch up and Stiles drinks in the movement. Derek shrugs then says, “They won’t tell me either. And your dog jokes are terrible.”

“Werewolves drive me mutts.” Stiles mumbles before sipping his own beer.

Derek groans. “That was bad, even for you.”

“You have no sense of humor.” Stiles shifts to address Emilio, who has been watching the exchange from Stiles’s right side. “What do you think after your first week?”

“It’s not quite what I expected, but I liked it.” Emilio doesn’t talk loudly, but his voice is a nice tenor and Stiles wishes he could like it more.

“You did a great job this week.” Stiles raises his glass to Emilio before taking a sip.

“Any chance I can watch you brew next week?” There is hope in Emilio’s eyes as he asks.

Stiles hesitates. It’s not that people don’t occasionally ask to watch brewing but there is a little too much eagerness in the question that sends off an alarm bell. Maybe he is overreacting. Stiles looks at Derek to see if he is off base. Derek shrugs, so Stiles looks at Boyd.

Boyd thinks for a moment, then says, “We’ll need you to wash kegs and be on the canning line most days, but you can spend a day on the brewhouse with Stiles. Thursday would be the best day.”

Emilio’s smile lights up his entire face. “That would be great, as long as you don’t mind,” he asks Stiles.

For a moment, Stiles wishes he isn’t so tangled in Derek because Emilio is beautiful when he smiles. He is entangled completely though and so the smile does nothing for him. “Of course. I love a captive audience.”

***

Emilio asks a lot of questions on Thursday when he shadows Stiles on the brewhouse. The questions range from basic to more complex things about recipes.

“What are we making today?”

Stiles checks one more valve and the HLT to make sure the water temp is within range before he starts the brew. “Over the Moon Oktoberfest.”

“But it’s July,” Emilio replies.

“Exactly. Unlike most of the ales we brew, Oktoberfest needs a longer aging time to be ready by the end of September, early October. We have to make it now and let it age.”

“How do you make the same beer every time if there are so many variables?” Emilio asks.

They are waiting on the mash and have a few minutes of downtime. Stiles pulls a binder from the shelf that sits on the end of the brewhouse catwalk. “This is the recipe binder. It’s not all of them, but it is most. We can follow these recipes, control the environment, and viola, excellent beer.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

Stiles grins. “It’s just chemistry and microbiology really. I went to UC Davis and double majored in fermentation science and microbiology. It was my idea to open the brewery for the Pack. We also keep brew logs on this clipboard,” Stiles points to the clipboard hanging from the shelf, “where we note the temps, OG, yeast counts, and other things of each batch. At the end of the week, Boyd enters all the information into a program I wrote that tracks all the variables. That way, if there are variations, we can either duplicate the results or not.”

“Can I look at the recipes?”

Stiles hesitates. There is no reason for someone who doesn’t understand brewing to want to look at those. He puts the binder back on the shelf. “Proprietary data, sorry. We’ve actually had a couple breweries reach out to ask us to contract brew some of our recipes for them, but we don’t do contract brewing. We’ve had some offers to sell too but we won’t sell our brewery.”

There is a look that passes over Emilio’s face that Stiles doesn’t have time to register. It looks like disappointment. The rest of the brew goes easy with everything within target. The brewery fills with the smell of warm malts and Stiles revels in the feeling of a day well done. 

“Emilio, go down and see if Liam needs any help. I’ll run the CIP up here.”

“CIP?”

“Clean in place. It’s how we clean the equipment in the brewhouse.”

Emilio nods. “Thanks for today, Stiles.”

Stiles smacks Emilio on the back. “No problem, man. I like having someone to chat to while I’m up here. Derek comes up sometimes when he’s not too busy, but I mostly have to talk to myself.”

Emilio nods and heads down the stairs. Stiles looks across the floor to the window of the office and sees Derek watching him. Stiles gives him a smile and a salute before going back to work. Stiles doesn’t dwell on the fact that Derek was watching him. Much.

Friday is a new release day for Salty Wolf Gose and by the time everyone is done with the day, the taproom is hopping. Malia is barking orders - Stiles mentally laughs to himself for that one - and the beertenders are never still. There is still thirty minutes to go before the official tapping so it’s going to be a busy night.

Stiles pours a beer and heads on over to the table. There’s an open space between Derek and Boyd and Stiles sits down with a groan. 

“Damn, it feels good to get off my feet today.” He takes a sip of Sheriff’s Amber and sighs. “A fantastic end to the week. Who’s tapping that tonight?” Stiles waggles his eyebrows at Derek.

Derek’s eyebrows roll down. “You aren’t funny and I’m tapping the gose.”

Stiles jabs Derek in the side, right under the ribs. “I am a fucking delight and you know it.”

“I’d never admit it even if it was true.” Derek sips his own beer and Stiles watches the way Derek’s lips are on the glass and the way he swallows.

Stiles tears his eyes away and yells down the table at Scott. “Scotty, am I funny?”

“Hilarious, brother.” Scott raises his glass in salute. 

“Glad someone loves me,” Stiles yells back at Scott and the two grin at each other like they’re fifteen and again and just escaped punishment for something they one hundred percent did.

“He’s the only one,” Derek quips.

“Rude,” Stiles says but shifts his grin to Derek. 

By the time their beers are almost done, Malia comes around to the table. “Alright boys, get off your sorry asses and come tap this beer.”

Stiles stands, “Excuse me, my ass is fine, right Derek?”

“Absolutely,” he says without hesitation and the tips of his ears get pink. 

Malia levels him with a look that works on just about everyone, except Stiles. “I’m busting my ass serving beers and you’re just drinking them. That makes your ass sorry.”

Stiles cackles like a loon and goes around the table. He links his arm through Derek’s. “Come on, I know I’m doing the talking if you’re doing the tapping.” Stiles laughs again. “Tapping.” He tries hard to not think about Derek tapping something other than beer.

“You have the sense of humor of a twelve-year-old,” Derek says as he weaves through the tables.”

Stiles pulls him a little closer, allowing himself the opportunity to press into Derek’s side. “And yet, you find me amusing.”

“That’s one word for it,” Derek mutters.

“I’m going to pretend you said, ‘Stiles, you’re a goddamned delight’.”

Derek turns to him as they get behind the bar. It puts their faces so close that Stiles’s breath catches before he remembers he’s not supposed to react like that to Derek, his friend and Packmate, being that close. 

Derek clears his throat and looks away. “Ready?”

“As ever.” 

Stiles grabs the folding steps that they keep behind the bar, turns on the portable speaker, and grabs a mic. He opens the ladder with a flourish and the people closest to the bar start quieting down. Stiles climbs to the top step, which puts him a couple feet above the crowd, and switches on the mic.

He taps it obnoxiously. “Is this thing on?”

A few of the regulars scream back, “Yes!”

“Great, some of you have been here for a new release, and some of you haven’t. I’m going to tell you a little bit about the beer and then Derek, this handsome fella next to me, is going to open the tap. After that, drink up and, if you like it, I made it and you’re welcome. Tell all your friends and drink more so I can make more. If you don’t, I didn’t make it and you were never here.” Some scattered laughs ripple through the crowd. 

Stiles gives them a wide grin. “Now, this beer is called a gose. It’s originally from Germany and has a tart flavor, like a sour, but saltier. So if you love the rotating seasonal, Magic Touch, you’re going to love this one. It’s called Salty Wolf because, like many goses, it’s light but also has a bit of saltiness.”

Someone from the crows yells, “Stop yapping and let us drink it!”

Stiles pinpoints where the voice came from and points a finger at the man in the corner. “Now, Jeff, keep your pants on, man. You know I have to build this up.” Stiles pauses before saying, “I was just about to say, please direct your attention to this fine specimen next to me and come get your beer.”

Derek rolls his eyes, pours two goses, hands one to Stiles, and they clink the glasses together and take a sip. The crowd cheers and a line starts forming behind the bar. Stiles and Derek pour the first few, then mingle in the crowd. Rather, Derek retreats, and Stiles, Erica, and Cora mingle with the customers, answering questions and talking to people. It was Erica’s idea to make every new beer that came on tap into a thing and Stiles, being Stiles, added his own flair. Now, the regulars expect it and Stiles loves it.

He’s been circulating for a good hour when he sees Derek and Emilio coming from the production area back into the taproom. They are walking close to each other and talking. Emilio puts a hand on Derek’s forearm and squeezes. Derek places his hand over Emilio’s and nods before they break apart and join the Pack table, next to each other. 

Something twists in Stiles. It is probably an innocent conversation. Wolves are tactile, but Derek didn’t move away from it like Stiles expects and Stiles’s chest feels too tight. He finishes the conversation with the woman in front of him. She is trying to flirt and he’s not even sure what he says to her, but he moves away.

Most days, he’s fine. He is. The worst part is he can convince himself everything is fine and he is happy, that when something happens to remind him of how much he wants that he can’t have, it’s like a knife piercing up between his ribs. His glass is empty so he moves his feet to take him to the bar, around the far side of the taproom from the Pack table. He needs the time to get himself under control. Derek is allowed to have someone like him. Stiles wants Derek to be happy. He takes a deep breath and rounds the corner of the bar… and almost runs into Lydia.

“Lyds, sorry. Didn’t see you there.”

Lydia looks at him with calculating eyes and Stiles knows he’s in trouble. “I know. You were too busy staring at Derek and Emilio.” She cocks a perfectly manicured eyebrow at him in a question that Stiles is not answering today or, like, ever.

“Can you blame me? It’s a lot of gorgeous men to look at.” Stiles goes for light, but he knows his voice doesn’t quite pull it off.

Lydia steps into him and Stiles knows his bluff didn’t work. It might have worked on Malia or Liam, but Lydia knows him too well. She’s too smart. She drops her voice. “Stiles. You aren’t fooling me. I think the only one you are fooling is Derek, actually.”

Stiles panics. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Lydia narrows her yes at him and now he knows he’s in actual trouble and he actually panics. “Lyds, don’t. Please.” He’s begging and he doesn’t even care how much that reveals. He needs Lydia to let it go. 

Stiles feels, rather than sees Derek move and Stiles takes a deep breath trying to slow his heart back down, the panic still clawing at his throat. When he shifts his eyes away from Lydia, Derek is coming straight for them. The crowd is hindering Derek’s progress and Stiles uses the precious extra time to slow everything down inside him.

Lydia straightens her spine and looks down her nose at Stiles just as Derek makes it to his side. “Fine, but this conversation is not done.” She stalks past them both and Stiles breathes in relief.

“What was that about? Your heartbeat was going crazy, then just slowed down like nothing happened.” Derek is standing way too close to Stiles, and Stiles is barely hanging onto the control he just gained.

“Lydia was being nosy.”

“You were in a full blown panic. What was she asking you about?” Derek wraps a hand over Stiles’s wrist and everything in Stiles stills. He focuses on Derek's warm touch and the bond in his head that he can feel that is Derek amongst the rest of the Pack. Stiles takes a deep, easy breath.

He plasters a smile on his face, puts a lock on the box he shoved his feelings into, and puts a hand on the side of Derek’s neck. The touch further grounds Stiles - all normal Pack touching, nothing to see here -  but he can see it relaxes Derek as well and he wonders about it.

“It’s a long standing argument that Lydia thinks she is going to win, but she won’t.”

Derek’s hand tightens on his wrist, but he doesn’t press Stiles further. Stiles, for once in his life, can’t think of anything to say that will help the situation because all the words in his mouth feel like choose me and I want you.

They head back to the table and join the group. Derek only releases Stiles’s wrist once they sit down.

Later that night, Stiles is in the study, doing some research for a local coven. They’ve made a lot of alliances over the years, plenty of enemies too, and one of the things Stiles does for their friends is research. He gets paid well enough for it that he could do that freelance and be fine, but he loves brewing. The research has given the Pack some excellent contacts and people who owe them favors, favors Stiles is not afraid to call in when needed.

Currently, a coven to the north, unimaginatively called the Northern California Coven, has asked him to find the ritual and meaning behind three wards. The McCall-Hale Pack has acquired an extensive library that Stiles is inordinately proud of, containing rare volumes found nowhere else on the continent. Researching the wards reminds him he needs to redo the wards along the Pack House and Preserve. Stiles’s Spark has been cultivated enough to do some, but not all magic. He can install wards, both defensive and offensive, and control some elements. 

What he really excels at is finding ways to outwit their foes. He only uses brawn when he needs to. Thankfully, it’s been peaceful for at least a year. Minus the constant pressure to sell from that Carlsbad Group, everything has been quiet. Stiles wonders how long that will last and he goes back to researching. 

Stiles looks up when he senses Derek entering the room. His awareness of Derek has strengthened over the years, cemented by Stiles latching onto Derek as his anchor and all the shit they went through when he was in high school. Since then, Stiles always has a vague, or sometimes less vague, idea of where Derek is. The knowledge is both comforting and grating, like sand against his heart.

Derek sits at the chair on the other side of the reading table Stiles has used to spread out his books.

“We need to talk about Emilio,” Derek says.

Stiles hand stops an inch from the page he is about to turn. He has to force himself to breathe past the vise of pain around his chest. He pictures the way Derek and Emilio walked out of production tonight and closes his eyes. A moment too late, he realizes his tiredness has made him forget not to leak his feelings all over the room that contains a werewolf.

“Stiles, what is it?” Derek looks alarmed and reaches across the table and grabs the hand still hovering over the book.

Stiles, in one of his worst moments, finds the truth coming out of his mouth. “I saw you leave production with him tonight. You looked close.”

Derek cocks his head to the side and Stiles swallows down a dog joke. Derek’s hand tightens around Stiles’s fingers. The touch feels like he is preparing to give Stiles bad news, or let him down easy. Stiles can feel his hand tremble in Derek’s and he licks his lips.

Stiles decides to ask a question he is almost certain he does not want the answer to. “What were you two doing back in production?”

“Actually, I was asking Emilio what he was doing in production. I went back to get my phone from my office and saw Emilio up on the brewhouse.”

Stiles jerks. “What? What was he doing up there?” The vise on his chest eases.

“Looking at the brew logs and the recipe books,” Derek replies.

Stiles’s entire body tightens and he leans closer to Derek. “What did you do?”

“I asked him what he was doing and he told me you said he could look at them some time.” Derek pauses, “I can see by your face that is not what you told him.”

The tightness solidifies into anger. “I told him those were proprietary and that he couldn’t read them.”

Derek stands up, dropping Stiles’s hand. “Maybe there’s a mistake and he misunderstood.”

Stiles stands and rounds the table. “I don’t think so. I want to know what’s going on.”

“Maybe he was just curious,” Derek pushes.

“Why are you defending him?” Stiles steps into Derek's space and immediately regrets it because there are few things that he loves more than being annoyed and getting into Derek’s space.

“People do dumb things when they’re desperate. I know. We should ask.”

He knows they have no time to explore this and he should it leave alone, but Derek defending Emilio is like sandpaper on the emotions he’s already struggling with. “When you came back from production, you were walking close to him. It didn’t look like you were questioning him,” he presses.

Derek frowns and his eyebrows do a complicated thing that tells Stiles he is putting some pieces together in that numbskull werewolf brain of his. “Hold on, did you think I went back into production to come onto Emilio?”

Stiles flaps his arms. “Well, yes, actually I did. He’s good looking enough and you’re,” Stiles waves a hand in front of Derek, “you and the mill room would be an excellent place to make out with someone.”

“You think the mill room would be a good place to make out?” Derek’s eyes flash like he’s amused and, if anything, Stiles’s anger rises.

“You don’t agree? It has a door and some of the malt bags are just the right height and size to bend someone over and… wait, that’s what you're focusing on in this conversation?” Stiles stutters to a stop and realizes that not only are the tips of Derek's ears red, but so are his cheeks and neck.

“I was not making out with Emilio in the mill room,” Derek’s voice is low and rough. It runs over Stiles’s skin with a steady pressure.

Stiles swallows. “Well, good, I guess, except that he was trying to steal recipes.” Stiles sighs and says, “We should go find him and ask questions. Do you want to be good cop or bad cop?”

“Good cop this time. You’re scarier than me,” Derek replies without hesitation.

Stiles slaps him on the shoulder. “Damn right I am.” 

Stiles leads the way up the two flights of stairs to the guest rooms on the attic level. At the landing to the second level, Derek shoulders past him and bounds up the stairs. Stiles follows, taking the stairs two at a time. When he catches up to Derek, he looks into the room where Emilio is staying.

“Dammit,” Stiles mutters. 

The room is empty.

***

Cora and Boyd enter the study. Boyd shakes his head and Cora has that line between her eyes that only comes out when she’s frustrated and minutes from punching someone. Stiles knows right away that they didn’t find what they were looking for.

Boyd reports to Scott, who is sitting at the table. “We tracked him to the edge of the Preserve. He made a straight beeline.”

Cora pulls out a chair and plops into it with a growl. “He didn’t even try to hide. He left a path clear as day through the Preserve.”

 Boyd nods. “At the edge of our territory, where the old electric line road runs, he was picked up by a car, midsize SUV, according to the tire racks, and left. We followed the tire tracks until they turned east on the highway.”

Cora crosses her arms over her chest, anger radiating from her. “They could have gone anywhere after that. He clearly had planned with someone to pick him up.”

Everyone turns to look at Scott. Scott looks at Derek, who is sitting next to him before turning his gaze on Stiles pacing by the fireplace. “How much should we worry about this?”

Stiles runs a hand through his hair. “The brew logs are mostly gibberish unless he has someone who can read them. I ran to the brewery while Cora and Boyd did their bloodhound thing and there weren’t any pages missing from that or from the recipe book on the stand.”

“He could have taken pictures,” Derek says.

Stiles nods. “He definitely could have. The good thing is we only keep recipes on the stand that we are currently doing that month so the flagships would be there but none of the specials we haven’t done recently. If he got a hold of the flagships though, that would not be great.”

Scott leans onto the table. “Maybe, he was just curious and you scared him away.”

“Your heart, even after all this, is too soft.” Stiles walks over to his best friend and ruffles his wavy hair. “Don’t ever change, buddy.”

Stiles meets Derek’s eyes over Scott’s head. Derek’s eyes are hard and Stiles knows that look. It’s more wolf for a moment than anything else. Their territory is threatened and the threat cannot stand. Stiles and Derek will need to come up with a plan to hunt down Emilio if he doesn’t show on his own. The best case scenario will be a stern, threatening conversation once they find him. The worst case might involve a bit of violence. Stiles clenches his fist and really hopes he gets at least one good punch in. Derek sees Stiles’s fists and nods. They will do what they need to.   

To the rest of the group, Derek says, “We should be careful for the next few weeks, just in case.”

Over the next week, they increase patrols and ask some of the local supernaturals in their territory if anyone has seen or heard of an Omega patching Emilio’s description in the region. When none of those leads pan out, Stiles sends carefully worded messages to some of his Emissary contacts. Nothing turns up and, with the exception of Derek, the rest of the Pack relaxes and Stiles’s frustration mounts.  

Things settle back into the regular routine.

On Saturday morning, Stiles stumbles into the kitchen and finds only Derek there. Derek is wearing loose pajama pants and a faded t-shirt Stiles gave everyone three years ago with an outline of a wolf that says, “Come to the Bark Side.” Derek silently points to a mug on the counter. Stiles wraps his hands around the mug and cradles it. He takes a sip and allows the taste to roll around on his tongue. It’s slightly sweet and has just enough cream to change the mouthfeel to smooth perfection without diluting the coffee bitterness. 

It’s perfect. 

Stiles closes his eyes and takes another sip because the coffee is exactly the way he likes it and Derek looks soft in the morning. Stiles can take a lot of things, but Derek soft in pajamas first thing in the morning is one of his many, many Derek weaknesses.

“Thanks, dude.” Stiles shuffles toward a stool at the island and sits down.

“Don’t call me dude,” comes the curt reply.

“You know at this point I only do it because you hate it.” Stiles gives Derek his best evil smile.

Derek rolls his eyes. “You know I only protest because it amuses you.” Derek gives him a soft morning smile and Stiles remembers the years when that look was far and few between on Derek’s face. The box Stiles keeps his feelings for Derek in cracks under the weight of that smile.

Derek moves away from the coffee pot and pulls a pan off the rack above the island. He twirls it with a dexterity that Stiles envies this early in the morning. “Want some eggs?” Derek asks.

“Sure. I’ll make toast.” Stiles heaves himself off the stool and shuffles around to join Derek on the other side of the island. Derek knows better than to give Stiles nothing more complicated than toast in the morning. Almost burn down the house once, just the once, making French toast and no one trusts you ever again.

Stiles heaves his half-awake body up and starts pulling out bread, butter, and jam. He also gets out the salsa and hot sauce for the eggs. They work in a quiet born of years of routine from morning exactly like this. Derek runs a hand down Stiles’s arm when he needs to reach around Stiles, and Stiles slides his hand over Derek’s back when he finds a reason to walk by Derek. If anyone asks, Stiles would say he’s just connecting with his Packmate and Second, but that is so far from the truth. These small touches define Stiles. He seals them up in a vault for when he’s alone.  

When the eggs are done, Derek slides them onto the plates Stiles prepared with the toast leaning on the edges. Stiles tops off their coffee - Derek likes his black like the neanderthal he is. They sit elbow to elbow at the island and eat. Stiles pushes the strawberry jam towards Derek, and Derek slides the hot sauce to Stiles. They don’t talk, but their elbows and knees bump and everything settles exactly where it should be. Stiles wants his entire life to be this moment.

When they are almost done eating, Stiles asks “Will you come with me to renew the wards?”

Stiles always takes Derek with him when he does the wards. He told the Pack that the wards are stronger when a Pack member is with him and it’s even better when that Pack member has a unique connection to the land. Both those things are true, but it’s more than that. As Stiles’s anchor, Derek supercharges everything Stiles does if he is near. 

“Of course. I can go now if you’d like.”

“Great.” 

Stiles smiles at Derek and doesn’t move from his stool. He’s loath to break the moment of this morning. For a second, he wishes he hadn't brought up the wards at all and he could just stay in this kitchen with Derek and let the world go by outside, forever. Like many of Stiles’s wishes and desires, it’s not realistic so he stands, helps Derek clean the kitchen, then gets ready for the day.

***

Derek trails behind Stiles as they walk the perimeter of the warded area of the Preserve. He would never admit it to anyone but he loves that Stiles always asks him specifically to check the wards with him. Not only does he love watching Stiles, he loves watching him work the most. Even though warding was one of the first things Stiles learned, Derek is never tired of the way Stiles looks when he uses his magic. 

Stiles is capable, smart, and strong on a good day, but when he uses his magic he radiates power. It’s sexy as hell, if Derek is honest, and if he wasn’t already completely gone on Stiles, watching him work would toss him over the edge. Beyond that, Derek is so proud of Stiles and how much he cares for the Pack by offering them as much of a shield as he can, made of his own Spark and determination.

Stiles stops in front of an oak tree and lays his hand on the trunk. Derek can feel Stiles’s magic gather before he can see it. He’s not sure if the other Pack members have the same reaction when Stiles does his Spark thing, but Derek always feels a tug on his sternum. It’s not unpleasant. It’s warm and feels like a caress that spreads across his chest the longer Stiles works. The magic weaves around Derek like a weighted blanket and Derek’s heart is full as the bond between him and Stiles thickens and overwhelms everything else in the moment. His wolf loves it and reacts like it’s rolling in fresh cut grass, full of playful energy. 

Derek thinks he reacts this way because Stiles is his anchor. It makes sense that he would be sensitive to Stiles’s magic. Derek will never tell Stiles all of this. The confession that Stiles affects him this way would expose him in a way he doesn’t ever want to be exposed, in a way that feels dangerous. To Stiles. Derek’s past relationships didn’t exactly give him confidence that he wasn’t the defining factor that made everything go sideways.

Derek wishes he was more courageous, that he could give Stiles honesty, but he can’t risk hurting Stiles and ruining what they do have. Mornings like they had this morning are the fuel that keep Derek going. Those kinds of moments with Stiles remind Derek that he has so much more of Stiles than he deserves. He has enough of Stiles to take care of the other man, to be there to share life with him, but far enough not to wreck anything.

Derek can’t keep the morose thoughts at bay as they walk. He wants to be grateful for the crumbs he has of Stiles, but today he can’t keep his own desires in check. Derek does what he always does - he shoves his feelings away and focuses on Stiles, the flesh and blood man in front of him, not the fantasy version of Stiles that belongs to him.   

Stiles doesn’t glow or anything when he works. The air fills with the smell of rain on granite, the only outward indication that Stiles is using his Spark. Derek closes his eyes and concentrates on his bond with Stiles at the same time reaching out to his own connection to the land. Before he started coming with Stiles to reinforce the wards, he could always feel the Hale land, like a small pinprick of an awareness in the back of his mind.

Now, with Stiles, Derek is aware of the land as if it’s another Pack bond, full and vibrant. Derek leans into the land and Stiles’s magic and all his doubts fade. This is everything to Derek and he settles.

After a minute, Stiles removes his hand from the tree and gives Derek a smile. “One more,” and he leads the way. Derek follows. He’ll always follow Stiles.

He drinks in the sight of Stiles walking in front of him in the woods that have belonged to his family for generations and he wants so deeply that he trips over his feet. 

Stiles stops and turns around. “You okay there, buddy?”

Derek swallows down the embarrassment caught in his throat and the lingering need in his soul. He can feel his ears burning and he sees Stiles’s gaze sharpen a bit too much on his face.

“I’m fine,” Derek grounds out. 

But he’s not.

They finish renewing the wards and walk side by side back to the house. The feeling of connected warmth lingers for the rest of the day. Derek can still feel the traces of the Stiles and the land when he crawls into his own bed, one door down from Stiles’s room.

*** 

Stiles is having an absolute shit day. 

The arm on the canning line is acting up and Liam has to babysit that all day, which means Liam can’t clean the tank that Stiles needs. Malia gets pulled from the front of the house to clean the tank. Then, Stiles gets a stuck sparge in the mash tun, which means that the wort doesn’t flow like it should into the kettle. By the time he gets the boil going, Stiles is hot, sweaty, and he’s smashed a finger. The rest of the brew day goes fine but it means that Stiles is the last one in the brewery. 

He is waiting for the last cleaning cycle to finish and he’s putting in the notes for the day into the brew log when he feels a hand on his shoulder. 

He makes a very unmanly squeak and turns so fast, he rams his hip into the railing as he turns to see Derek next to him. “Derek, make some damned noise! You gave me a heart attack.”

Derek’s mouth quirks and he says, “I can hear your heart racing and it’s working fine.”

“Werewolves and their dumb wolfy powers are assholes,” Stiles mutters.

“Heard that.”

Stiles elbows Derek in the side a little more than is warranted. “Of course you did.”

“Everyone else is gone for the day. Want to share a shifty or go get some curly fries and shakes for dinner?” Derek asks.

Stiles puts his hand on Derek’s shoulder. “Those are the most beautiful words you’ve ever said to me.”

Derek chuckles. “You’re easy to please.”

Stiles, feeling tired and reckless, winks at Derek and says, “You have no idea.”

Derek’s freezes and his face goes carefully blank, and Stiles knows he pushed too far, joked too much. Derek is like stone under Stiles’s hand. 

Derek speaks and breaks the tension. “So fries and shakes.”

There’s a rip of disappointment that feels like it fractures Stiles’s sternum. He struggles to control it before he can move. He drops his hand from Derek and looks at him for a breath. “Let me finish up here and take off my boots. I’ll meet you by your truck.”

Derek nods and starts to turn to walk away, then stops and reaches out and clasps Stiles's wrist. Stiles takes a deep breath. The touch tells him that Derek is sorry for being a moody Sourwolf. Stiles gives him a light smile and Derek does turn around then and walks down the metal stairs and out the back door. 

Stiles watches him leave and wonders, not for the first time, if he can do this, have Derek but not have him, for the rest of his life. To spend a lifetime within touching distance of the love he wants most but never actually trailing his fingers over it, never grasping it, never kissing it and sucking it dry.

He shakes himself and finishes the cleaning. Stiles wonders if he should consider coming clean with Derek. Lay himself bare and see where all the pieces sit on the board. With the day he’s had today, he doesn’t want to test his luck on any confessions tonight. Besides, he needs to think if this is a) really what he wants to do and b) what the hell he would actually say if it is the option he’s going to take. 

He thinks again at the way Derek responded to his flirting. Sometimes, Derek rolls with it and laughs, but about twenty percent of the time he shuts down. Stiles doesn’t know if it’s because the idea of it being real is repugnant to Derek or something he wants and he’s terrified.

Either option terrifies Stiles.

He chews on that as he goes to the employee lockers and he takes off his work boots and slides on his battered Chucks. He can still feel the lingering taste of the idea as he locks the brewery door behind him and heads into the parking area for employees.

Derek is not standing by the silver Tacoma with the bed cover that he bought four years ago. Stiles scans the parking lot again, alert, and approaches Derek’s truck. The feeling of eyes on the back of his neck follow him and he slips his phone out of his pocket. 

That’s when his day gets infinitely worse. 

There is a sharp prick in his neck and, before his body crumples to the ground, he’s able to dial Scott’s number and slide his phone under the truck.

***

Derek wakes up and immediately wishes he could go back to being passed out. 

He’s had wolfsbane poisoning enough times to know what the aches in his joints mean. Someone has dosed him with a low enough amount that he only feels like shit instead of dying. The good news is that in a day or so he’ll feel mostly better because the dosage was so low. The bad news is, until then, he’s going to feel horrible and not be functioning at one hundred percent. It’s been years since he was captured and tortured, and Derek didn’t need the reminder of how terrible it is. He takes as deep a breath as the pain will allow him and closes his eyes.

The Pack connections are strong, though he can feel the echoes of alarm. Derek latches onto the strongest tether that’s Stiles and mentally grabs onto it.

His eyes fly open. Stiles is close. Closer than he should be. 

Derek listens for Stiles’s heartbeat, a sound Derek would know anywhere and he wants to scream in frustration when he can hear it. He forces himself to sit up even though the movement sets his body on fire. He has to get out of here. He has to get Stiles out of here.

He’s in a room that is roughly ten by twelve feet. There’s a single overhead light set into the ceiling. Efforts have been made to soundproof the room, but the job was hastily done and there are enough chinks in the paneling that Derek can still hear Stiles. The soundproofing consists of panels on the wall that have gaps where they meet instead of being set inside the wall in an overlapping pattern. There’s no knob on the door which indicates that this is definitely meant to be a prison or holding cell of some kind. 

Derek closes his eyes to listen and takes in a deep breath. He can hear Stiles louder than everything else and he pushes that aside, for now. There are at least eight other people in the building. It smells like a combination of new and old wood, probably the hastily constructed prison rooms, at least one for him and one for Stiles. He can smell other werewolves, not a huge surprise, but nothing else that tells him where they are.

Derek drags himself to the wall nearest to him, pulls his right hand back, and punches into the wall. Agony lances up from his knuckles as the sound paneling and drywall crumble, revealing a sheet of metal.

“Fuck.”

It’s then that he notices a glyph on the back of his hand because the lines grow warm. The skin over his heart on his chest burns as well, more irritating than painful. The skin feels tight and stretched. He lifts up his shirt and can see raised lines on his skin that he thinks matches the ones on his hand, though it’s hard to tell at this angle.

Seconds later, Derek’s world crumbles. 

His Pack is gone. Again. 

Derek can’t feel any of them and the panic and pain is overwhelming. The threads that tie them together are gone, severed in an instance and that only means one thing. All of them are dead. Derek curls into a ball and tries to breathe even as his vision swims. He remembers what it feels like, the stillness when Pack lines are severed, the empty aching chasm of silence where once there was a cacophony of feeling and sound. There is just nothing. Worse than nothing because the pain of the silence is overwhelming. 

Derek drops to his knees and roars.

With his roar still echoing in his bones, his ears pick up something, a familiar sound over the sound of his own ragged breathing.

Stiles’s heartbeat, quick and scared and close.

Derek sits up. He tries to calm his overwhelming panic and reaches out for the lifeline that is Stiles. Derek concentrates and he can still feel it, the thread that ties him to his anchor. He doesn’t know what is happening but he still has Stiles, is still grounded. 

Last time he lost his Pack, Derek didn’t have an anchor and he was adrift for so many years, he can’t believe he never descended into madness like Peter. Derek goes to swipe his hand across his face and sees the glyph again. He wonders if it was meant to kill him or something else and if his connection to Stiles has saved him from whatever fate his captors meant for him.

He collapses back onto the floor, his eyes spilling over in relief. There’s pain in his missing Pack links, but if he has Stiles, he can survive. He can find a way to survive and get Stiles out. In the recesses of his mind, there is a kernel of knowledge that this anchor bond with Stiles must go both ways for it to circumvent a spell. Derek viciously shoves that aside. He can’t focus on what that could mean. He has to focus on getting out of this room and getting to Stiles.

There’s a sound of metal sliding on metal and the door opens up and Emilio is in the doorway. 

Derek tries to launch himself at the wolf, but the wolfsbane and the gaping wound of his dead Pack make his body slow to respond. His movements are more jerky than coordinated. Long before he reaches Emilio, the man has time to bring an electric prod from behind his back. 

Derek sees the movement, registers it, and still can’t stop fast enough to avoid it. He skids into it as Emilio pushes the prod into Derek’s shoulder. Heat and electricity jerk his body back. He drops to the floor on his hands and knees and he can smell his own flesh burning. He stays there on all fours, panting and trying to get his brain and body to function. The wolfsbane and electricity still seem to thrum through him and Derek tries to shake his head to clear it. 

His head is still down and before he can focus, he hears Emilio move a moment too late. A jolt of electricity and pain radiate from his shoulder and he collapses completely.

“Now, all I want to do is talk,” Emilio says when he pulls the prod from Derek’s shoulder. Derek has to concentrate on the words so they make sense. “We can do that the easy way or,” he swings the prod in Derek’s direction, “I can apply this a few times then come back when you’re feeling chatty or we can talk now. I’ll be honest, I’m hoping for the hard way.”

“What did you do to my Pack?” Derek hates how wounded his voice sounds and how much effort it takes to form the words.

Emilio laughs. There’s no humor in the sound. It grates over Derek. “They’re all dead. Can’t you feel it? You know what it means when you can’t feel them any more.”

Derek launches himself at Emilio, but he is too slow and is jolted with electricity. Again. 

Derek is panting on his back on the floor. He can barely get the question out when Emilio removes the prod. “Where is Stiles?”

Emilio presses his lips together, then smiles. “I watched him die with the rest of them. You both are imbeciles. Too wrapped up in yourselves to see how much the other one cares. It was pathetic to watch. If you were a real wolf, you would have just taken what you wanted. Now, you’ll never have the chance to declare your undying love.” Emilio chuckles. “It really was too easy to play both of you.” 

Derek realizes that Emilio doesn’t know that Derek can hear and feel Stiles. If Emilio is lying about Stiles, maybe he’s lying about the Pack too. Derek decides to play along. He is still on the ground so he curls into a ball and keeps his eyes on Emilio’s feet. He tries to look submissive, defeated.

“What do you want?” he asks, keeping his voice small.

Emilio, or whatever his name is, pauses for a minute, holding the electric prod in front of him. “You are a dense one. I thought it’d take more time to break you. I gotta say, I’m a bit disappointed.” Emilio sighs and continues, “You should have just sold when we asked you to.”

The pieces fall together. All the emails and occasional phone calls asking them to sell the brewery. “This is about the brewery? You killed my Pack over a business?” Derek’s gut is starting to burn with rage and he has to remind himself he’s supposed to appear defeated.

Emilio laughs again. “This was never about the brewery, though that is a great bonus to all of this.”

There is something else going on and Derek has to force his poisoned and tortured mind to focus. The Carlsbad Group has been taking over small breweries here and there. The puzzle starts to take shape and Derek realizes each brewery was in the heart of another Pack’s territory, territory that the Carlsbad Group absorbed after the acquisition.

This is all a territory dispute at its core, as if they really are animals. The anger starting to build through his system turns into rage. This was his territory and he would not cede it to anyone. Even if his Pack was only Stiles and himself, he would wreck destruction before he let anyone else take what was his.

“You’ll never get the McCall-Hale Pack land or the brewery.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I’ll let you sit here in the knowledge that you could have saved your entire Pack if you’d just ceded control of the damn brewery like the other groups. You could all still be alive, vessels to the Carlsbad Pack, but alive. I’ll come back and we’ll have a proper chat.” Emilio squats down to look Derek in the eye. “Stiles was a fighter to the end. I had to almost chop him to pieces before he stopped. What a waste.” Emilio doesn’t wait for a response. He backs out and slams the door. 

Derek knows Emilio is lying, he knows, but the image of Stiles dying, covered in blood is already something that haunts Derek. Stiles isn’t a wolf. He may be a Spark, but he’s still human and easily damaged. He has to breathe deep and even for a few minutes before his head is clear enough to think straight.

There is only one thing he can do. Derek sits with his back to the wall and stills everything inside himself. He has to find a way to let Stiles know they are together in this and then, he knows, Stiles will come up with a plan. Communicating with Stiles won’t be easy. Derek isn’t even sure he can do it. He does know that if he is successful in communicating with Stiles than Emilio is right about one thing. Derek and Stiles are more to each other than they’ve admitted. 

A wolf can communicate feelings along Pack bonds sometimes, when the bonds are strong enough, but it doesn’t always work the same for humans. The human members of a Pack lack the supernatural nature and only have a ghost of the Pack bonds. If Stiles can feel Derek, really feel him and communicate along their bond, it means more than Derek can parse now, stuck in this room with his body shaking from poison and pain.

Every time Derek has used his bond to Stiles, both as a Packmate and as his anchor, it is to brush over it gently for reassurance. This is not what he needs in this moment. Derek stills everything inside himself and connects to his wolf first, drawing power from his other self. His wolf is not cowering or whimpering, though that’s what Derek really wishes he could do. The wolf is ready and barks in Derek’s mind to get them moving. To the wolf, this action will claim Stiles as theirs in a way Derek has never allowed them to do.

There will be repercussions to this, Derek knows. Even if this works, there’s a chance that Stiles might figure out what it means, that Stiles is so much more than his friend and anchor to him. Derek has to ignore the slick of fear at being rejected. He has to do this to save them both so Derek does something he’s never done before. He opens himself up, walls down and holding nothing back, to his connection with Stiles. He grabs hold of it with all he has and, using the power he’s gathered, pushes his intentions down the bond.

I’m here. We are still alive. We need to escape.

Derek hopes to God Stiles is listening.

***

Stiles opens his eyes and pushes himself up into a sitting position. He’s on the floor of a tiled room that is about ten by twelve feet. The walls look like they’re made out of normal sheetrock, smooth and painted a non-threatening off-white. The ceiling is like any you would find in a house, slightly textured and painted. Nothing special. His mouth feels stuffed with cotton and his head throbs. He pushes his back against the wall and pulls air in and out, slow and steady. He’s been kidnapped before - hell, he’s been beaten before - and needs a moment to settle and assess. 

That’s when he feels it, or rather doesn’t feel it.

The tethers that bind him to the Pack as the Emissary and as their Spark are quiet. More than quiet.

Still and silent.

Panic roars and Stiles tries again but it’s not even white noise, just absolute silence. The comfort of constant noise from the Pack, background music to his life and a soothing mechanism for the worst of his ADHD tendencies is just gone. His horizon tilts without the grounding of those bonds.

Grief, worse than when he lost his mom, slams into him. 

The Pack cannot all be gone. Derek can’t be gone. 

Stiles covers his face with his hands and pulls in painful breath after painful breath, feeling himself fall apart. Every time his lungs expand, the pain does as well, and Stiles remotely thinks this is what Derek felt when his first Pack burned alive. Derek survived, but Stiles isn’t sure he will. The panic and pain are a roaring in his head, eclipsed only by the pounding of his heart in his chest as it races. Stiles feels himself shaking and he vaguely thinks he needs to try to break out of this attack, but he can’t gather the effort to do so.

The more he breathes the less oxygen Stiles feels like he’s getting, until there are black spots in the sides of his vision. That’s when he feels it, a pinprick of something outside of himself. Stiles grabs onto it and focuses on what does not feel like silence and panic. 

It’s a glimmer of an oasis and Stiles crawls towards it like the dying man he is. As soon as Stiles concentrates on the small sound within him, a wave of that awareness slams into Stiles so hard he chokes.

Derek is alive.

Derek is alive and Stiles can feel him.

That stone that sits in his soul, the building block that is Derek in his life, is fairly vibrating with power. Stiles for all his awareness of what Derek is to him has never experienced the connection this way.

Stiles is careful, always so careful, to keep his connection to Derek buried unless he needs it. He knows he’s Derek’s anchor and that Derek cares about him, deeply, but it’s not romantic. Stiles has never told anyone what Derek truly is to him, the cornerstone, his essence that defines him. There are too many ways that the knowledge that Derek is Stiles’s anchor could hurt him, destroy him, so Stiles keeps the connection constricted. Now, he lets his control go and he can feel everything . 

Relief pours into Stiles and leaks out his eyes. Stiles still can’t feel the Pack, but he can feel Derek. The connection is less like a connecting thread and more like a power line coming straight from a transistor and slamming into Stiles. The emotion Derek is sending to Stiles is so deep, it can’t be called relief alone. It’s also hope and determination and something Stiles would label as love if he didn’t know that was impossible. 

Stiles closes his eyes and concentrates. He’s never allowed Derek in like this, but Stiles opens up. With his tight control on the connection gone, all Stiles has to do is manipulate the connection. It’s both the same as any other spell to Stiles. All he needs is intention and emotion. He sends his own message back to Derek along the connection.

I’m here. I’m safe. I’m alive.

The response he receives is immediate and presses down the connection. Stiles is certain that Derek can feel the connection and has received his message. Stiles is giddy with relief. Derek is close. 

Stiles moves his body, keeping the connection open. He takes a step in one direction and nothing happens. He takes two steps back instead and feels the connection strengthen. Stiles laughs in wonder and relief. He faces what he thinks is the right direction and presses himself into the wall, as close as he can get to the right direction. The change in the connection is subtle, but the adrenaline gives him a sharpness and Stiles knows Derek is in this direction. Stiles had no idea an anchor connection could work like a compass. If he gets out of here, he’ll add it to the lore book he’s been keeping all these years. 

There is an unlocking sound and the door opens. Stiles widens his stance and puts all his weight onto the balls of his feet. Emilio stands in the doorway. Emilio’s face has lost its openness and is hard. The giddy relief from before is replaced by pure rage. This asshole took advantage of their desire to help people and put his Pack in danger, put Derek in danger.

Stiles rushes the man, hoping to take him by surprise were or not. He goes right for a punch to the sternum and the blow lands. Emilio’s breath leaves him in a pained sound, then he reacts and swipes Stiles’s feet out from underneath him. 

Stiles lands on his ass and is already scrambling to the back wall and to his feet. He clenches his fist and thinks how nice it would be to plant it firmly in the middle of Emilio’s face. Emilio waves an electric prod in front of him. Stiles keeps his fist clenched and raises his chin, refusing to submit.

A woman walks around Emilio and into the room. Stiles’s gaze shifts from Emilio, or whatever his name is, to the woman standing next to him and things click into place. He knows that face. He has a dossier on the leadership of every Pack on the continent.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Stiles sweeps his arms in a circle. “All of this? Kidnapping me and hurting my Pack ? Has this all been about the brewery?”

The Alpha of the Carlsbad Pack and the CEO of the Carlsbad Group gives Stiles a genuine smile. “You are even smarter and more fun than Robert said you were.”

Stiles snorts and looks at Emilio. “Robert? Really? You’re a Dick?” He laughs, the sound strained even to his own ears. “That’s a little too much on the nose.”

Robert snaps the prod on and takes a step closer to Stiles. Amelia Carlsbad stops Robert with a hand on his shoulder. 

“Not yet.” She looks at Stiles. “I have a proposal for you.”

“Do you expect me to accept anything you offer after you’ve kidnapped me and killed my Pack? Lady, you don’t know me well enough if you think that will ever happen.” He knows Derek, at least, is alive, but Stiles decides to play along.

Amelia’s voice hardens and takes on an Alpha edge. “You wouldn’t listen to our offers before so we had to take more drastic steps. Our offer is this: Give Carlsbad the Moon Tower Fermentarium and give the Carlsbad Pack the McCall-Hale Territory.”

Leaving the brewery thing aside, Stiles knows this is not the way a Pack takes over territory. A wolf or group can kill the entire Pack, kill the Alpha and try to take over, or can absorb the Pack into their own. She should not be asking this of Stiles at all. In a negotiation, the Emissary is a go between once the offer is made to the Alpha in a territory or knowledge exchange. Stiles takes his negotiation tactics seriously, but he is far from a neutral party. Amelia thinks she could use fear to press the issue. If Amelia wants him to believe his Pack is gone, she isn’t playing this the way he would have. This is a game, a game they aren’t playing well. Stiles clenches his hands. He is very good at games.

“Even if I was persuaded to do those things, what makes you think I have any authority to cede either of those things to you?”

Amelia doesn’t blink when she answers. “You’re the only one left so you’re the only one I need to ask.”

Stiles decides the best way to get out of this room may be destructive. In his clenched right fist he pulls forth fire, all those lessons with Deaton years ago paying off, again. He keeps it hidden in a loose fist until he needs it.

He says, “I know you’re lying because I know Derek is alive.” 

The moment the words are out of his mouth, Stiles throws the fireball at Amelia and Robert. They leap in opposite directions, farther into the room and away from the doorway. Stiles surges forward, his left hand reaching into a concealed waterproof pocket of his pants. It’s a movement he could do in his sleep because of the amount of times he’s practiced it. He pinches a small amount of mountain ash between his fingers, pulls his intention to himself, and flings it down with the grains as he runs through the door. A full line of mountain ash is left in his wake. He hears the rage behind him and chuckles.

He runs right into a hard chest and hands with claws that grab his arms. 

Stiles looks up into a beta shifted wolf. “Shit.” 

Stiles gathers his anger and energy and prepares for a fight. The beta is about his height and he’s sparred with Derek enough to know how to handle an attacker this size.

Claws dig into both his shoulders and arms. Stiles takes a step into his attacker and slams his head into the beta’s nose. The crack of bone feeds Stiles’s adrenaline. The beta’s hands loosen and struggles to break free. There is a presence at his back, then his hands are grabbed from behind in a crushing grip that is close to grinding his bones to dust. Stiles whips his head around enough to see another beta at his back. Stiles throws all caution to the wind and starts to struggle wildly, hoping to jostle their grip enough to land another blow or two. The werewolf at Stiles’s front tightens his grip, claws digging in and dragging down slightly. Stiles feels the tearing of his skin and muscle and grits his teeth against a scream.

“Don’t injure him too badly. I don’t want him dead,” Amelia warns, still trapped in the room.

“Great. That gives me hope,” Stiles replies with a voice laced with sarcasm and pain. 

“Get someone who can break this mountain ash,” she yells to someone Stiles can’t see.

Stiles knows it may be an attempt in futility, but he swings out his leg and aims at the knee of the beta at his front. He can feel the vulnerable joint give and the beta in front lets go of Stiles and collapses in a howl of pain. As soon as the hands are off his front, Stiles uses the element of surprise to yank his hands from the beta holding him from behind, twist and use the momentum to smash his fist into the nose of the beta at his back. 

Pain explodes across his own hand, but in the chaos, he’s able to leap over the beta on the floor. There are exclamations of protest from Amelia and Robert, but Stiles doesn’t pay them enough attention to make them out. He has to use this opportunity to get free. Stiles ducks his head and runs full tilt down the hallway, the direction he felt Derek.

A roar of an alpha reverberates through the building from the room he escaped. Amelia is pissed and Stiles moves his feet faster knowing that Amelia has just called in reinforcements. 

He has to find Derek and get out of here. 

Stiles can still feel Derek somewhere in front of him. It’s hard, but he tunes into his connection with Derek over the rushing of the adrenaline in his blood and concentrates. He follows the connection to the end of a hall that ends in an open room. There’s a set of stairs in front of him and he takes them down three at a time. It opens up into another hall on what feels like the ground floor. Stiles turns one way then another, searching for the right direction. When he thinks he’s oriented correctly, his feet move. As Stiles sprints past a door on his left, his internal senses ping. Derek is in there.

“Derek!”

Stiles skids to a stop and puts his hand in his pocket. He wants to put a ring of ash behind him to keep from being grabbed again. Before he can drop it, there is a blur of movement and another beta collides with him. Pain explodes over Stiles’s back as he is crushed to the ground at the same time that a shifted fist plants itself into his face.

“Shit,” Stiles says as he feels the skin on his cheek split and his teeth cut the inside of his mouth.  

***

The howl echoes through the house and through Derek’s bones. It’s a howl meant to call a pack and it’s full of rage. 

Derek’s heart races and he feels along the tether that binds him to Stiles. All he gets is a mess of emotions: panic, desperation, determination, and then a flare of steel. Derek rushes to the door and presses himself against the place where the door meets the frame. That’s when he hears it.

“Derek!”

The room is sealed, but he hears his name as if it was spoken right next to him. Derek’s heart kicks up and he tries to hit the door. He has to get out of here, get to Stiles. The alpha howl is still in his ears and he knows Stiles needs him. He punches the door, taking out his emotions on the object in front of him.

His knuckles are bloody when the knob turns and the door swings open. 

Derek takes one step back, crouches down, and flicks his claws out, ready to rage through whatever comes through to get to Stiles. The focus of his desperation is flung through the opening. Derek retracts his claws right before his arms are full of Stiles. The door slams shut and Derek falls back onto the floor of his cell with Stiles on top of him. He can smell blood and pain and he goes into a panic. Derek loses his balance and they tumble to the floor. Derek cushions the fall and Stiles sprawls on top of him. Under all of the blood and fear, Derek can still smell Stiles, the smell of home and comfort.

Derek lifts Stiles and flips them so Stiles is on the ground and Derek is beside him. There’s blood on Stiles’s face and blood on his shoulders and arms. There are deep gashes down both arms and half of his face is already swelling and red. 

Stiles grunts and smiles through a bleeding lip up at Derek. “You look quite fetching today.” Stiles winks like the idiot he is.

Derek lets out a breath. If Stiles can make dog jokes, he’s probably not in danger of imminent death.

Derek plays along and rolls his eyes, all the while searching for more injuries and swallowing down his relief at having Stiles next to him. “A dog joke, really?”

Stiles shrugs, then winces. “Oww! They never get old or come at the wrong moment.”

Derek sits up and pulls Stiles into a sitting position. The gashes on Stiles’s arms are leaking a steady trickle of blood.

Derek straightens Stiles’s arms to get a better look at the injuries. “Let me look at those.”

“There’s nothing we can do about them right now. They do hurt like a son of a bitch though.” Stiles winces.

“Take off your shirt.” Derek tries glaring at Stiles.

“Look, if you want me naked, all you have to do is ask.” Stiles winks at Derek again, and that’s when Derek knows for sure Stiles is fine. “You don’t have to use your eyebrow powers on me. I’m immune.” 

Derek feels so many emotions in the moment that he can’t parse them. Relief that Stiles is probably not terribly injured, rage at whoever did this to Stiles, desperation to get them out of here, and the piece of longing that never really leaves him.  

Stiles pulls his shirt slowly over his head. In the middle of Stiles’s chest is a sigil that looks exactly like the one on the back of Derek’s hand.

Derek holds up his hand. 

Stiles looks from his chest to Derek’s hand. “Twinsies. If we were going to get matching tattoos, I don’t think this is what I would have chosen.”

“Let me get your arms bandaged up, and then we can talk.”

Derek gets a good look at the injuries. Ten marks, five on each side where the werewolf’s claws dug in, then pulled down. They are all small, no more than an inch in length, but there are so many of them and they are deep. 

“Let’s hope I don’t get wolf scratch fever,” Stiles jokes.

Derek doesn’t smile. Infection is his biggest concern if they don’t get out of here soon. He rips Stiles’s shirt into strips and wraps the wounds until they stop their slow leak of blood. While he completes the task, they talk, sitting on the floor

“I can’t feel the Pack,” Derek leads off with the most pressing thing in his mind.

Stiles nods. “They told me everyone was dead, but,” Stiles hesitates and says, “I could still feel you so I knew they were lying. It obviously has something to do with the sigils on our bodies. I don’t know for certain without looking it up, but it seems to be a combination of blocking and forgetting.”

Derek bites down on that knowledge and shoves away what it means. “They told me the same thing. I can’t feel any of the Pack.” Derek hesitates before adding, “I knew they were lying because I could still feel my connection to you.”

It’s not a secret that Stiles is his anchor. What does throw Derek is that it sounds like he is Stiles’s anchor as well. Stiles isn’t dumb. He would not have admitted that lightly. What Derek does not predict is Stiles’s reaction to the confession.

Stiles stares into Derek face then laughs, not a small chuckle, a full belly laugh and rolls onto his back and onto the floor. Stiles’s laughter fades and he stares at the ceiling, his chest heaving as he catches his breath. An expression of hurt flickers across Stiles’s face, but it’s closed off before Derek can react. A moment later Derek gets a faint whiff of hurt before it’s gone, closed off like the emotion he just witnessed. He opens his mouth to say something but Stiles sits up and starts talking instead.

“Right, so whatever they did to our connection to the Pack didn’t work on us because we’re each other’s anchors.”

Stiles says these words like they mean nothing to him, like he is stating a fact that has no emotional bearing. He does not say the words like the rug has been yanked from his feet and his head has slammed on the ground. That’s how Derek feels and he needs to say something to Stiles because he needs to know why that look of hurt came and went from Stiles’s face. 

Derek lets Stiles keep talking and swallows whatever inadequate words he was going to say.

“They were lying about the Pack being dead and the sigils are some kind of spell. The real question is, does it work both ways? Like does the Pack think we’re dead too?” Stiles sits up and scoots away from Derek until his back is against the wall.

Derek dislikes the space Stiles gave himself. “I don’t know,” Derek says and follows Stiles. He sits next to Stiles against the wall. He thinks that maybe Stiles will want some space, but Derek doesn’t so he sits right next to Stiles, pressing his shoulder into Stiles. Derek is relieved when Stiles leans back into him. 

“It’s the Carlsbad Pack. They want the brewery and the territory.”

Derek nods, “I know. What do we do now?”

Stiles thumps his head against the wall. “I have no idea.”

They wait. 

They wait in silence at first, but then Stiles, who never knew a silence he couldn’t fill, talks and Derek listens. Stiles shares his theories on which spells could have severed their Pack ties and how they can be reversed. Stiles doesn’t recognize the symbol drawn on them and whines about needing his books. Stiles shares his theories on why the Carlsbad Pack wants the McCall-Hale Territory so badly. Stiles even shares his opinions on why blueberry pie is the superior of all pies.

Stiles talks until his voice becomes scratchy and he leans his head on Derek’s shoulder. Derek listens until they both fall asleep.

Some time later the door opens and a bag is shoved into the room. It has packaged sandwiches and bottled water in it. They don’t see or hear anyone else for what feels like days.

On the second day, Stiles starts to run a fever. That’s when Derek starts to know real fear.

Even if Derek can’t see the red flame of infection on most of the gashes in Stiles’s flesh, he can smell it. Derek leaches the pain from Stiles but that’s all he can do. He can do nothing about the fever or the infection. Derek tries banging on the door. He tries yelling. He tries roaring. 

Nothing happens. 

Another bag is shoved in at some point and that one, in addition to food and water, contains ibuprofen and rubbing alcohol. 

Derek tries to clean the wounds, but it’s too late. He gives Stiles the pills every time the other man starts to get warm, but it’s not enough. 

After a few days, Stiles stops talking and his glassy eyes follow Derek even though Derek is never far away. Derek presses his back against the wall and has Stiles’s head in his lap. He is threading his hands through Stiles’s hair and hoping for a miracle. Stiles’s heartbeat is weak and there are lines of infection snaking out from each of the ten wounds on his skin and all the way up to his shoulders. 

Derek decides the next time the door opens, he is going to rush it and do whatever is needed to get them out. It will be suicide, but at least he will die escaping and not have to watch Stiles die like this. They can go down in a blaze of deadly, desperate glory.

“Stiles.”

Stiles makes a noise and Derek knows he is listening. He gathers his courage and desperation and launches into the hardest thing he’s ever had to say.

“I’m sorry I never told you that you were my anchor. I know everyone kind of knows, but I never directly told you. I’m so damn sorry. I know it’s probably too little too late.” Derek’s fingers never stop threading through Stiles’s hair. Of all the mistakes he has made, Derek regrets the way he treated Stiles the most. There is some comfort in knowing he won’t be alive to nurse this regret for long.

Stiles swallows and his eyes close. “I’m sorry I never told you either.”

That’s all they say. Derek has so many other things he wants to tell Stiles, but he doesn’t want to burden Stiles with them now. They have to get out of here first.

When Stiles falls asleep, Derek eases himself out from under Stiles and lays his head gently on the floor. Derek moves, crouches by the door, and waits.

Hours go by and Derek’s muscles cramp, but Stiles is pale and his breathing becomes shallow. Derek’s heart falters with every labored breath Stiles takes and he almost misses the muffled sounds of a commotion outside the door. 

Derek refocuses on the door and tenses.

The door swings all the way open and Derek flings himself through the opening. He’s caught by Erica and barely gets his claws in before slamming into her. She catches him and the moment they touch something pops in Derek and the Pack connections crackle open. The rush of all the connections pushing back into him at once causes his knees to buckle. Erica keeps him upright.

Cora is next to Erica. They both are covered in blood, but Derek can smell that it is mostly not their own. Derek squeezes Erica before releasing her and running back to Stiles. He lifts Stiles in his arms.

Stiles doesn’t wake up and Derek knows they are running out of time.

Cora’s mouth tightens but that’s the only reaction. Derek can smell the anger coming off her. Erica reaches out and touches Stiles and the man jerks in Derek’s arms as the spell is broken from him as well. Erica tries to take Stiles from Derek, but Derek growls.

“No. I’ll carry him.” Derek doesn’t want to let Stiles go. 

Erica nods. “This way.” She turns and leads them out of the room. 

There are still sounds of fighting but Derek concentrates on Cora’s back. He knows that Erica is guarding the rear and he moves his feet. They burst out of the building, which Derek vaguely registers as an old brick house, and into a long wooded drive. Derek takes a deep breath of fresh air and can finally feel the tension of captivity and escape leech from his bones. 

Cora talks into a walkie talky that she pulls from her hip. “I got them both. Stiles needs medical help now. I’m taking him and Derek to the rendezvous and Melissa. We need a medical transport.”

“Roger,” Chris’s voice crackles over the line.

Erica and Cora keep running and Derek keeps up, adrenaline still making it possible for him to run but he knows he won’t last much longer.

There’s an unmarked van down the gravel lane and the back door of the vehicle opens before they even get there. Melissa hops out and helps them get Stiles in the van. Derek doesn’t want to let go of Stiles so he sits at Stiles’s head with his hand on Stiles’s neck and watches Melissa work.

“He needs an antibiotic IV and I need to drain these. The IV I can do now. I need to wait until we’re back at the Pack House for the rest.” Melissa’s hands are quick and her voice is sure. Once she gets the IV into Stiles’s arm, she lays a hand on Derek’s hand where it is threading through Stiles hair with shaking fingers. “He’s going to be okay.”

Derek nods and says nothing. He wants to hope but hope has led him astray before. Everything inside of him his a knot of emotions and weariness.

The rest of the Pack show up and pile into the van, minus Chris, Boyd, and Parrish, who are usually the ones on clean-up duty.

Noah is the first one in the van and he takes one look at Stiles then launches himself at Derek and wraps him in a fierce hug. 

“I was worried about you, son.”

Derek keeps one hand on Stiles and returns Noah’s embrace with the other. He nods. “Melissa says he’s going to be okay, but his wounds need to be cleaned.”

“Thank you.” Noah releases him and sits down next to Derek. The van roars to life and they launch into motion.

Derek finally allows himself to think they might get out of this alive.

***

Consciousness floats around him, and Stiles eventually grabs it and hauls himself to the surface.

His eyes stay closed but he can feel the weight of bodies around him -  at his feet and on both his sides. He knows he must be in Derek’s bed with a fair number of the Pack. It’s the place they all go when they need to sleep but don’t want to be far away from each other. The body at his back shifts and the arm around him tightens. 

Derek is curled around him, as if Stiles is something precious he wants to hold onto. He vaguely recalls the way Derek’s fingers ran through his hair and the care Derek took with him. Stiles knows the moment he’s fully awake, he will lose that. His body aches, tired from fever and battling infection. His shoulders feel stiff and there is pain, but nothing compares to how much his heart hurts. 

Stiles does remember one thing clearly through his fever memories: He is Derek’s anchor, and Derek is his. It’s why the severing spell didn’t work on them. The spell targeted Pack binds, not anchors. Their bond was something different, stronger in a way the caster would not have anticipated. It saved them. But now Stiles has to live with the knowledge that even though he’s Derek’s anchor, that’s all Derek wants him to be. 

Too many years have gone by, and too many opportunities slipped past where Derek could have said something. Stiles may be an expert at hiding his feelings, but he’s not so great that he hasn’t made some mistakes over the years, allowing things to show that should stay hidden. Derek would have noticed something, but never said anything, never made a move. Stiles shovels dirt over the hole he shoves his feelings for Derek into and prepares for what is ahead of him.

Derek’s arm tightens again and Derek fans his fingers out over Stiles’s chest. “Stiles?”

Stiles still hasn’t opened his eyes. He presses back into Derek. “What a ruff day.” 

“Are you ever going to stop making dog jokes?”

“And cease the thing that brings me the most joy? Absolutely not.”

Stiles opens his eyes when the bed at his feet shifts. Erica’s hair is a mess. “Morning, gorgeous.”

Erica gives him a grin. “We were worried about you, Red.”

“Sorry,” he replies. “How did you get us out?”

“When you both went missing, Boyd and Lydia figured out the Carlsbad connection,” Cora said as she laid her head on Stiles’s hip. “After that, it took Lydia no time at all to find the property they’d recently bought.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “They didn’t even use a fake name. Confident and stupid.”

Erica gets a gleam in her eye that usually means violence. “They were barely guarding it. We killed all of them except one. We sent her back with a message to not bother us again.”

“A strongly worded message,” a smile blooms over Cora’s face as she says it and Stiles knows the message was given with a few blows and glee.

Derek buries his face in Stiles’s neck and takes in a deep breath. Stiles knows Derek is scenting him, a normal activity for any wolf, but Stiles closes his eyes against the wave of want that he can’t control.

Stiles clears his throat and says, “I think I need a shower and some food.”

“We will make some food,” Lydia moves from where she is snuggled against Stiles’s front and levels a look at Parrish and Cora. They both get up and follow Lydia out.

“I’ll go get you fresh clothes and a towel.” Erica gets up, pulling Boyd with her. 

Allison’s head appears from the other side of Derek. “You should eat first. You’ve been asleep for two days and we don’t want you passing out in the shower.”

Scott is still somewhere at Stiles’s feet. “I’ll go call Mom. She’ll want to come check in on you.”

Everyone drifts off the bed and out of the room. Stiles moves so that he is laying next to Derek but no longer surrounded by the other man. 

“Are you okay?” Stiles asks Derek, eyes dragging over Derek looking for signs of injuries.

“You scared me,” is the reply that comes.

“I was scared for us too.”

Derek doesn’t say anything else and something that was hopeful stutters inside Stiles. Derek does not seem to want to discuss those confessions they made when they were trapped. For once, Stiles does not fill the silence with all the words inside his brain.

Derek helps Cora and Parrish when they come back, sits Stiles up and helps Stiles eat the grilled cheese and soup Lydia ends up making. By the time the food is done, Stiles’s body feels better, refreshed. His emotions, however, are like a ping pong ball he can’t control. Alone in that room with Derek, Stiles thought they had confessed something important, something they could build on if they ever got out. But Derek is back to being Derek. Stiles decides he can just go back to ignoring his feelings. The thought of that opening a gaping hole of bleakness in front of him.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed and tries to stand. The room tilts a bit and Stiles’s first few steps are wobbly. Derek lurches forward like he’s going to grab Stiles, but Stiles waves him away and clenches his teeth. He makes it to the bathroom unaided and grabs the door frame.

“Are you going to be okay by yourself?” Derek asks.

Stiles turns and gives the other man a cocky grin. “Are you offering to keep me company?”

Derek presses his lips together and the tips of his ears turn pink. There’s a retort on the tip of Stiles’s tongue that is only stopped by the other words that press themselves out of his mouth instead. “I thought not.”

The words are laced with something that sounds like anger. Stiles isn’t sure where that came from, so he closes the door behind him and tries to wash away the last few days under scalding water. He stands under the spray and he thinks. He needs to get the distance back between him and Derek. It’s the only way Stiles can survive knowing Derek wants nothing more from him than as a friend and knowing that will never change. 

Stiles finishes his shower and towels off. There is a pile of fresh clothes on the bathroom counter waiting for him. Stiles gets dressed and leaves Derek’s room with a pair of socks in his hand. 

Physically, he feels much better. Everything else is a wreck. Now that he has opened the connection with Derek while they were captured, Stiles can feel Derek and the Pack more acutely than before. They are all relieved but troubled. There is a mess of emotions coming from Derek that Stiles isn’t skilled enough to parse out. He wonders how much of his own frustration and anger Derek and the rest of the Pack can sense.

At the bottom of the stairs, Stiles goes into the kitchen. Most of the Pack is there, sitting around, eating and talking.

“I’m going to walk to Dad’s,” he tells the room. His dad lives in a cabin about a mile from the main house.

Derek’s eyes are on Stiles and he says nothing. Not that Stiles expected him to.

“I’ll walk with you,” Lydia offers.

Stiles looks away from Derek and at Lydia. “No, I think I need to clear my head. I have my phone. I’ll call if I need help.”

Stiles turns around before he can change his mind and puts his socks and shoes on by the door. His hands shake as he ties the laces. Once he’s outside, he takes a deep breath and starts walking. As he walks, he allows his emotions free. They weave themselves around him until they are choking him and tears stream down his face. He is thankful to be alive. He’s even thankful to know the truth about how Derek feels. Stiles is glad that he can give Derek the foundation of being his anchor, even if there is nothing else Derek wants from him. Stiles can be that. It still crushes his heart and breaks his soul.

Stiles rests a hand against the nearest tree and lets his body shake with mourning, letting his sobs out where there is no one to see. Only the trees are here and they always keep his secrets. When he returns to the Pack House, he’ll have to hide all his emotions in check, so he allows himself to feel them now. 

The walk doesn’t take as long as he needs, so when he gets to his dad’s cabin, he’s still a mess. 

Stiles doesn’t knock on the door. He walks around to the back and sinks into one of the rocking chairs on the back porch. He sits there for a while before the back door opens and his dad pokes his head out. He takes one look at Stiles and goes back inside. He comes back out with two pint glasses in his hand.

“Here.” He offers Stiles one of the glasses, then sits in the other rocking chair. “I’m glad you’re up and about. Melissa said it would be any day now and Derek texted me about thirty minutes ago letting me know you woke up and felt well enough to eat and shower.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Stiles takes a sip of the beer, a malty stout that’s been aging in Dad’s beer fridge for a year.

Dad waits until their beers are half gone before he speaks. “What’s wrong?”

“Who says I didn’t want to just come see you?” Stiles evades. 

“Son, I have eyes. I can see your face. What’s wrong?”

Stiles leans his head back and takes a deep breath. “I’m in love with Derek.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” His dad snorts and takes another sip of his beer.

Stiles turns his head to look at his dad and he is angry. “Fine, you want something else? Derek’s my anchor, always has been since I started training to use my Spark and you want to know the real kicker? I’m Derek’s anchor too. We found out when those Carlsbad assholes tried to use a spell to sever our Pack bonds. It didn’t work on anchor bonds, so we knew they were lying. We could still feel each other through our connection. I knew Derek was alive.” Stiles breathing is jagged.

Dad puts down his glass and leans towards Stiles. “I understand that may have been a shock, but I don’t understand why you think the sharing of that knowledge is bad.”

Stiles clenches his fist on his glass with one hand and the armrest with the other until his knuckles are white. “Derek wants me as his anchor and nothing else. All these years, he could have said something. He could have let me know, but he didn’t because that’s all he wants from me.”

Dad presses his lips together. “I think you are jumping to conclusions, Stiles.”

Stiles launches himself from his chair. “Am I? He’s a werewolf, Dad! I’m not that good at hiding my emotions. He would have figured it out a long time ago. He didn’t tell me because it would give me hope. He would never want to hurt me because he’s so fucking noble and he does care about me, just not like that.” Stiles paces back and forth, running his hand through his hair. He puts his glass down so he doesn’t spill it.

“Stiles,” Dad says and Stiles ignores him. “Stiles,” his dad tries again. “Stiles.”

Stiles finally stops and looks at him. 

“I think you’re wrong,” he says.”

Stiles makes a chopping motion with his hand. “I’m not. I know him better than anyone. I know. I’m right.”

Dad’s face is sad when he replies. “You do know him better than anyone else, but you are also willfully blind to him.”

Anger seethes through his pores. “I’m not wrong.”

Dad holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay.” He sighs and stands. “You staying the night?”

Stiles deflates. As angry as he is, it’s not his Dad’s fault everything is shit. “Yes, please.”

***

Derek watches Stiles leave the house with worry churning in his gut. Stiles smelled like anger, and hurt, and hopelessness. Derek can’t get the smell out of his nose all afternoon.

Stiles doesn’t come home that night. He texts Scott and says he’s staying at Noah's for a few days. 

Derek leaves the room when Scott relays the message. He goes upstairs and lays on Stiles’s bed, breathing deep, and letting the smell of Stiles wrap around the hole that seems to be present in his chest.

He messed up somehow. Derek isn’t sure what he did exactly, but he knows it’s his fault. For all the things he has done right with Stiles, he has done an equal measure of wrong. He is Stiles’s anchor. Derek suspected but was never sure. Stiles is so good at hiding certain things.

The real question is: does this mean something more to Stiles like it means more to Derek, and is Derek willing to ask that question? How afraid of the answer is he? Is he willing to risk everything to find out for sure? Derek had no answers, only questions.

Cora walks past the open door to Stiles’s room, then reverses and comes through the door when she sees Derek. She doesn’t ask before rounding the bed and laying down at Derek’s back, curling around him. 

“He’s okay,” she says. Her breath is warm on his neck and Derek allows himself to be comforted by her closeness.

“I know,” he says.

“He was sad when he left. And angry.”

“I know that too.” Stiles had tried to hide it, but Derek felt it like a knife before Stiles pulled his feelings back in. Even now, he can feel a whisper of that emotion through their connection.

“Derek.” His name is both a question and comfort on her lips.

Derek closes his eyes. “He’s my anchor and I love him.”

There is a puff of air on his neck as Cora sighs. Her arms tighten around him. “Derek, you need to tell him that.”

“No, he doesn’t want that from me.” Derek’s eyes are still closed.

“God, you’re an idiot.” Cora lifts herself up on her elbow. “What makes you think that?”

“Stiles told me I’m his anchor when we were kidnapped.” He pauses and Cora pushes into that hesitation.

“That only points to him having feelings for you, not the opposite.” Cora pokes him in the shoulder with a firm finger. “Derek, who does Stiles call when he has good news?”

“Me.”

“Who does he like making dinner with for Pack nights?”

“Me.”

“Who does he ask first when he wants company for literally anything?”

“Me.”

“Who does he choose to sit by the most? Who does he touch the most?”

“Me,” Derek whispers.

Cora makes an approving noise in her throat. “Who does he go to when he is down and needs company?”

“It’s me. It’s always me.” Derek is still whispering.

“Big brother, that man has loved you since he was a gangly teenager with a buzzcut.”

Hope, so small, blooms. “Why didn’t I know?”

Cora runs a hand down his arm. “I suspect for the same reason he doesn’t know how you feel either. For as in tune you are with each other, you’ve ignored the thing that has the potential to hurt you the most.”

Derek twists his body so he can look Cora in the face. “Are you sure?”

“One hundred and thirty-two percent.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Few things I do make sense. I’m in love with a hellhound and a banshee.” Cora’s mouth widens into a smile.

“Point taken.”

“You know where Stiles is now.”

Derek lays back down. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Oh, for the love of God,” Cora shoves him firmly in his back and Derek flops onto the floor with a thud. “Get your furry ass down to Noah’s cabin and go profess your love to the other biggest idiot I know.”

Derek sputters and lurches to his feet. “Dammit, Cora.”

“Go.”

Derek clenches his fists and takes a deep breath. He turns on his heel and does what his sister tells him to do. 

He’s halfway there before his nerves and brain catch up with his movements and everything in him vibrates with a combination of anxiety, hope, and a groundswell of fear. Derek pauses on the path and considers turning back around and going anywhere else but Noah’s. He almost does turn back, but then he smells it, the trail of anguish he left behind him a few hours ago. Derek could never turn back now knowing that somewhere ahead of him, Stiles’s emotions are breaking him apart.

Derek makes it to the clearing and stands on the edge of the woods, looking at the cabin. He’s here and now he doesn’t have the first clue what to do or say. His feet feel rooted.

The front door of the cabin opens and Derek tenses then he sees Noah and he’s alone. 

“Stiles is on the back porch, Derek.” Noah puts a hand on his arm before Derek can move. “You’re lucky to have each other.” He gives Derek an encouraging smile.

Derek nods and heads around the house.

Derek could find Stiles with his eyes closed. He can hear Stiles’s heart and he can smell the grief still pouring off him. Derek thinks Cora may have been right, for once. 

He takes a step around the corner. The moment Stiles sees Derek, Derek can visibly see Stiles pull everything back into himself. Derek wonders how many times Stiles has done that, pulled his emotions in until they are no longer visible.

There are so many things he could say. Derek thought of all of them on his way over, but none of them seem right. Stiles is better with words. Derek only ever uses actions to show how he cares. His feet start moving and he doesn’t hesitate as he makes his way to Stiles. 

Stiles watches him with his warm brown eyes that are full of emotions. Stiles no longer smells angry, but he is still sad. Derek gathers his courage.

Derek keeps walking until he is standing right in front of Stiles. Derek leans over, places his hands on the arms of the chair Stiles is sitting in, and keeps leaning forward until his lips feather across Stiles’s lips. The touch is light and tentative, a question Derek never had the courage to ask and he’s not sure he has the courage now. Derek pulls back, though he wants to press in, to look into Stiles’s face.

Derek gets about two inches away before Stiles’s right hand shoots out and clenches the front of his shirt. The other hand slides around the back of Derek’s neck and pulls him towards Stiles and down. Derek falls to knees in front of Stiles and Stiles presses their lips back together.

There’s no hesitation in that way Stiles answers the question Derek asked. This is no tentative closed mouth kiss. Stiles runs his tongue along the seam of Derek’s mouth and Derek opens to him. Stiles takes the opening and he takes. Derek didn’t know it was possible to be owned by a kiss alone, but he is, completely and utterly. Stiles uses the hand on Derek’s neck to his advantage and Derek melts and is on fire at the same time.

This is everything Derek has always wanted and yet still shines brighter than anything he ever imagined.

Stiles’s hand in his shirt moves to Derek’s waist and, those long fingers Derek has watched so many times, lift his shirt until they find the soft skin right above his hips. Stiles squeezes hard enough to leave bruises, if Derek was human, and the pleasure and pain of the moment rip a moan from Derek. Derek’s hands slide up Stiles’s thighs and squeeze. He ghosts one of his hands over the hard bulge of Stile’s cock and gets a thrill when Stiles makes a moan of his own as his hips jerk. Derek presses the palm of his hand into Stiles’s arousal and Stiles whimpers. 

Derek swallows all of the noises Stiles gives him as if it’s food he can live on for the rest of his life. 

Derek vaguely hears the back door open then there is throat clearing. Derek yanks his hands back to Stiles’s knees. Stiles breaks their kiss but his hands and eyes don’t move from Derek.

“Hey, Dad.”

Derek hasn’t been caught making out with anyone since high school and Laura caught him with Christie Gershwin behind the field house. Derek turns to look at Noah, who is standing six feet from them with a blinding smile he’s not even trying to hide.

“Sir,” Derek starts to continue, but Noah cuts in.

“I’d appreciate it if you two would move that somewhere else. I love you both, and I hope you have already or will soon have a long chat with each other, but I don’t need to see it actually happening.” Noah shakes his head, still smiling, and escapes back into the house.

Derek looks at Stiles. His pupils are blown wide, there is color high in his cheeks, and his lips look like they’ve been stretched and pressed. In a word, Stiles looks like he’s been properly, and devastatingly kissed. Derek moves his right hand from Stiles’s thigh and threads it into Stiles’s hair, pulling him close until their foreheads are touching. 

Stiles beats him to all the things he wants to say. “I love you. I have since before you became my anchor, probably since the first time you threatened to do bodily harm to my person since I have no sense of self preservation.”

Derek’s hands tighten on Stiles. “I love you too. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you years ago.”

“No regrets now. Forward, never back,” Stiles’s hands cup Derek’s face and he pulls them apart. “I came here to mope and wallow, but it looks like I don’t need to do that anymore. Want to walk back to the house with me?” 

Derek replies, “Only if you promise to kiss me again once I get you alone.”

Stiles, his hands still on Derek’s face, pulls him closer and presses into him again. This kiss is slow, less desperate, like they have all the time in the world. Derek thinks they can have as much time as they want now. There’s no hesitation.

After years of arguing with his own wolf, who never knew why Derek wouldn’t claim Stiles for them both, Derek can feel that other side of himself filled with joy. 

By the time they pull apart, Derek is shaking with need and Stiles isn’t much better.

“We have to leave or I am going to do something to you on this porch that will scar my dad for life.” Stiles gives Derek a push.

Derek rises to his feet and pulls Stiles up from the chair. When he is standing, Stiles’s body is flush against Derek and this is better, not worse. Derek wraps a hand around Stiles’s waist and presses them together, their arousals hard and Derek’s knees threaten to give out.

“We have to go,” Stiles urges.

Derek nods and takes a step back. It’s the hardest movement he’s ever made. Stiles laces their fingers together and pulls Derek behind him, off the porch, and into the woods towards the main house.

They stay connected, palm to palm as they walk the mile back to the house. Derek has so many things he wants to say, but he’s never been good with words. Stiles usually takes over in that department and Stiles is uncharacteristically silent. Stiles is leading them and turns around to grin at him every couple minutes. It’s a look that makes promises. Their anchor connection is humming with elation and sexual tension. Derek can’t keep the smile off his face as they race through the woods. 

Stiles opens the door to the house and Derek closes it behind them. They pass the kitchen where Scott, Allison, Liam, and Malia are drinking coffee and eating. 

Malia sees them first because she’s the only one facing them. “It’s about damn time.”

This comment causes the other three to turn around. 

Scott grins and gives them a thumb up. “Way to go, buddy.” Derek doesn’t know if he’s addressing Derek, Stiles, or both.

Liam whistles after them as Stiles yanks Derek out of the doorway. 

Stiles chuckles and says, “Wolf whistle.” He then trips a little as he starts laughing for real.

“Be safe. Use your words,” Allison calls up to them.

Stiles is still chuckling as they reach the second floor landing and Stiles pulls them into Derek’s bedroom, swings the door shut behind them, then presses Derek against the door.

“I hope your room is okay. Mine’s not soundproofed,” Stiles says as he plants their still joined hands by Derek’s head on the door.

Desire, weighted and wanting, pools in Derek’s gut. “I know. Sometimes, I could hear you, alone in your room, touching yourself.”

Stiles’s mouth opens in surprise, then Stiles’s mouth is covering his and Stiles presses his body into Derek, moving his hips enough to cause friction that feels like torture.

“I was always thinking of you,” Stiles says as he spreads kisses down Derek’s neck before biting down where it meets his shoulder.

Derek is undone and would have slid to the floor except Stiles’s body is pinning him to the door. Derek regains his equilibrium, plants both hands on Stiles’s ass, and lifts him up. Stiles wraps both legs around Derek and resumes kissing him. Derek carries Stiles to his bed, falling onto the mattress where they are a tangle of limbs and kissing. They break apart, only to pull shirts over their head and yank pants off each other.

Once they are both naked, bodies straining towards each other, they pause and look their fill. They are both breathing heavily. For a moment, Derek is worried that he’ll close his eyes and open them again to find his bed empty. His hand shakes as he he reaches out and paces a hand over Stiles’s heart. His own heart is overflowing with adoration for the man in front of him. There is no way he deserves this.

Stiles reaches out a hand and runs his hand down Derek’s jaw. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop it. I’m not going anywhere. I’m never going anywhere without you again.”

Derek just nods and pulls Stiles into him and kisses the other man, rolling Stiles underneath him. Derek reaches between them and wraps his hand around Stiles’s cock. It’s heavy and warm in his hand. Stiles pumps into Derek’s hand and makes a whimpering noise.

“I have a confession.” Stiles’s voice is already husky and broken.

Derek places a small kiss at the corner of Stiles’s mouth. “You can tell me anything.”

Stiles swallows and his eyes travel over Derek’s face before he speaks. “It’s been a long time since I did this and I’ve been fantasizing about this since I was like sixteen, so if, no when, I embarrass myself, please give me another chance.”

Derek squeezes Stiles’s cock and grins. “I’m right there with you. How about we get the first one out of the way, then we can take our time.”

Stiles nods. Derek reaches out with the other hand to get a bottle of lube from his bedside table. Stiles watches every movement with hooded, hungry eyes. Derek revels in everything as he spreads lube on his hand before taking them both in his hand. Stiles grins at Derek and wraps his own hand around their cocks. Derek braces himself on his elbow so he can alternatively watch their bodies moving together or place his lips over Stiles’s mouth every time he moans. The push and pull of them working together sends them both hurtling toward the edge. 

It doesn’t take them long before they are both blanketing each other with come. 

Derek makes sure the second and third time take much, much longer.

***

Derek tries not to preen and is immensely pleased when Stiles moves his things into Derek’s room the next day. They spend the nights finding out all the things they could have been doing for years.

Derek is staring at his computer screen later in the week one  afternoon remembering the way Stiles had looked bound to the bed last night when his phone buzzes. Shaking his head to free his brain space, he looks down at the screen and sees it’s a message from Stiles. Derek looks out the window in his office and sees the brewstand empty, the system clean and silent.

Meet me in the mill room.

Derek thinks back, weeks ago, to the conversation where he heard Stiles say if he was going to make out in the brewery, the mill room would be the place he would go.

Derek stands and glances over at Boyd. “I need to go check on something.” He can't meet Boyd’s eyes.

Boyd chuckles and says, “Sure thing,” like he knows exactly what Derek is thinking.

Derek practically launches himself out of the office and he has to force himself not to run down the stairs and into the back corner of the brewery where the mill room is. As he walks through the door, Stiles comes out from the corner of his line of sight, slams the door shut, and heaves a fifty pound bag of grain in front of the door, creating a barrier.

He grins at Derek and says,”It won’t stop a werewolf from getting in, but it may slow them down for two seconds and give them time to consider what they might see if they did so.”

Stiles takes Derek’s hand and pulls him over to a pallet of more bags of grain. Stiles leans against them and pulls Derek into his arms. Stiles’s kiss is fierce, hungry in a way that a week of daily sex has not taken the edge from. Stiles’s hands are on Derek’s hip, squeezing, and in his hair pulling, directing where this is going.

Stiles pulls back only after both of them are out of breath. 

Stiles puts both hands on Derek’s shoulders and pushes down. “On your knees.”

Derek doesn’t hesitate and drops to his knees, sliding down Stiles’s body as he does so. His wolf is practically vibrating with pleasure and the strength in Stiles’s command. Derek will always give Stiles whatever he wants but when Stiles demands in that tone of voice, Derek wants to melt. 

He looks up at Stiles with a question and Stiles nods. Derek’s hands are steady but his blood is roaring in his ears as he unbuttons Stiles’s work pants, pulls the zipper down, and eases the pants and boxers briefs over Stiles’s hips. Stiles’s already hard cock springs out after being released and Derek catches it in his mouth.

Stiles fists his hands in Derek’s hair and moans as he shoves into Derek’s mouth. “I’ve been thinking about this all week. Before then, even if I’m honest.”

Derek uses one of his hands to squeeze Stiles around his hip bone hard enough to shut him up. The other hand he wraps around the base of Stiles’s cock and moves it in time with his lips. He can taste Stiles’s precome on his tongue and loves being filled by Stiles in this way. As he works Stiles, his own erection is painful against the constraints of his pants. Derek uses his free hand to open up his jeans and free himself. He palms the weight and groans around the cock in his mouth.

Stiles looks down, sees what Derek is doing, and his hips stutter in their movement. “Gods you are so fucking gorgeous.”

It takes a moment, but Derek finds a rhythm between his mouth on Stiles and his hand on himself. It is heady, doing this in a place that they could be discovered. It’s less frantic and desperate then they were when they started out. This is more adoration on Derek’s part and an overwhelming Desire to get utterly lost in Stiles.  

He can feel the beginnings of Stiles’s orgasm and he’s prepared when come rushes down Derek’s throat. He swallows as his own come paints the ground at Stiles’s feet. Derek slows the rhythm until he has wrung both of them dry. He shifts his weight back and looks up at Stiles.

Stiles eyes are glazed and he rubs a thumb over Derek’s swollen lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

They both grin at each other like idiots. 

***

Derek is awake, sitting up, and reading in bed. The sun is already up, but the man in bed with him is not. Stiles is curled around Derek’s hip with his arm thrown over Derek’s lap. Stiles is snoring quietly in his sleep and Derek might be biased, but he thinks it’s adorable. Plus, he kept Stiles up late last night working him until he begged in a way that made Derek glad his room was soundproofed.

Derek is certain he doesn’t deserve the devotion Stiles freely gives him. It’s been over a month now and he can still barely believe it. Even in sleep, Derek can feel the contentment flowing between the bond they share. Derek hopes he never loses his sense of wonder over the fact that Stiles loves him. Derek gives into his own desires and cards his fingers through Stiles’s hair. It curls over Stiles’s ears and needs to be trimmed, but Derek is enjoying it long.

Stiles opens one warm brown eye and blinks up at him for almost a minute before he mumbles, “Morning, Sourwolf.”

“Good morning, sleepy Spark.” Derek keeps his voice low and never stops moving his fingers.

Stiles smiles and rolls over onto his back and stretches. “Someone kept me up last night.”

“And you hated every minute of it,” Derek replies. He loves how their easy banter has continued into this iteration of their relationship. Everything has improved, in Derek’s opinion, since they admitted their feelings once and for all - and started having amazing world-changing sex.

“I abhorred it.” Stiles gives Derek a wicked grin. “Let’s do it again tonight.”

Derek chuckles and Stiles’s smile broadens at the sound. He wishes they could stay in bed all day. Stiles’s smiles do something to him that borders on joy, every time. “It’s a big day. We need to get moving, get everyone fed, and start setting up.”

Stiles sighs, then heaves himself out of the bed. “Come take a shower with me.” Stiles doesn’t look behind him to check on Derek, who hasn’t moved. “Stop looking at my ass.”

“Stop walking away from me naked,” Derek replies, enjoying the view.

Stiles throws a look over his shoulder that gets him out of bed and into the shower with Stiles as fast as he can move.

Once they are showered and dressed, they both get into Derek’s truck and head to the brewery. Today is the Fall Equinox and Moon Tower Fermentarium is already a bustle of activity even though it’s only just past eight in the morning. A large event tent is going up in the greenspace on the side of the brewery. There are piles of tables and chairs and the entire Pack is here.

“It’s about time you two showed up,” Erica yells at them, pitching her voice loud enough for Stiles to hear.

Stiles points a finger in her direction, “I’m leaving now for breakfast tacos from Henry’s, so keep your sarcasm in check or I’ll only let you have one instead of the five I know you want.”

Erica puts the stake to the tent she’s holding in the ground then stands to wink at Stiles. “You’re my favorite.”

Stiles laughs. “Sure, sure. Flattery doesn’t work on me.”

Malia laughs and smacks Stiles on the ass as she walks by with another tent pole. “Yes, it does.” 

Stiles puts his hands on his hips and scowls at all of them. “So disrespectful. I’m going to have words with your Alpha, terrible wolves.” 

Derek chuckles at the display but doesn’t interject his own comment. Stiles can definitely be won over by flattery and Derek is definitely not complaining about it.

Henry and his family run a taqueria in town. They have the very best breakfast, street tacos, and churros in town. Derek placed an order with him last week for enough tacos and coffee to feed the Pack while they set up.

“Stiles,” Derek says to get the other man’s attention. 

Stiles looks at him and Derek tosses him the keys. Stiles jangles the keys and says, “I’ll be back.”

Derek gets to work, helping with the last of the tent stakes and then setting up tables and chairs under the tent and all over the lawn. Liam and Malia are setting up the portable stage for the bands. Parrish, Noah, and Chris are setting up the outdoor bar. Everyone is busy and Derek swells with contentment. He loves days like this, when the entire Pack is focused on a task together. It’s even sweeter this time because Stiles keeps making excuses to find him and give him drive-by kisses. 

At one o’clock, they take a break for lunch and sit in the taproom to take a break before the festivities start. Erica gets up from the table and goes behind the bar and grabs two six packs with labels with colors Derek has never seen. She puts them behind her back before he can get a good look at them.

She saunters over the table and says, “I have an announcement.”

Everyone at the table is smiling like they are in on the same joke that Derek has missed. Stiles is sitting next to him and they look at each other. Stiles shrugs, which tells Derek he also doesn’t know what’s going on.

“As you all know, the two idiots we adore finally realized they loved each other.”

“Thank God,” Jackson says. Jackson, Isaac, and Ethan flew in three days ago for the party. He’s been a non-stop source of sarcasm and comments, like he stores them up for his four visits a year.

“Love you too, lizard face,” Stiles replies and blows Jackson a kiss.

Derek rolls his eyes. Those two are like twelve-year-olds. Derek will never admit that he finds them hilarious together.

Erica clears her throat louder than needed. “As I was saying, Cora and I felt this momentous event warranted something a little special. May I present to both of you, because everyone at this table already knows about it, the labels for the Oktoberfest and the foeder aged Oktoberfest we are serving today.”

She plunks the six packs down. One of the cans is in blues and greens, featuring a fully shifted black wolf with blue eyes that looks a lot like Derek with a full moon behind him. The beer name is in a prominent banner at the top and says Howl Down with Oktoberfest in smaller letters. The other can is in brighter colors. Rays of red and orange radiate out from a figure cloaked in a deep red that is almost purple. A hand holds the edge of the hood back enough to reveal a slightly upturned nose that Derek would recognize anywhere. The banner on this one reads Snark Aleck and is the beer they foeder aged.

Stiles bursts into laughter. Derek’s heart aches with the sweetness of the emotions coursing through him.

“When did you fill and label these?” Derek asks when he finds his voice. He can’t believe he didn’t see the labels before today.

Liam leans around Chris. “I came in early and got enough done to sell some and for the Pack to drink. Malia ordered the tap handles we’ll use today.”

Stiles’s smile is blinding. “Thank you. This is incredibly sweet. I would say I’m sorry for making you put up with us for so long, but you all know that being a pain in everyone’s ass is my specialty, so I won’t apologize.”

“They’re perfect,” Derek says.  

The group cleans up lunch and makes last minute preparations. The event is set to start at three. Cars start winding down the brewery road at two-thirty and the first band starts playing at three thirty. After that, time goes by in a blur. Boyd has everyone scheduled for different jobs, rotating people through for breaks and changing duties so everyone gets time outside and inside. The barn and grounds are packed with people happy to drink good beer on a beautiful fall day while they eat and listen to music.

Derek is in the outside bar with Stiles, Malia, and Liam for the first half of the festival. Stiles gleefully slaps Derek’s ass every time he happens to walk by while they're serving beers. Stiles giggles every time he does it and Derek has to force himself to scowl at Stiles for doing it because watching Stiles be that happy is infectious.

From five to eleven, Derek walks around cleaning up tables and keeping an eye on things. He has a pocket full of small cards they hand out to people with numbers of local Uber and Lyft drivers who are giving free rides to festival goers. The brewery paid for the rides, as they have every year, wanting people to get home safe. Some people have taken advantage of the brewery’s field on the left side of the barn and pitched tents for the night. The atmosphere is vibrant. 

When last call happens, Derek is exhausted and happy and the best part of the evening is still in front of him. The very best part. They get patrons out the door, to their cars, rides, or tents and they clean up. With all hands helping, it’s just past midnight when they’re done. Erica and Malia haul two huge coolers into the back of Derek’s truck and the Pack heads back to the main house.

This is when their Equinox party really starts. Someone puts music on once they’re all in the backyard. The coolers are opened to reveal plenty of Howl Down and Snark Aleck, plus a few other varieties and the Pack sprawls in groups on the grass and at the tables. Boyd and Erica spread leftover food from the food trucks that were at the brewery on one of the picnic tables. Derek looks around and sees Stiles over by the coolers with Scott. 

Stiles meets his eyes and Derek waves two paper plates in the air like a question. Stiles gives him a grin and a big thumbs up. Derek doesn’t even bother to hide his smile. Cora joins him on the other side of the table. There are kabobs, dips, roasted vegetables, empanadas, sliders, potatoes covered in cheese and butter, and a couple casseroles loaded with cheese. Derek piles a little of everything on the plates. It makes Derek happy to make a plate for Stiles. It’s silly and domestic and it makes his heart expand. 

Derek joins Stiles and the rest of the Pack around the fire pit. Stiles takes one of the plates from Derek and hands Derek a beer when he sits down.

“Thanks. I sat down and now I’m now sure I’ll ever move again. I’m beat.” Stiles takes a bite of broccoli rice casserole and closes his eyes. “This is so good. Why is rice, cheese, and broccoli so good? Alone, they are boring, barely worth anything. Together though?” Stiles takes another bite and groans with pleasure. “Perfection.”

Derek laughs at Stiles. He feels like everything in his life is so full of joy he can’t not laugh. “That’s how I feel about you and me together.”

Stiles stops with his fork halfway to his mouth. “Are you saying I’m boring? Geez, Sourwolf. Way to flatter a guy.”

Derek nudges Stiles’s foot and he can feel his face heating. “No, I mean I’m boring and slightly useless without you. ”

Stiles squints his eyes at him and presses his lips together. “Well, nice recovery, I guess, but you’re wrong. We’re both fabulous on our own. Together, we are…”

Whatever Stiles is about to say is interrupted by Cora yelling, “Insufferable.”

“To be fair to them both,” Lydia says looking at Derek and Stiles, “this is much better than all the pining they did before they got together.”

Everyone around the fire laughs. 

“I hate all of you,” Stiles says.

“Lydia is right. This is much better,” Derek looks at Stiles when he says it.

Stiles sighs and closes the distance between them. It’s a hard, quick kiss, but Derek’s body lights up at the contact. He hopes he never loses the wonder that rocks him to his core every time Stiles’s lips touch his. 

“I like this better too.” Stiles kisses him one more time, quick and light this time, and Derek can’t look away from Stiles when he pulls back. 

Stiles takes their empty plates when they are done and comes back with two more beers.

“What do you think of the labels?” he asks.

Derek can just make out the wolf and the hooded figure on the cans. “I love them. It was nice of them to commemorate us this way.”

Stiles leans into Derek’s side. “They’re a bunch of softies. I’m actually surprised they didn’t meddle more than they did.”

Derek clears his throat. “Well, Cora did meddle, a little.”

“A little, big brother?” Cora lifts her head off Parrish’s shoulder and glares at them. “I practically had to beat you over the head to get you to go find Stiles at Noah’s.”

Stiles opens his mouth to say something and Derek puts a hand over Stiles’s hand that’s resting on his leg. He gives Stiles a small smile before turning to face Cora. “Thank you.”

Cora’s face softens and she puts her head back on Parrish. “Damn right.”

The Pack starts moving. The weres go off to the side to strip and shift. The humans stay by the fire. Derek pads back over the fire and Stiles. His wolf was never shy about his feelings for Stiles. 

Stiles gives him a smile and cards his fingers through Derek’s fur. Derek leans into the touch and huff’s a breath of air into Stiles neck. His sense of smell is always good but it gains a sharpness to it in this form and Derek revels in being able to smell Stiles like this. The other man smells like StilesandDerek and the possessive wolf in him loves it and thinks this is the way it is always supposed to be.

“You’re absolutely gorgeous,” Stiles says as he runs his hands over Derek’s wolf face. 

Derek preens and walks around Stiles, rubbing his full body over Stiles’s shoulders. Derek turns to look at the woods where the Pack is disappearing, then he whines at Stiles. 

Stiles grabs him by the jowls. “You want me to go with you?”

Derek yips and hops a little. Stiles laughs. “Okay, Sourwolf. Let’s go.”

Stiles stands and stretches. He puts his can on the log he was leaning against next to the one Derek had been drinking. The labels face the fire, Howl Down and Snark Aleck pictures flickering in the firelight. Derek licks Stiles’s hand and leads Stiles into the forest. 

Stiles keeps up with Derek with a steady jog. Derek can feel the territory in this form better than as a human and everything is crisp in his mind. His connection to the land always feels tighter on nights like this, when the Pack is together and it’s a solstice or an equinox. He lets the awareness flow over him and reaches out for his connection to Stiles, who is running beside him.

Their connection has continued to strengthen and Derek swears he can feel Stiles in his head sometimes, especially tonight. They are both overflowing with emotions and Derek slows down, then stops.

Stiles halts his run, breathing heavier than normal, but not out of breath. He squats down on his haunches in front of Derek. “Everything okay?”

Derek swipes his tongue over Stiles’s face and Stiles laughs. “I know. Me too.” Stiles grabs Derek’s face again. “I can feel it too, the night, the Pack, and you. In here,” Stiles points to his head. “And in here.” He points to heart.

Derek puts his head on Stiles’s shoulder and Stiles’s arm wraps around and squeezes. “Let’s run some more then head back to the fire.”

Derek lets Stiles lead for a bit. His heart is at peace and full of love. He knows everything in his world was just the way it was always meant to be.