Archive of Our Own

Stiles didn't have any idea there was anything going on that he had to be aware of. This was a normal Saturday, as far as he was concerned: get up late, eat a humongous bowl of cereal in front of the TV, either watching a baseball game or some random cartoon (today, it had been Adventure Time), do some homework, shower, and then figure out if he was doing anything that night. Often enough, frantic research and fights for their lives interrupted things so that Stiles treasured the days that were normal.

Right now, he was in the middle of the shower portion of his routine, and his mind kept drifting to strong backs, cut abdomens, and strong arms. Stiles slid his hand down his body and fondled himself a little while he wavered between the time he'd caught Danny in the shower and the last time he'd surreptitiously watched Derek working out.

Stiles wasn't ashamed to admit that he had a bit of a voyeurism kink.

As his soapy fingers slid up his shaft, he thought about Derek's faint blush when he realized Stiles was watching him instead of just...being in the same room. He'd quickly gone for his shirt, and then vanished up the stairs, claiming he'd heard something, but Stiles had just grinned at him.

"Yeah," Stiles groaned, following the memory into fantasy, imagining what might have happened if he had been brave enough to follow Derek upstairs. He could have crowded up into the werewolf's space and licked the trail of sweat that wandered over Derek's collarbone. He could have hooked his fingers in Derek's shorts and shoved them down, slotting their hips together so that his denim covered erection had rasped against Derek's bare one. Mmmmm, the sound Derek would make.

~*~

Derek flipped his keys idly in his hand, walking from the grocery store entrance to his car. He carried half a dozen bags easily in his left hand, and his mind wandered from topic to topic without any real direction.

Well. Until rampant, gleeful lust slammed into him. Derek inhaled sharply at the intensity of the feelings swamping his senses. The fuck? He suddenly felt almost smotheringly hot, too, as though there was another personas turned on as he was crowding his personal space. He licked his lips, swallowing hard when he felt what he would have sworn was a tongue dragging over his neck. He managed to get the key into the lock before he felt a cock rubbing against his own, and he went from half hard to battering ram in two seconds. "Jesus," he muttered, throwing himself into the driver's seat. "Fuck."

He dropped the bags he still held in to the passenger’s seat and tried to breathe. It felt like his cock was trying to break the zipper on his jeans he was that hard. He reached down and popped the button and dragged the zipper down, cursing as his cock sprung out of his underwear. He reached down and wrapped a hand around his cock, feeling someone else’s hand there, someone else’s fingers against his chest. He could feel the lust and could almost taste the person in the back of his throat. He knew that taste and he could almost say the person’s name but then he felt fingers against his ass, sliding into him, and he gripped his cock harder.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Fuh...” He started jacking off, needing to get off, to stop this, to get enough of his mind back that he could track down the little shit and beat him senseless.

~*~

Stiles growled as his balls tightened up. Derek's ass had to be so tight, so fucking snug that sliding in would be heaven. He imagined doing just that, draped over Derek's back, licking and biting at his neck, stroking his cock...

He came with a groan, streams of come hitting the floor of the shower and swirling away down the drain. Stiles bit his lip, enjoying the hell out of the force of this orgasm. His hand slowed and he hummed, realizing he was buzzing a little. "Awesome," he sighed, eyes closed against the spray. He groped for the washcloth, wondering if he was close enough to it to reach.

His fingers snagged terry, and he pulled it in to press against his face. Stiles felt good. This was good. He turned, pulling the cloth away from his face, and went about the rest of his shower routine.

He turned off the water and groped around for his towel, his hand meeting terry again and pulled it inside the shower, wiping his face first and getting all the water out of his eyes. He had forgotten that hair had a tendency to drip like a mofo after getting wet. He was insanely tempted to buzz it all off again but having hair had it’s own appeal.

He stepped out the shower, drying himself off in patches and then wrapping it around his hips as he left the bathroom. Stiles puttered through getting dressed, checking his phone, and sitting back down at his computer. He was still a little buzzed from that great orgasm in the shower, and the normal lassitude of a hot shower. He didn’t immediately turn around when he heard his window because of it. He figured it was Scott.

 

Stiles did not expect a snarling Derek Hale to be waiting for him when he finally turned around, and he did not expect to get slammed into the wall with a pissed off werewolf inches from his face.

He also did not expect Derek to go flying into the ceiling. “Holy shit!”

“Stiles,” Derek growled, somehow managing to look menacing from where he was pressed against the ceiling. “Put. Me. Down.”

Stiles stared up at him. “How about no?” He was pissed. Derek came storming in here, slamming him against walls, yelling at him, and then wanted him to actually give up the advantage he somehow had? Fuck that. “The fuck are you doing here?”

“You were projecting something,” Derek grit out. It was hard to talk, that much was clear with the way he had to force the words out. “I’m...Stiles, I’m sinking into the ceiling.”

Stiles smirked. “Does it hurt?” he taunted. Maybe he should make it hurt, for all the times Derek had hurt him. He tilted his head thoughtfully, wondering if he put more pressure...

Derek grunted and closed his eyes. “Stiles,” he gritted out. “Stop.” There was an audible snap, and another wince. “You’re breaking bones.”

Too caught up in the power, Stiles pushed until plaster fell to the ground and Derek shouted in pain. Suddenly, Derek (and more plaster) dropped to the floor. Stiles took a step back as he saw all the blood on Derek’s back from the bones and promptly turned around and fled his room. He slammed the door shut and leaned back against it for a moment. He could feel the panic attack building.

He slumped over and crouched down into the corner, trying to breathe through the sudden tightening of his throat and whimpered. He was gasping and very close to hyperventilating, knees drawn up to his chest. What the hell was that? What had just happened? Did he do that?

He was so withdrawn into himself that he didn’t hear Derek following him. Stiles didn’t even feel the door squishing against him when Derek forced it open. It wasn’t until spread hands entered his field of vision that he registered his presence. Stiles jerked back, pressing himself as tightly into the corner as he could. “Nonononononono,” he chanted, panicking even more.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m sorry I startled you, that wasn’t fair. I’m sorry I slammed you into the wall, too. I shouldn’t have done that. You startled me, that was all, and I reacted to it without thinking, it’s not your fault, I’m sorry,” Derek kept talking, shifting his weight until he was sitting on the floor in the middle of the bathroom, facing Stiles. He didn’t block the door, some part of Stiles that wasn’t involved in freaking out completely noted.

“Your eyes turned green, Stiles. Have you been doing anything with magic recently? Seen or heard anything weird? You were holding me up there somehow, pretty strongly, and I don’t know how. Do you know how?”

Stiles pressed back against the wall as far as he could, not wanting to accidentally do something again. It had been him, right? He was the one who had pushed Derek into the ceiling and the bones...he had heard the bones cracking and crushing. Oh, he wanted to throw up, remembering those sounds.

“N-no, I. I couldn’t. Did I?” Stiles babbled, trying not to stare at the blood on Derek’s face. His shirt, white for once, was stained with patches of blood. Stiles slapped his hands over his mouth. Oh man, he was gonna be sick. Why did there have to be blood?

He crawled out of the corner not even aware that he’d shoved Derek out of his way somehow and threw up into the toilet. He kept seeing blood and Derek on the ceiling and he could feel himself panicking as he kept throwing up. No, no, no, this couldn’t be happening. What was happening to him? What the hell was going on? All he had wanted to do was have a little alone time, a fantasy session, an indulgence for once that was all about him and not about Scott or any of their little werewolf friends. No, he had wanted something for himself, and he couldn’t even have that without something weird happening to him.

He was vaguely aware of motion behind him, of a cup being passed close enough to him that he could see it but it wasn’t being forced at him. There was a damp cloth with it, and he reached out and took both without thought. Stiles was sipping the water before he realized that...no one handed them to him.

“Motherfu--” he yelped, launching the cup across the room. He scrambled backwards and ran into Derek’s legs. “It floated to me. The cup. The. The washcloth. Derek, it fucking floated to me.”

Derek wrapped an arm around Stiles as he started to slump sideways. He stared in slowly creeping horror at the now-unconscious person in his arms, wondering what the hell was going on. Stiles was now calm, only because he was unconscious, limp in Derek’s arms. He took a steadying breath, and made a decision to see if they could figure out what was going on.

~*~

Derek brought Stiles, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, into Doctor Deaton’s animal clinic, flipping the open sign to closed.

“What can I help you with?” Deaton asked, watching Derek carefully.

“Stiles,” Derek said. “There’s something wrong with him.”

Deaton beckoned him into the back exam room and Derek laid Stiles on it, backing away and looking at Deaton.

“Tell me,” Deaton said.

“His eyes were green and he pinned me to the ceiling with enough force to break all my bones,” Derek said.

Deaton raised his eyebrow. “That explains the shirt. Anything else?” he moved in, peering down at Stiles.

“He. Uh. He also made me feel what he was thinking,” Derek hedged, not really wanting to explain the details of what, exactly, Stiles had made him feel.

Deaton looked up at him. “Did he make you do anything, or just make you feel what he was thinking?” he asked.

“Just feel,” Derek said slowly. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want to believe what you’re telling me. I thought it was impossible.” Deaton carefully opened Stiles’ eyes, but they were their normal brown. “Can you tell me exactly what happened?”

Derek shifted. “I went over to his house, and surprised him coming out of the shower. I. Uh...” he looked away. “I slammed him against the wall because I was mad, and he reacted by throwing me into the ceiling. When I tried to get him to let me down, he pressed me in harder, and his eyes glowed green. He eventually let me down, freaked out, hid in the bathroom, panicked some more, threw up, and then freaked out again, yelling something about things that floated to him, and then passed out”

Deaton studied Stiles. “Well, son of a bitch.”

Derek blinked at him in surprise. “What?”

“He’s an alpha.”

“What do you mean, he’s an alpha?” Derek demanded. “He’s not an alpha, alphas have red eyes. I would have known if he was an alpha.”

Deaton took a step back from Stiles and regarded Derek with a calm look. “How much do you know about the original weres?”

Derek frowned, crossing his arms. “They came from Europe, migrating from the Middle East or something. Ages old. There were hundred and thousands of packs but then the hunters caught on and began a massacre. Packs fled here as soon as they could.”

“Brief and remarkably incomplete overview, but yes,” Deaton said. “In those packs, the alphas had green eyes and betas had violet. Over the years, those packs lost connection with their original bases of power, the legends that made them what they were. In those first packs, bitten wolves were weaker. Their power wasn’t weak by any means, but they weren’t as strong as the original wolves. The red eyes you have are because your blood has become diluted from the old packs through the years, descendants from those first generations of bitten wolves. The werewolves now are a weaker species to their European cousins.”

“Stiles is American,” Derek said.

“His mother was not,” Deaton said. “His mother was from Europe. Haven’t you ever heard the story of his name?”

“Only that he refuses to use it,” Derek said, staring at Stiles. “So...you’re telling me his mother was a European werewolf, passed it along to Stiles, and now he’s got green eyes and telekinesis?” He stared at Deaton incredulously.

“Effectively, yes. I had no idea any of the old blood still existed, though. I thought they had long since been killed off. To find one here, and an alpha, and for that alpha to be Stiles...” Deaton shook his head.

“What does that mean?” Derek asked. “Nothing happens by accident, not in Beacon Hills, and definitely not while the alpha pack is here.”

Deaton shook his head. “I cannot say.”

Stiles twitched and moaned on the examination table, his face scrunching up and rolling onto his side as he opened his eyes. He rubbed his eyes and looked around while both Derek and Deaton held their breath. Stiles rolled back onto his back and sat up. He looked confused. “What am I doing here?” he asked.

“What’s the last thing you remember, Stiles?” Deaton asked.

Stiles blinked, raising a hand and rubbing his eyes. “Uhm. I.” He stopped, frowning. “I don’t...know?”

Derek frowned at him. "You don't remember anything?"

"I remember being in the shower," Stiles said slowly. "I was. Uh.” He glanced at Derek, his cheeks heating, and decided to focus on Deaton. And if he was here, and didn’t know how or why, then honesty was probably the best policy. Dammit. “I was taking advantage of being alone in the house, the way any sixteen year old guy would."

Deaton studied him for a moment. "Do you remember anything after that?"

Stiles frowned more, eyeing them both warily. "I remember being mad and then satisfied, and that's about it. Why?"

“No reason,” Deaton said, stopping Derek from answering. “Derek brought you here when you slipped in the shower.”

“I slipped in the shower?” Stiles asked, looking suspicious. “I don’t feel like I fell.”

“Herbs,” Deaton said. “I am very good at what I do.”

“How did you know I was hurt?” Stiles asked Derek, obviously not believing them.

“Pack bond,” Derek said instantly, but with the way Derek’s eyes flickered to Deaton briefly, Stiles wasn’t sure if he believed that.

“I’m part of the pack bond?” Stiles asked in surprise. “How come I never noticed before?”

“Because it’s passive for you. You’re a human, not a wolf, so it’s also only one way. I can feel you, but you can’t feel me.” Derek shrugged.

Stiles narrowed his eyes. It didn’t make sense, but he was also fairly sure they weren’t going to tell him anything else. For example, why the hell was he experiencing anger and then satisfaction if he fell and hit his head. “Fine,” he said, deciding to give in for now. “Can I go home? I mean, will you actually let me go home, or am I under house arrest?”

"It would probably be best if someone was to be with you right now," Deaton said. "Just in case, of course. Concussions are nothing to sneeze at."

"Yeah, I've had concussions before," Stiles said, eyes narrowed. "I know what to do with them. I can have Scott--"

"It would really be best if Derek watched you," Deaton said, looking pointedly at Derek. "Pack bond and all."

Stiles stared at them both. They were lying to him. They were completely fucking lying to him. The problem was, he didn’t know about what. “You told me th—you know what? Fine. He can sleep on the couch,” he said, and pushed himself off the exam table. “Can we go now?” and he stalked out of the clinic.

Derek looked at Deaton. “This is going to end badly.”

“Just watch him,” Deaton said. “That’s the best thing you can do right now.”

Derek shook his head and headed out to his car. Stiles was there, waiting, looking supremely irked. He eyed the boy warily.

“Are we going?” Stiles asked coldly.

Derek nodded, opening the driver's door and unlocked the car so Stiles could get in. Stiles stared at the door, his jaw working back and forth as he grit his teeth, and then he sat down on the blacktop. Derek blinked, startled, as Stiles crossed his arms and glared viciously at him.

“What are you doing?” Derek asked.

Stiles continued to stay silent, glaring, arms and legs crossed. Derek closed the door to his car and went around it to stand in front of Stiles.

“Get up,” he said.

“No,” Stiles said in a calm, low voice. Derek knew that tone of voice. That was the tone of voice someone used when they were in a serious do-not-fuck-with-me mood. Laura had used that voice a lot with him over the years, so had his mom. It was an Alpha voice.

“You...we shouldn’t stay here,” Derek tried reason. He was fighting with himself, because Alpha Voice, but also, Stiles.

“I’m pretty damned happy not going anywhere else but right here,” Stiles said, glare going up a notch. “I don’t go anywhere with liars.”

“What exactly have I lied to you about?” Derek asked, crossing his own arms and leaning against his car. “Because I don’t remember lying to you, ever.”

“Withholding important information is still lying, asshole,” Stiles said. “And you lie, like, all the time. It’s really fucking annoying. And I’m done with it.”

Derek frowned. “Not...I’m not...” Well fuck.

“I can smell it on you, asshole,” Stiles said. “I don’t know what’s going on, really, but it’s pretty obvious that it’s not just a concussion or pack bond. I am not stupid.”

Derek froze. He hadn’t expected this. He wondered if Deaton had. “I know you’re not stupid,” he hedged.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure you don’t. You’re too goddamned confused to think I’m stupid. Too...you don’t even know what’s going on, do you?”

How did this become about him? “I know that you fell in the bathtub and hit your head,” he said slowly. “I’m confused about why you’re acting like this.” There that wasn’t a lie..not a complete one anyway.

“Acting like what? Like I want some goddamned answers? How the hell did you even know I had hit my head? Because that sure as hell wasn’t some pack bond. So, yeah, answer me that, asshole, and maybe I’ll think about getting in your car. Oh wait, no, I won’t, because you just lied to me again. I can smell it, though fuck if I know why. I didn’t fall and hit my head, Derek, so why don’t you try the fucking truth.”

Derek closed his eyes. Part of him wanted to give into the alpha-ness that was radiating from Stiles. It was stronger than his own mother’s had been, and it was really hard to fight against that, even being an alpha himself. Part of him wanted to fucking hide because Stiles was scary when he put his foot down. And part of him just wanted to tell Stiles the truth, that he’d gotten off so hard to whatever it was that Stiles had done that he hadn’t known whether he was going to the house to beat Stiles or beg for it to become reality. So he didn’t say anything.

Stiles got to his feet and was up in Derek’s face in second, a hand slamming against the car’s frame as Stiles glared at Derek. “What the hell is wrong with you? Is it so goddamned hard to tell the truth for once in your life? What would happen if someone ordered you to, under pain of death? Oh, wait, you don’t care about yourself, do you? You’re the one who keeps taking all these stupid risks and oh, I’m a werewolf, I’ll be fine and just heal and who gives a shit about those plebs that might freaking care. God! You-you are the single most frustrating, annoying person on the planet!”

What the hell was that supposed to mean? Plebs? “I can tell the truth,” Derek protested. “It was a bond that told me where you were!” He narrowed his eyes at Stiles. “And what do my risks have to do with this?”

Stiles’s eyes narrowed. “A bond?” he asked, stressing the a. “Not the pack bond but ‘a’ bond? A specific bond that is not the pack bond?”

Derek straightened his back, refusing to back down and answer Stiles. He was an alpha. He didn’t have to roll over and bare his belly for Stiles. In fact, there was no way he was going to do that. He had pride. He had dignity. He didn’t need to give in to a child.

“A bond,” Stiles said slowly. “A bond that’s not the pack bond but that wolves have.” Stiles rocked back on his heels as he looked at Derek thoughtfully. “A mate bond?”

Derek didn’t know how to answer that because he didn't know the answer. He didn’t know how Stiles did what he did, what things were different with the more...ancient type of wolf, whatever the hell Stiles was. Was it a mate bond? Did those even exist in the way Stiles was thinking? "I don't know," he finally said. "A bond. It's there. I don't know what it is."

Stiles frowned and got to his feet slowly, brushing dirt off the bottom and legs of his pants. "I want fries," he said. "If I have to put up with you being all stalker-y and staying in my house, I want fries. Curly, spicy fries. Now."

Derek was obeying before he even knew what was what. He found himself behind the wheel of his car, blinking at Stiles as he got into the car with Derek. It was completely unnerving to realize Stiles could do that. It bordered on loss of free will, and while that, in itself, was upsetting, what bothered Derek more was how much he didn't mind that Stiles could order him around like that. "Where do you want to get your fries from?" He asked, realizing Stiles was staring at him suspiciously.

“The place on Crest Ave,” Stiles said. “They make the best.”

“The little hole in the wall place?” Derek asked. When Stiles nodded, Derek started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. “Look, don’t get used to this, all right?”

“Used to what?” Stiles asked.

“This,” Derek said. “Doing what you say. I’m only doing this because you got hurt and it’s my job as your alpha to take care of you. If fries will do it, then fries you’ll get.”

“You’re just doing this to shut me up?”

“Something like that,” Derek muttered.

~*~

Stiles was pretty sure he was going to murder the pack. Beat them with baseball bats made of mountain ash, wrapped in wolfsbane, rolled in mistletoe. They were driving him insane, possibly most especially Derek.

Thing was, he didn’t exactly know why Derek was acting this way, or why he was irritating Stiles so much. It was like he was grating on Stiles’ nerves, and all Stiles wanted to do was grab him by the scruff of his neck, force him to his feet, and make him stop being a dick.

“Hey, Stiles?” Scott said, hesitating as he knocked on the door and poked his head in. “I got the new Call of Duty. Wanna play? Figure, you can’t kill people in real life but you can kill the pixelated ones.”

Stiles whirled, glaring angrily at Scott who quailed against the door. Stiles bit back a snarl and ran his hands through his hair.

“Just you and me?”

“Figured it would be more fun with more,” Scott said. “Isaac and Cora play too.”

Stiles took a deep breath. And then another. “Okay,” he finally said, not sure he could do anything else. It was either that or continue to mope and be pissed off. And Scott was right; he could kill pixelated people and take out his rage. “When’d you get it?”

“Just,” Scott said. “C’mon. Time to get your ass handed to you.”

“In your dreams!” Stiles said.

The two of them joined Isaac and Cora in the living room, Stiles and Scott settling on the couch and the other two settling on the floor. They four of them worked well, at first, but Stiles began to pick up an unfortunate pattern. Either Scott had suddenly forgotten how to play and Isaac and Cora were completely new at this or they were taking every shot meant for him and leaving him to do all the shooting.

Stiles grit his teeth, feeling the rage start to unfurl inside him like a red flower. He watched it keep happening and happening and he finally turned and executed all three of the werewolves’s characters and turned the game off.

“You all fucking suck,” Stiles snapped, jumping over the back of the couch and stalking into the kitchen. He didn’t mind killing, but why the fuck were they doing that? Why were they fucking diving in front of the shots meant for him? Assholes.

He slammed open the cabinet, grabbing a glass, and going to fill it from the filter pitcher in the fridge. Stiles seethed as he downed the water in long, thirsty gulps, snarling when Isaac peered his head into the kitchen. “What.”

Isaac’s eyes flashed gold and he whimpered as he vanished into the living room. Stiles fumed, shaking in anger, and grabbed the glass he’d been drinking out of and hurled it against the wall. It shattered into dust--into sand, actually--and Stiles could hear something happening in the living room.

He clenched his fists. Seriously, they were starting to drive him more than a little insane. He couldn’t stand the way they were all coddling him, dancing around him, catering to him. And Derek was the worst of the lot. He still hadn’t told Stiles why he had shown up at the house or dragged him to Deaton.

Stiles stalked back into the living room and snarled, “SHUT UP!” There was a resonance to his voice that wasn’t there normally, a deep roar threatening just at the edges. In the middle of the room, the cluster of people froze. Scott and Allison were comforting Isaac, who was crouched next to the chair, looking like he was trying to hide. Cora and Erica were gold eyed and worried looking. Lydia was frowning. Derek was glaring. Danny and the twins were near Lydia, Aidan trying to look protective without looking protective, Ethan and Danny just looking disapproving. Boyd was lurking just behind Derek’s shoulder, glaring.

Great. The whole damned pack.

“Stiles, back down!” Derek snapped, taking a step forward.

Stiles yelled out a word, something guttural that he didn’t even know and suddenly he wasn’t sure what was happening. Everything was taller and sharper and louder and there were wolves in his living room--actual wolves!--instead of friends. He tried to say something and it came out in a yip-growl.

Stiles turned and ran to his bedroom, totally hindered by having paws instead of arms and legs and saw himself in the mirror. He was a wolf, a ginger wolf with red and gold and a white nose and an insanely poofy tail. He pawed at the mirror, not sure if it really was him and ran back down the stairs, skidding down most of them, and running right into Lydia. He yipped and whined, panicking. He was a wolf! How was he a wolf? What was going on?

"Oh my god," Lydia said, and he could hear the exasperation mixed with confusion and frustration. "Why are you a wolf? Why is everyone a wolf? Stiles, what did you do?"

Stiles growled. He resented that. His ears went flat against his skull and his tail curled between his legs. But maybe she was right? Did he do this? He shook his head, pawing at his nose and tried to back away, only to have a black wolf decide he was moving far too much and lay down across him, forcing Stiles to the ground.

He turned, lips pulled back from his teeth, hearing a gasp from somewhere around him, and then there were other wolves curling up next to him, on top of him, tails wagging with yips and affection and they wouldn’t let Stiles wiggle away from them. He tried to roll, only succeeding slightly, ending up curled against the black wolf. The wolf regarded him for a moment with shockingly blue eyes before he started grooming Stiles’s muzzle. The other wolves close to him seemed to like the idea and the puppy pile became a puppy grooming pile.

"I am so glad I am here to witness this," Danny said. "Though I could do without my boyfriend having been turned into a wolf, what the fuck, Stiles?"

Stiles snarled, only to wind up with someone else's tongue in his mouth. This was really not what he had in mind. He didn’t know how he did this, but he was beginning to suspect Derek and Deaton did.

The black wolf laid his head on top of Stiles' head, and snorted.

Stiles tried to wiggle out from under him, but the black wolf had him well pinned, a heavy paw between his shoulders, and he gave up with a whine. There was no place to go, no place to escape to, because he was surrounded by a bunch of wolf bodies and just. Stiles gave up. He waved the metaphorical white flag and let the others do what they wanted while his mind ran in circles like a dog chasing its tail.

He was a wolf. How was he a wolf? What had happened? Why was everyone else wolves? What did this mean? What was going on? He was a wolf...

Lydia sat down on the floor in front of him, watching. "You have a ridiculously expressive face considering you're a wolf right now," she told him. "I called Deaton. He'll be here soon."

Stiles huffed. Good. Because he was a fucking wolf. The flash of a camera distracted him from getting trapped in that loop, and he saw Danny taking pictures. Great…

Stiles tried to wiggle away from the Derek again when two other wolves (twins, fuck, it was the evil fucking twins) each grabbed one of his ears in their mouths and shook their heads with a growl. Stiles froze, not really comprehending what was going on when the black wolf moved, smacking the twin wolves over the head with his very large paw. The twins whined and sandwiched Stiles between them, not allowing the black wolf any room near Stiles. They started grooming Stiles, looking very regal as they did so. Stiles put his head down and put his paws over his face as he whined.

He needed the world to make sense again. He need it to start making sense right. this. minute.

“Well, how did you turn in the first place?” Lydia asked him, interpreting his noises as though he were speaking. “Just do it in reverse.”

“Not sure he can,” Danny said, sitting down, finally. He immediately had a lapful of Ethan, and laughed when the wolf tried to lick his face. Allison took over picture snapping duty, and the flash went off several more times.

Stiles whined again. Derek nuzzled his neck. He lifted his head and looked at Derek in confusion. Why was Derek doing that?

Lydia gasped, slapping a hand over her mouth. Stiles whined and tried to slink his way over to her but Derek draped across him again, and kept him pinned. When Stiles went to roll over to bat at him, Derek promptly began nuzzling him again. Stiles gave up with a woof of air and let Derek do his thing. Hopefully Deaton would show up soon and figure out a way to reverse everything.

Fortunately, Deaton did arrive quickly, or Stiles might have gone a little insane. A lot insane. Scott--he thought it was Scott--seriously had to stop chewing on his tail. He tried to move it out out of the way, but Scott growled and chased and buried his muzzle in the insane fluffiness.

“Well, this escalated quickly,” Deaton said from the doorway. Every head in the pile of wolves popped up and focused on him. Danny snorted. “Stiles, are you all right?”

Stiles whined at him and glared, because seriously?! Did he look all right?

Deaton knelt down next to him and scratched him behind the ears. Stiles liked that and his tail wagged...only to have Scott pounce it. Stiles turned and growled at him, but Scott just continued to chew on him lazily. Deaton looked over at Lydia and got to his feet.

“You said that Stiles said something,” Deaton prompted.

“He did,” Lydia said. “Said it and then they all shifted into wolves. It was Germanic, but old. It sounded older than Beowulf.”

“Could you repeat it?” Deaton asked.

Lydia shook her head. “Not just from hearing it once. His eyes changed color too, went green as he said it.”

Stiles’ eyes narrowed. That sounded...not good. Green eyes? Old Germanic something, nearly 1500 years old? Everybody turning into wolves. He yipped trying to tell Deaton how unimpressed he was.

Derek flattened his head to the ground again.

Deaton raised his eyebrows. “He been doing that the entire time they’ve been changed?” he asked Lydia.

“And nuzzling his ruff and grooming him and all kinds of things, yes,” Lydia confirmed. “Isn’t that--”

“It is.” Deaton looked back at Derek and Stiles, and the rest of the wolf pack. “I can’t do anything about this, Stiles. You’re the one that turned yourself and them. You have to turn them, and yourself, back.”

Stiles huffed, utterly unimpressed. That was great, thanks Deaton. How exactly was he to turn everyone back to normal when he didn’t even know what the hell he had done in the first place?

He tried to get to his feet and Derek wouldn't let him. Stiles snarled and snapped at Derek, suddenly very, very done with all of this. He somehow managed to scrabble to his feet and hid behind Lydia, trying to think. Derek growled at him, eyes flashing red and Stiles snarled from around Lydia's legs, ears flat against his skull. Try and out alpha him? Like hell.

"Boys," Deaton said sternly.

Stiles huffed and tried to think as he kept Lydia between him and the other wolves. It was hardly easy to think when he had a whole pile of wolves on him. He thought and then gave a series if little hops.

There's no place like home, there's no place like home...

...Nope.

Bibbidy, bobbidy, boo. Abracadabra. Hocus pocus. Presto fucking changeo!

Stiles, and the rest of the packs, stayed as wolves. As one would expect.

"Are you even trying?" Allison asked, getting herself pounced by Scott and Isaac. "What am I saying, of course you are. Sorry."

I wish I was a real boy!, Stiles thought desperately, but he remained a wolf.

He looked up at Lydia, hoping maybe she had any bright ideas. Lydia smiled and gave him a good scratch behind the ears.

"You can do it," she said softly.

Stiles sat down and tried to think. He remembered his mother singing him a rhyme in some weird language. He hummed it in his head, remembering the smell of her hair. He didn't realize he was crying until Lyida was wiping them away.

“Stiles?” he heard Scott ask, and somehow, he was being smothered in bodies again.

“‘M okay,” he mumbled into someone’s shoulder, and then there were broad, strong arms wrapping around him, pulling him close, and he went without thinking, and he wound up with his face squished into the side of Derek’s neck.

Deaton cleared his throat after a moment. “So I believe it’s safe to say that my original suspicions were correct.”

"Ya think?" Stiles heard Derek mutter.

"What suspicion?" Allison asked. "You had suspicions about Stiles?"

Stiles looked up at Deaton. "What's happening to me?"

“It’s not really what’s happening,” Deaton said carefully, “so much as what’s finally manifesting. Stiles, how much do you know about your mother’s family history?”

Stiles frowned. “Why?”

“Because I’m fairly sure it stems from her. That you get it from her.”

“Get what?” Stiles snarled. Judging by the way Deaton’s eyes widened slightly, they’d flashed green again.

“That you’re a werewolf. An alpha werewolf,” Deaton said.

Stiles stared at him. "No."

"No?"

"I'm not a freaking wolf," Stiles said as he got to his feet. "I'm not. My m-mom has nothing to do with any of this!"

"Stiles..." Scott said, coming over to him with his hands raised in a calming manner.

"NO," Stiles said loudly, sounding almost like a howl, even to him. He clapped a hand over his mouth and squeezed his eyes closed. No. No. His mom...she would have told him, right? His mom...his dad? Had they lied? Did...did his dad not know? Did...

"No," Stiles gasped. "No, my mom died of cancer. Werewolves don't get cancer. Scott's asthma went away. Derek healed from being shot. Look at Peter! My mom couldn't--there's no way!"

Deaton looked pained. “There’s some things even a werewolf’s ability can’t heal, Stiles,” he said.

“My grandmother died of cancer,” Derek said, his voice quiet near Stiles’ ear. “She was the strongest wolf I ever knew, and cancer killed her. It does happen, Stiles. It’s rare, but it does happen.”

Stiles went quiet. This couldn't be happening to him. This was all just a bad dream and he was going to wake up any moment now.

"If he's an alpha then why are his eyes green instead of red?" Allison asked.

"And why did it show up now?" Scott asked. "If Stiles's mom was an alpha then why now? She's been gone for years now."

Stiles sat down on the floor and pulled his knees to his chest. There were hundreds of questions that should be asked but he didn't want to ask them, or hear them, right now.

“I don’t know half the answers I feel I should,” Deaton admitted, which made Stiles look up at him in surprise. Deaton admitting to not knowing something? That was interesting. “I can tell you that werewolves’ eyes were originally green and purple, that the current red and gold are actually the result of hundreds of years of dilution and moving away from the original source.”

Allison frowned. “That makes no sense.”

Deaton raised an eyebrow at her. “If you keep a bloodline strong by bringing in outside bloodlines, you’re still diluting it.”

“Basic biology,” Lydia said, reaching one hand back to touch Stiles’ foot. “So, Stiles’ blood is less diluted, hence the green. That doesn’t explain why now.”

“I have a theory about that,” Deaton said, sitting down and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “We don’t know that his mother was an alpha. She could just have been a wolf, part of a pack back wherever she came from. It could be that Stiles is now the only remaining blood kin, that the alpha of his mother’s pack died, passing along their powers to that last remaining blood relative.”

Stiles tightened his arms a little more around his knees. “What if I don’t want it?”

Deaton looked at him. “I don’t think you have a choice.”

~*~

Stiles ended up in the shower to escape the stunned looks and the press of people in his house. He sat in the tub, head on his knees, just letting the water and humid air enfold him. He needed to decompress, to try and make sense of everything that was going on.

He liked being Team Human. But then Lydia had stopped being human and now he wasn’t human. Team Human was just Allison now, and maybe Danny. For some reason it made him ridiculously sad. He rubbed at his eyes, burning in the wet spray, and pulled his knees tighter against his chest.

Why had no one ever told him? Why hadn’t his mom or his dad ever told him that he had this as a possibility? Hell, Stiles still didn’t understand why this was a thing. How was it possible that he hadn’t...manifested as a wolf before now? His head started spinning again, and he pressed his face against his knees, trying to calm down.

Facts. Facts. Maybe his dad didn’t know. Stiles certainly hadn’t known and he had spent every waking moment with his mom when she was sick. She should have told him then, could have, but never did. Maybe his dad hadn’t known because his mom hadn’t said anything. At least he didn’t feel betrayed by his dad anymore...though, shit. This complicated things when they got around to telling his dad about Scott and...shit. Shit. Shit. Ah, fuck, this was gonna suck.

Nope, no, thinking about other things. Family. What did he know about his mom’s side of the family? He remembered that his uncle, his mom’s brother, died last…

“Oh motherfucker,” Stiles said, groaning and slumping down in the tub as the shower pounded against his face. His uncle had died last week, right around the time this all started. He was the alpha.

Stiles sighed, blowing a spray of water away from his face. That still didn’t answer the question about why no one had fucking told him. He didn’t know what the hell he was supposed to do now. And, awesomely enough, Deaton had no idea what to do. Deaton knew all the diluted werewolf stuff and snatches of actual werewolf stuff. Balls. What did they expect him to do? Shouldn’t, like, a watcher show up and instruct him in the ways of the wolf or something?

No, wait, that was Buffy. Inadvertent crossover averted.

Still. Deaton was here because of the Hale pack. Who was there for the… what the hell pack was he from anyway? Did he even have a pack? Well, no. He knew the answer to that. The answer was downstairs, still reeling from turning into full wolves

And how the hell was that supposed to work, anyway? They had...seriously, he wasn’t supposed to be any one’s alpha? And the pack already had one! And, how the hell was he supposed to be in charge?

He sat up and hefted himself to his feet as he turned the water off and dripped in the tub. He grabbed his towel and started drying off. His head hurt. He grabbed a clean pair of underwear and was reaching for a pair of cargo shorts when the door burst open. Stiles yelped, flailing and slipping on a patch of wet tile, and stared up at Cora as she slammed the door shut.

“So,” Cora said, arms crossed over her chest. “Guess I should say welcome to the family.”

Stiles stared at her, glad that he had underwear on, at least. “You’re evil.”

Cora rolled her eyes. “Tell me something I don’t know. I’m a little sister. But seriously, welcome to the family.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Well, you’re a werewolf now, so that’s one family,” Cora said. “And the other family is ours, the Hales, since Der seems to have decided he’s all sweet on you.”

Stiles stared at her. “What?”

“I thought you were smart,” Cora said. “Derek’s behavior doesn’t seem odd to you?”

“I was a wolf, Cora, the whole fucking thing seemed really weird.” Stiles got up and pulled his shorts on. “Are you talking about that whole...neck thing?”

“More than that,” Cora said. “The whole stalker thing isn’t my brother. He’s acting far more protective of you than I’ve ever seen him act with anyone.”

Stiles frowned. He wasn’t adverse--his spank bank attested to that--but he had no idea it was mutual, and he had no idea what the hell to do with that. So he asked. “What the hell do I do with that?”

“Put him out of his misery,” Cora said. “Say yes or no. If no, you gotta mean it. If yes, and I bet you say yes, then you need to know exactly what it means to mate.”

Stiles grimaced. “If I lie, you’ll smell it, so I won’t even bother. What does it mean to mate, because I think we’ve established that I’m surprisingly clueless, given what the fuck I am.”

Cora wrinkled her nose. “This is so awkward. Do I have to? I don’t want to think about my brother having sex, okay, especially not with you.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Stiles snarled at her. “I just found out I’m a fucking werewolf, Cora, and I don’t have the family knowledge you do. For all I know, I can get him fucking pregnant, so just spit it out. Pretend you’re not talking about your brother, and just say it.”

Cora stared at him. “Those are horrific images, asshat.” She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. “Okay, so there’s sex. Obviously. Mutual healing, shared power. Lots of physical touching. Makes the alpha pair stronger, makes the pack stronger, too.”

Stiles let out a breath, relieved by something he hadn’t even known was a question. “So we can be a pair, I won’t have to worry about a fight for dominance,” he said.

“Well, one of you is going to be THE alpha, but you’re still a team. So, our mom was the alpha, and our dad was her mate, but she was the one who ran the pack. He was her second, and when she wasn’t there, the pack listened to him. Same thing with...ugh, with you two. If. When. Whatever.”

Stiles leaned his hands against the counter and let his head fall forward. This was just going to keep getting weirder and weirder. “All right, so healing, bond, tactile, sex, shared power. Anything else I have to look forward to?”

“Who knows since we’re diluted,” Cora said. She said diluted like it was a bad word, a slur.

“Stop that,” Stiles snapped. “That’s a word that will not be said again, by anyone, are we fucking clear?”

Cora opened her mouth and choked, her hand going to her throat. She stared at him, coughing, and nodded. “Y-yeah, got it.”

Stiles frowned. “You okay?”

“C-can you back off a bit? Fuck. Someone’s gotta teach you not to go all alpha over everything,” Cora said, turning the sink on and cupping her hands to take large gulps of water. “Any time you say anything that sounds like an order? You’re alpha-ing all over the place.”

“What?” Stiles was really fucking confused because he seriously didn’t know what she was talking about. “Saying things when I’m pissed off is going alpha? Fantastic. Maybe I'll just stop talking.”

“It’s the intent, not the words,” Derek said from the doorway. “You don’t want to hear about the differences between the old and new and you can force them not to talk about it with your power.”

“You need to teach him,” Cora said.

Derek stared at Stiles intensely, a slight frown on his face. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Stiles asked. “What do you mean by maybe?”

“I’m not good at teaching,” Derek said. “Or have you forgotten about Boyd and Erica’s summer adventure?”

“Oh boohoo,” Stiles snapped. “Poor Derek.”

Derek flinched back like he’d been physically hit. Stiles didn’t care. He was sick and tired of everyone around him being a martyr or a sacrifice or just plain stupid. Shit happened! You got over it. Same as he was going to have to go over this. He may not want to be an alpha or even a werewolf at all, but he was, and he was going to have to deal with it.

“My point is,” Derek said between gritted teeth, “I don’t know if I can teach you enough to keep you safe.”

Stiles smirked at him. “I have a feeling I’ll be able to keep myself safe. I can make you all do what I want, after all.”

“That, you,” Derek started to say, words failing as he stared at Stiles. Cora’s eyebrows were attempting to mate with her hair line.

“Things are different between European wolves and American wolves,” Stiles said. “What makes you think any of your tricks would even work for me?”

“He’s got a point,” Cora said grudgingly.

Derek shook his head. “Talk to Deaton,” he said. “Maybe he can find an emissary for you.”

Stiles shook his head. “Don’t want one.” He slid past the Hales and made for his room. He needed to finish getting dressed.

~*~

Stiles knocked on Anita's door, shivering from the rain that had started halfway through stomping to the drag queen's door. He was wet and cold and still pissed, but the pit in his stomach told him that he would need to deal with this at some point or another. He rubbed his arms and waited, already regretting his decision to stomp his way to anywhere but where people would think to look for him. While Scott had been busy with all his werewolf bullshit and Issac, Stiles had spent his time with the drag queens from Jungle. Anita was one of his favorites.

Anita opened the door at Stiles's second knock and gave him the thousand-yard stare that Stiles tried to imitate every so often. "Inside with you," she said as she stepped aside. "What happened to you, sugar?"

"My friends suck," Stiles said grumpily. He looked up at the tall and built queen. "Can I have a towel?"

"You need a lot more than a towel," she said, the British accent expressing her displeasure. "Come with me."

Anita lead Stiles to the laundry room, making him strip, dry off, and change into a pair of sweats and a T-shirt that was still warm and reminded Stiles of being a little kid and being dressed on his dad's clothes. It was a good memory. His wet clothes were promptly deposited in the washer and Stiles was shooed into the kitchen and sat where Anita pointed.

"Hot chocolate?" she asked.

Stiles nodded, rubbing the towel over his hair. "Yeah, thanks," he said.

Anita set about making two mugs worth, staying quiet in the contemplative, slightly judgmental way that Stiles had come to recognize as her “waiting” game. He both appreciated the space to come out with it himself, and was irritated with her for not just demanding to know what was wrong.

“Sugar, if you don’t stop vibrating the plates in my cabinets and flashing your eyes green, I’m going to have to do something drastic,” Anita said mildly, setting a full mug of steaming chocolate in front of Stiles. She sat down in the chair opposite, crossing her legs.

Stiles went still. The plates that he hadn’t known he was rattling stopped clacking together. “Oh god,” he whispered, ready to bolt.

“Don’t you move,” Anita said sternly, and suddenly, an entirely different person was sitting there. The stern, yet warm eyes that held his gaze were Anita’s, but at the same time, they were completely unfamiliar. Stiles wasn’t really reassured.

"Uhm," Stiles said, letting the towel fall to hang around his neck and then reaching out and wrapping his shaking hands around his mug. He hunched over the mug wondering when his life would go back to normal.

Part of him wanted to panic and curl up into the fetal position and cry. His entire life has been uprooted and shook, letting loose truths he didn't want to deal with. And now the one safe place he had was anything but. Did Anita even want to hang with him all those times or was she--was she even she and not he?--was that her--him?--waiting for him to go wolf? Fuck. Why was this happening to him?

“So you’re the one,” Anita murmured, all voice affectations gone now. “I’d wondered if it was you or Scott. Stop looking betrayed, Stiles, my enjoyment of your company had nothing to do with your heritage.”

Stiles frowned. “If you know my heritage, how did you not know it was me? And what the hell do I call you anyway?”

“Anita is fine, or you may call me Stacker. And knowing your heritage has nothing to do with knowing it was you. I came here to help the European wolf about to manifest. I found quite an assortment of people who should not exist in one place. Since I needed to stay for a while, I decided to indulge a part of myself I haven’t been able to for quite some time, and keep an eye out for the alpha I knew was coming.”

Stiles stared at him. Her. Him. Fuck, that was confusing. “Who the hell are you?”

“Stacker Pentecost, pleasure to meet you,” he said, and sipped his chocolate calmly.

Stiles took a big gulp of his chocolate. "Can we not talk about this for now? Later, sure, fine but. I just."

"It's too much?"

Stiles nodded.

“I’d be surprised if it wasn’t, Stiles. You break any of my furniture, I reserve the right to make you talk, but I think we can adjourn to the living room for a while. I have The Princess Bride and Labyrinth.”

Stiles snorted. “80s movies are not the way to my heart,” but he was up and moving, because yeah, it really was. The fact that A--Stacker knew that was maybe more to having spent so much time with Stiles. He wondered if--

Nope. Nope. Nope. He quickly shut down that line of thinking, preferring instead to practice what he’d once called Being Cleopatra.

“Do I get a fuzzy blanket?” he asked, realizing Stacker was digging in a closet.

Stacker emerged bearing a bundle of cloth, carrying it to the couch. “What good is hot chocolate and David Bowie and Cary Elwes without fuzzy blankets?”

~*~

Stiles woke on the couch, surrounded in fuzzy blankets and pillows, blinking sleepily and wondering when someone had changed Anita's apartment around. He sat up and looked around...and then looked down. He--and most of the living room--was floating three feet off the ground. He tried not to panic, not wanting to send everything crashing to the ground and break all of An--Stacker's things.

"S-stacker?" he called, trying to stay calm. "HELP."

Stacker appeared in the entry between the kitchen and the living room. "You never do anything by halves, do you?" he asked mildly, surveying the scene.

Stiles felt a spike of irritation and everything in the room vibrated gently where it floated in the air. "Not. Helping." He bit out.

"How about you try and set yourself and everything down?" Stacker suggested.

Stiles bit his lip and tried to calm down. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and tried to imagine everything settling back on the floor gently and with no harm. He could feel the couch wobble for a moment before it lowered to two feet...one foot...and then he felt something. A shiver along--under?--his skin, something warm and not entirely unpleasant.

He yelped as the couch fell, jostling him as he fell off it and onto the floor, smacking his elbow into the coffee table. Stiles whined in pain, rolling over and curling against the couch's base. "Oooowww," he mumbled a he rubbed it.

"Not bad," Stacker said. "What broke your concentration?"

Stiles sat up, still running his elbow, and shrugged. "Dunno. Felt something."

Stacker hummed thoughtfully. “Interesting. Know what made you levitate in the first place?”

Stiles frowned at him. “I didn’t know I could do that. How would I know what made me?” He frowned further, and barely suppressed a shudder as his skin started to tingle, a little. It was almost like the pins and needles sensation when a limb fell asleep, except more faint.

Stacker studied him impassively, and didn’t say a word.

Frustration surged through Stiles, and he shoved to his feet. “Why the hell can I do that, anyway? Levitate things? Are you fucking serious? And I turned all my friends into wolves! Like, actual fucking wolves. I turned and they turned, and the only ones still people shaped were the humans, and that doesn’t make any sense. It’s not fucking fair, because nobody fucking told me this was going to be a thing, and I don’t fucking like it.”

"You want answers," Stacker said. "It is understandable."

"Of course I want some fucking answers!" Stiles shouted. "Is it so hard to believe that a normal, rational human being would want to know why his life turned upside down?"

"You need to calm down," Stacker said firmly. "Control yourself."

"Why should I?" Stiles demanded. "All I ever do is control myself! What if I don't want to do that anymore!"

Two framed pictures shattered, the glass blasting out slightly before falling to the hardwood floor, and the windows shook threateningly.

Stiles sat down on the couch and drew his knees to his chest. "I don't want to be in control."

Stacker considered him for a moment. “Instead of control, then, how about redirection? Come with me to Jungle tonight. Be safe with the girls and me, and lose control that way.”

Stiles made a frustrated sound. “They’ll all baby me, and it will be worse than before.”

“Not if I tell them to let you be. I’ll even make sure you can blunt the edges a bit.”

Stiles looked up. “You’re going to give the sheriff’s son alcohol?” he asked, momentarily distracted by Stacker’s audacity.

“I’m going to give the sheriff’s son alcohol, because it’s what you need. A controlled environment in which you can lose control.” Stacker smirked at him. “Come, sugar,” and suddenly, Anita was in front of him again. “Let’s get beautiful.”

Stiles gave up arguing, because honestly, why bother? He was pissed as hell, and if Anita---Stacker--God damn, that was fucking complicated. Anita would suffice for the rest of the night. Anita was nearly impossible to resist when she decided on something, so adjusting for the steamrolling and letting go of control the way he wanted to was probably the best choice.

Before he knew it, there was a glass of iced tea in his hand, that he was fairly sure that had been made with vodka, was dressed in the leather pants Anita bought him ages back, and was letting her apply eyeliner.

“There. Good enough to eat, and twice as deadly,” Anita purred with a smug smile.

~*~

Derek wasn't sure what it was but he felt something pull at him, under his skin, an itch he couldn't get rid of. Working out didn't get rid of it, and neither did sleeping or showering. Going for a run helped, to a point, but ended up with him standing in front of Jungle.

He frowned, not sure why but trusting his instincts as he walked past the bouncer and into the club. The throbbing techno beat immediately jarred his bones, and he would have turned right around and walked out in that moment, except...

Except. Ten feet away was an ass cradled in what looked like butter soft leather, a back covered in a tight white tee shirt, and tousled hair that looked like it had just rolled out of bed. Derek couldn't stop himself from stalking through the crowd and molding himself against that back and ass.

An arm came up, long fingers tangling in his hair, and the man moved with him, grinding his ass against Derek to the rhythm of the music. They moved together like that, Derek's hands settling on slim hips to hold them together. He closed his eyes and enjoyed this. He couldn't stop himself.

The man turned in his arms and Derek opened his eyes to be confronted with Stiles' smirking face. He was stunning, eyes lined with black and faintly glowing green. Derek was astounded by how much he wanted.

They danced, if one could call it that, though it was more like sex on the dance floor. They were pressed close together; the few inches Derek had on Stiles felt like nothing as they pressed close. Derek could feel Stiles's cock through the leather of his pants, and could feel his own cock swell in answer. Stiles smirked, a confident and sexy as hell curl of his lips, the green of his eyes darkening and intensifying.

They ground against each other, Derek's hands sliding from Stiles's hips to that ass, pressing even closer. Stiles's eyes fluttered and his lips--were they tinted or had they always looked that pink and soft? Derek wanted to kiss them, fuck them grab Stiles by the hair and use him.

Stiles' smirk broadened, like he knew exactly what Derek was thinking. Derek attention was grabbed suddenly from that gorgeous smirk to a man moving up behind Stiles. The man pressed close to Stiles and started grinding with them, moving with the beat and Stiles and Derek.

Derek wanted to growl and beat his chest. Stiles with his, goddamnit. Almost as though he was reading Derek's mind, Stiles started moving back against the man, forcing Derek to move with him if he wanted to stay in contact. Derek wasn't about to let Stiles get away, so he followed. Between his body and other man, they pinned Stiles and ground against him.

Stiles' head fell back, exposing his throat to Derek for a brief instant. Derek wanted to sink his teeth into the creamy expanse of neck, but Stiles dropped his chin, and was giving Derek a look like he was about to devour him.

Derek was shocked by how much he wanted that. There was a part of him that welcomed the idea of handing control over to someone else, letting someone else run the show. The rest of him wanted to fight back and show Stiles exactly who was the alpha in this pack.

None of that mattered now, not here, this wasn't the time or the place. Not with foreign hands sliding around Stiles’s hips and down to cup him through his leather.

Derek’s hand shot down and blocked the grab. His eyes, only not flaring red by virtue of the fact that didn’t want to open them up to questions, met the other guy’s over Stiles’ shoulder. He was relieved when the guy just nodded and went back to dance-grinding with them.

Stiles’s look, when Derek looked back at him, was part amusement, part heated want. Want? Need. Desperate, aching need to fuck and be fucked, to fight to see who was in charge. Derek licked his lips and took a step back.

Stiles took a step forward.

They ended up outside with Derek pinning Stiles against his car. Stiles arched up against him and pulled him in at the same time. They kissed roughly, hands pulling at clothes, before Stiles pulled back and laughed. Derek sucked on his bottom lip, tasting Stiles and alcohol, and watching as Stiles opened the door to his car and got inside.

“Are you coming?” Stiles asked when Derek took too long to move. “Because I’m not waiting.”

Derek was in the passenger seat in a flash, eyeing Stiles. “You’re drunk.”

“Not really,” Stiles said, throwing his jeep into gear. “Werewolf now. Anita gave me enough to get me buzzed, but it’s already burned off. I’m going home, and I have every intention to fuck you through the mattress. I will gag you if I need to.”

Derek’s eyes went a little wide. This was Stiles? What? His cock was hard and ready in a matter of moments. “What if I want to fuck you?”

“You don’t have that option,” Stiles said. "This ends one way and one way only." He pulled over to the side and left his foot on the brake. "You got a problem with that, you can leave right now."

Derek shook his head. "I'm good."

Stiles smiled, just the tiniest curl of his lips, as he started driving again. They ended up back at Derek's--obviously, since Stiles lived with his father and that really wasn’t something Derek wanted to deal with right now--and it didn’t take long to end up inside and on the bed.

Derek blinked up at Stiles, who held him pinned down easily. His eyes were glowing, and there was an almost feral look on his face. He was surprised by just how much he wanted to submit, even while he wanted to make Stiles submit. How much Stiles was his.

Fuck his sister for voicing what he’d been trying not to think about.

“Get out of your fucking head or I’m leaving you here,” Stiles snarled, and lunged for Derek’s throat. He sank his teeth in to the meat on the side of Derek’s neck and bit down hard. It wasn’t enough to break skin, but it did hurt. The pain was rapidly overcome by sheer pleasure, and Derek let out a moan. He rolled his hips up, rubbing his granite hard erection against Stiles’ thigh.

Stiles let go of his skin and looked down at him only for Derek to grab him and pull him in for a kiss. They started to struggle out of their clothes, tossing them to the floor or the bottom of the bed, hands ripping or tearing clothes, buttons flying in every direction. Somehow Derek wound up with Stiles pinned under him, both of them staring at each other, chests heaving.

"Gorgeous," Derek breathed. There were moles and a spatter of random freckles along a rib and hair and long, lean muscle. And Stiles's smell. Derek wanted to roll in it, hoard it, own it.

Stiles licked his lips. "Not too bad yourself, Miguel," he said. His voice was deeper, lower, eyes with a soft ring of green around the normal chocolate brown. Derek kissed him again, letting Stiles roll them over, willingly giving up control.

It could have stayed like that, the constant fighting for dominance, the biting kisses and everything, but all Derek wanted was to be claimed. He could be an alpha, and eventually, be a good one, but Stiles was a natural, and Derek knew it. So they’d be an alpha pair, and Stiles would be the dominant one, and Derek would be his second, and they’d do this together. But right now, “Fuck me,” he growled, bucking his hips up again.

Stiles grinned ferally. “I plan on it.”

~*~

Derek woke slowly, stretching out on the bed and smiling into his pillow when he felt the warm body next to him. He cracked an eye open and smiled at Stiles’s sleeping face and the outrageous bed and sex hair he had going on. He turned and went to get out of bed when he noticed that the floor wasn’t where it was supposed to be. Or, more accurately, the bed wasn’t where it was supposed to be.

Derek looked down off the edge of the bed and put his feet back on the bed. That was different. The bed… He looked around and stared. He sat up in bed, looking around. Not only was the bed floating but most of the room was too. Derek turned to look at Stiles, actually look, and saw the other floating half a foot off the bed. What the hell was going on here? Was this another alpha thing?

“Stiles,” Derek said quietly. He didn’t want to scare him, just wake him up. “Stiles…” he gently nudged Stiles’ arm.

Stiles grumbled and shifted around, like he was trying to burrow his face into the pillow, except there was no pillow to burrow into. He stilled, and then slowly raised his head. “For fuck’s sake, again?” he whined, taking in the floating everything.

Derek raised his eyebrows. “Again?”

“Yes, again. When I woke up at Anita’s, everything was floating there, too.”

Derek felt a stab of something that he wasn’t sure about. He didn’t know if it was jealous, anger, sadness, or what. He just knew that the moment it surged through him, Stiles’ eyes locked on him in surprise.

"Anita?" he asked carefully.

Stiles flailed in the air for a moment before managing to sit Indian style and look at Derek. "Anita. Drag queen. Also apparently a watcher? Why are all the watchers British? Well, maybe they're not because Deaton is not British. Ms Morelli affects being French so..."

Derek shook his head, trying not to smile.

"What, too many Buffy references to understand?" Stiles asked in annoyance.

"I watched until Glory," Derek said. "She pissed me off too much to stick with it."

“There are times when I am positive we are meant to be together forever,” Stiles said after a long pause.

Derek snorted. “So. You were floating at Anita’s?”

“Yeah. Woke up on the couch, floating. He said I needed to focus.” Stiles looked around. “Wonder when this started…”

Derek shrugged. He honestly couldn’t answer that. “You wanna try focusing us onto the ground?”

Stiles huffed, pouting--actually pouting--at him. “I don’t know how I did it before.”

“Breathe?” Derek suggested.

“Wax on, wax off? Yeah, I guess I can try that,” Stiles said. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath and slowly let it out. He continued to do it a couple of times and slowly he lowered onto the bed, which wobbled slightly in the air and also began to slowly lower. Derek watched him, fascinated, as everything touched down on the ground. Stiles opened one eye, then the other, and looked around. “Hey, cool. Nothing fell that time.”

Derek arched an eyebrow. “Fell?”

Stiles shrugged. “I got distracted last time. I dunno what by, just did.”

Derek nodded. This was...well, this was something he (and everyone else) would have to get used to. What other fun, wonderful surprises was Stiles going to unleash on them next?

“Don’t be a dick,” Stiles said, crawling over to Derek and sitting on top of him.

Derek looked up at him, hands twitching to grip Stiles’s hips and. And reached out to touch him, to grip his hips and pull him close. He could touch Stiles, could taste him, could do whatever he wanted with him--well, whatever Stiles would allow. Derek tugged and allowed himself a tiny smirk as Stiles leaned down to kiss him. The kiss was anything but chaste and utterly careless of morning breath. Somewhere Derek could hear glass shattering. Overall it was a very pleasant way to wake up.

~*~

Sheriff John Stilinski leaned back in his chair when he heard the hinges of the front door creak slightly. He sipped his coffee, wondering if he’d be able to keep a straight face through this whole thing. He wanted so badly to laugh all ready, wondering if Stiles really thought he was going to get away with this.

Stiles came into the kitchen, and the Sheriff had to admit to being impressed a little bit when his step didn’t even hitch. “Hey,” he said, his tone clipped. He headed for the coffee maker and poured himself a full mug.

“Hi,” John said. “Where have you been?”

“Why do you care?”

John’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?” he blurted out, thrown very, very off by the unexpected response.

Stiles sneered. “You couldn’t be fucked to tell me that I was a werewolf, so obviously, you don’t care that much about me.”

John let out a soft oof of air. How had he found out about that? Claudia was going to sit him down when he was eighteen but...well. "How?" he asked.

"Does it matter how? I just did!" Stiles snapped. "Do you know how freaking terrifying it is to find out about Mom? Or how about how my life is a lie! Oh, you--!" Stiles jabbed a finger at him. "I'm so pissed I'm talking in clichés!"

“It wasn’t about--It--” John took a breath to steady himself. “She was going to tell you when you turned eighteen.”

Stiles sneered. “And what the hell happened to telling me when she died? Did it ever fucking occur to you that I might need to know? We’ll ignore the fact, for now, that you’ve been lying to me.”

“No, I didn’t think you would need to know,” John found himself snapping back. “I don’t know how this shit works! Your mother didn’t exactly leave you with an instruction manual.”

"Kids don't come with instruction manuals and neither do parents or life or anything besides driver's ed," Stiles said as he crosses his arms. "That doesn't mean you get to keep secrets!"

"Oh, you want to talk about secrets?" John asked with an arched brow and a bitter smile. He could feel the acid and burn, the hurt he was trying to keep back. "How about Scott? Lydia? Deaton? The Hales? Do you want me to keep going, because I have a year's worth of secrets you've kept from me.”

“Right. Tell you about the things that are right in front of your nose and if you’d actually been paying attention, you could have figured out on your own. You knew werewolves existed, and you still didn’t figure it out. I figured it out almost fucking immediately!” Stiles gestured sharply with his hand, and the cabinets rattled a little.

That one stung a bit, John had to admit. That he hadn’t made that connection still rankled. He didn’t get a chance to say anything, though, because Stiles started pacing, and the cabinet doors rattled a little harder.

“The two don’t even compare, though, because yeah, okay, I was keeping secrets from you because I thought it was the best way to save your fucking life. You keeping secrets was keeping information from me about who I fucking am. I am a god damned werewolf, Dad, and knowing that before I started levitating would have been really fucking nice to know!”

John leaned back in his chair, staring. “Levitating?”

Stiles turned to him and smiled. It was the type of smile that John usually saw on the other side of the table, a smile he saw on a perp’s face, and seeing it on Stiles’s face made the hair stand up on John’s arms. It wasn’t just the smile either, there was almost a...a glow in Stiles’s eyes. “Yeah, Dad, levitating. Shit starts floating when I’m sleeping.”

The cabinets slammed open and closed violently, drawers rattling in their grooves. John looked around the kitchen and then look--really looked--at Stiles.

Stiles looked like himself, but at the same time, he really, really did not. That glow that John thought he’d been imaging was intensifying, a weird, vibrant green that was unnerving. The smile on Stiles’ face, the cruel, cold one, had no place on the usually warm and open face of his son, but instead, looked like it belonged there. Stiles looked sharper, somehow, almost...feral. “Stiles…”

“What, Dad? Can’t handle the reality? This is what you spawned. This is what Mom left behind for you to deal with. Your son is an alpha werewolf with some incredibly disturbing powers.” Stiles’ eyes flared brightly for a moment, and John found himself up, standing next to his chair before he was aware of what he was doing. “Some very disturbing powers.”

The back door opened and Derek Hale swept into the room and grabbed Stiles, hoisting him over his shoulder and heading back out the door as Stiles snarled curses at him. The other man with Derek was--

“Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” John asked Peter Hale.

Peter shrugged and smiled toothily. “I got better.”

John blinked after Derek and Stiles, and looked at Peter. “What the actual fucking fuck?” he demanded.

“I expected more eloquence from you, Sheriff,” Peter said, hooking a chair with his foot and spinning it neatly so he could sit in it, arms crossed across the back. He smirked at John, tilting his head. “That, off hand, is an out of control, ancient line European werewolf without a mate or a pack to keep him steady.”

John was now convinced he’d hit his head somewhere because there was no way this was real. “And the green glowy eyes...thing, and the rattling and the--”

“The what?” Peter asked when John stopped talking abruptly.

“The rattling?” John said. “The cabinets and the drawers, when you walked in. They were--why did you walk in?”

Peter stuck a thumb in the direction Derek had gone in. “He went a little crazy and said we had to get over here. But, Sheriff, tell me more about what was happening.”

For the second time in less than ten minutes, the hairs on John’s arm rose, but this time, for an entirely different reason. Peter’s sudden, sharp interest put him on alert. “There wasn’t a whole lot more,” he hedged. “What you saw was what was going on.”

Peter eyed him, and his nose flared a little, like he was taking a deep breath. “Are you sure there wasn’t anything else?”

John raised his eyebrow. “Well, there were glowing green eyes,” he said dryly, feeling a little bit more steady as the rhythm of moving around a slippery perp settled in him. “What do you mean by Derek went a little crazy?”

~*~

“Put. Me. DOWN,” Stiles snarled, his hands flat on Derek’s back, resisting the urge to claw at him. He kept his hands flat and spread out but was clearly doing something since Derek gave him a sound smack against the ass. “How da--”

“Calm down,” Derek said, sliding Stiles off his shoulder and onto his feet against a tree in the backyard. Stiles tried to dodge him but Derek seemed to know where he was going to go before he got there. “Stiles, chill.” Stiles tried to slip under his arm and Derek grabbed him and sat them both down. Stiles was forcibly pulled into Derek’s lap and held tight. No matter how Stiles struggled he couldn’t get away.

“I need to go back in there,” Stiles said.

“And, what, flatten your dad?” Derek asked. “He doesn’t deserve your anger.”

“He’s a fucking asshole,” Stiles hissed, and then choked when Derek’s arms tightened around him a little more. “Stop that.”

“Not until you calm the fuck down. Your father isn’t an asshole. Maybe he shouldn’t have made the choice he did, but he’s not an asshole.” Derek nosed at the back of Stiles’ neck, and for all Stiles really, really wanted to be annoyed by it, it started to calm him down.

“Derek…” Stiles growled, trying to fight it. He wanted the anger, wanted the frustration, wanted the power that came with both. Derek was distracting him from it, and he didn’t like that. Much. “He lied to me.”

“You’ve lied to him, too,” Derek pointed out.

“Yeah, to protect him!” Stiles argued, trying very hard not to pout.

“And maybe he was withholding the truth from you for the same reason,” Derek said. Stiles whined softly as Derek nibbled kisses along the back of his neck. “You both are trying to protect each other. That’s what the two of you do.”

“We used to say after Mom that there would be no more secrets between us,” Stiles said. Yep, he was pouting. Full. On. Pout.

Derek sighed big enough that Stiles could feel the movement against his body. “Then you both messed up, yeah?” he offered against Stiles’ skin.

“That is really fucking distracting,” Stiles snapped, trying to pull away again. He wanted to be mad, not horny.

Derek grinned.

Stiles struggled before half-turning and giving up, resting against him. “You suck.”

“I can if you want me to,” Derek offered. “Though, we did leave your dad in the kitchen with Peter.”

“Peter?” Stiles whined, not sure if he wanted to deal with him. He...kind of liked this. Derek was warm and calming and… “WE LEFT PETER WITH MY DAD?”

“Whoa!” Derek fell back as Stiles propelled himself unexpectedly up and forward, lurching toward the house. “Stiles!”

Stiles wasn’t listening, though. All he could think was that Peter was alone in the house with his father, and he wasn’t really sure who’s death that was going to end in. “Dad!”

John looked up as Stiles burst in the door, looking less terrifying than before, but still a bit wild eyed. “Stiles?”

Stiles took a deep breath, recognizing that his father was okay, before orienting fully on Peter. The indolent lounge, the innocently quirked eyebrow, and Peter’s usual air of “butter wouldn’t melt in my fucking mouth, my dear, come closer so I can show you my teeth,” made him snarl. “What did you tell him?”

Peter smiled at him, wide and innocent. “We were just talking. Do you know that the sheriff’s department has a baseball game against the fire department?”

“Yes,” Stiles said. His teeth were grinding together as he gripped a corner of the counter. He was still pissed, still angry, and instead of focusing on his dad, he had a handy scapegoat in the form of Peter. He heard the counter crack and then Derek was pulling his hands away from the counter.

“Peter, just make it easy on yourself,” Derek said, his tone one of long-suffering.

Peter just smiled. “All I did was talk to the man. Right, Sheriff?”

John was watching Stiles and nodded absently while he very obviously tried not to look at the counter. “He was just clarifying the fact he’s alive when he should be dead.”

“That, too,” Peter said.

“And that all of this is actually happening now and not two years from now,” John said. Stiles pulled against Derek’s hands but the other man did not let go of him. John got to his feet and went to the cabinet above the freezer and pulled out a dusty bottle of whiskey. The good stuff. The stuff that Stiles could have sworn he’d cleared out of the house years ago. “Who’s up for a drink?”

“Oh, yes, please!” Peter said brightly.

Stiles snarled, and then Derek was filling his field of vision, just standing there. “What?”

“You can give in now, and have this out, or you can fight it and maybe lose what little family you have left,” Derek said very quietly. “I know how angry you are right now. I would be, too.”

Stiles glared at him, but he couldn’t resist the hands caging his own. He didn’t want to resist them. He curled his hands into fists, tugging once more, just to test, but Derek didn’t let go. “I hate you,” he said, and let go of the anger when he let his hands uncurl.

“Good,” Derek said. “Better you hate me than your dad.”

~*~

Stiles knocked on Scott’s bedroom door, waiting impatiently, before knocking on it again. “Scott,” he whined. “C’mon. Open the door.”

Silence. Stiles tried the door again and found it locked.

“Dude, I can break the lock if I wanted to. Just, c’mon, open up?”

“Why?” Scott’s voice was muffled because of the door, even with augumented hearing, but Stiles had no trouble picking up the frustration in his best friend’s voice.

“Because I brought Twinkies and Kingdom Hearts?” Stiles offered.

There was silence for a moment longer, and then the sound of movement and the door unlocking. Scott cracked it open and peered at him with a frown. “Proof.”

Stiles held up the paper bag stacked with all the boxes of Twinkies the store had. “Twinkies!”

Scott opened the door just wide enough to try and grab the bag but Stiles pushed the door open wider and slipped in. Scott stumbled back and sat on the bed, the paper bag clutched to his chest. Stiles rubbed the back of his neck, fingers pressing against a bruise he didn’t know was there.

“So,” Stiles said. “Twinkies and video games?”

Scott glared at him.

“No Twinkies and video games?” Stiles tried.

Scott continued to glare.

“Twinkies and no…?” Stiles sighed. “Want me to just leave you alone with the Twinkies and the video games?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Scott blurted.

Stiles stared at him. “Tell you what?”

“About this!” He flailed, nearly tossing the bag of Twinkies. He recovered and set it aside. He gestured again, frowning. “You turned into a wolf, asshole. You turned all of us into wolves. What the hell?”

“What? You think I knew about this? This is as much of a surprise to me as it is to you!” Stiles flailed his own arms. Fortunately, he dropped his backpack before he did. “I didn’t know I could do this!”

“Like hell,” Scott said. He grabbed his pillow and threw it at Stiles. “You never tell me anything anymore!”

“Oh my god are we seriously having this discussion?” Stiles asked, dragging his hand over his face.

“Yes!” Scott shouted. “Yes we are! You’re my best friend and--”

“Really? Cuz you sure haven’t been acting like my friend,” Stiles snapped. “Either you’re off with Allison or hanging out with your new live-in brother Isaac.”

“Don’t--” Scott started to say.

“No!” Stiles said. “This isn’t about me not telling you something, this is about you. You being all pissed off that now you’re not the only special little snowflake. Now you have to share that specialness and you can’t fucking stand it!”

Scott growled, and his eyes flared yellow for a brief instant before he flung himself at Stiles. When they collided, there was only human force behind it, so Stiles let himself go down. They rolled around on the floor for a while, struggling and pummelling each other, each one struggling to come out on top.

Eventually, they rolled apart, and sprawled flat on their backs, panting.

“You’re an ass,” Stiles grumbled.

“You scared me,” Scott retorted, rolling his head to look at Stiles. “You went all...weird.”

“I scared you? I scared me!” Stiles said, looking at Scott upside down. “Everyone seems to know what’s going on besides me. Even my dad knew.”

“That sucks,” Scott said.

“Being you would have sucked, too,” Stiles said.

Scott rolled over and punched Stiles in the arm. “You suck.”

“We both suck, how about that?” Stiles said.

“Twinkies?” Scott said.

Stiles groaned and sat up. “And Kingdom Hearts. Let’s see if we can tag team Xigbar.”

“You’re on,” Scott said as he sat up.

They hooked up the game and made a mess of Scott’s bedroom with Twinkie wrappers and tossed pillows and other handy projectiles as they played. They were massacring a whole host of Nobodies that turned into Heartless when Scott cleared his throat.

“So, uh…” Scott started, not looking at Stiles. “What...what are you? I mean, besides the obvious.”

Stiles snorted. “Alpha werewolf of an ancient, more pure European line, according to Deaton. I’m really not sure how that all fucking works. I mean...it’s magical, right? So how does it get diluted?”

Scott shrugged. “Maybe not so much diluted as pulled away from the source? Like, the farther away from something you get, the weaker the bond is?”

“Maybe,” Stiles muttered. “It’s. It’s weird, yeah?”

There was silence as they continued to beat the proverbial crap out of a bunch of pixelated monsters.

“Sooo…what can you do? Other than turn us all into wolves,” Scott asked.

“Make thing float?” Stiles offered. “Every time I go to sleep lately, I wake somewhere like three feet off the ground.”

“Just you? That’s so cool…” Scott gave him a wide eyed look.

“Well, like...everything in the room? And then I’m floating even higher above whatever I was sleeping on?” Stiles shifted a little, trying not to think about what happened with Derek after they’d landed back on the bed. He didn’t really need that particular conversation right now.

“Is it...like...conscious??” Scott asked. “Could you make me float now?”

Stiles glanced at him and then paused the game. “Uhm. I dunno. Wanna try?”

Scott looked at him for a moment, then around at the room, and back at the game. “Not...really?”

“Scaredy cat,” Stiles said with a grin. He hit play and they continued destroying Heartless and Nobodies. “Uhm, I can sometimes make people feel things? And I guess break things. I almost broke the counter yesterday.”

“Dude, that’s like. Normal wolf stuff,” Scott said. “Well. The breaking things not the feeling--could you make me feel something?”

“I was more pointing out that I’ve got a lot of the same things--never mind. Uhm. Feeling…” Stiles glanced at Scott and thought for a moment, before focusing hard.

Scott frowned. “I don’t…” and then suddenly, he yawned hugely and rubbed his eyes. “Holy shit, I’m exhausted all the sudden.” He blinked at Stiles sleepily.

Stiles smirked.

“Wait, that’s you?” Scott’s eyes popped open wide with surprise. “I thought you meant, like...anger or happiness or whatever.”

Stiles shrugged. “Sure, those, too, but what was going to make you believe me? Weird happiness or a physical response?”

"Uh," Scott said. "I dunno. Your choice?"

Stiles nodded and paused the game again before concentrating on Scott. If Scott really wanted an example and something that was undeniably Stiles screwing with him... Stiles smirked.

Stiles focused and watched as Scott got that dreamy "Allison" look and slid off the bed to push Stiles back on the floor and straddles him. Stiles stopped focusing when Scott leaned down and kissed him. He hasn't exactly planned that bit but...eh what the hell. Scott actually wasn't a bad kisser.

It took a moment or two of lazy making out for Scott to realize who he was kissing. He flung himself backwards, looking somewhere between fascinated and horrified. “Dude!”

Stiles sat up, laughing. “Believe me now?”

“Yes, I do, what the fuck, man? Was that…” Scott looked disturbed. “Do you really want to kiss me that badly?”

“Oh my god, no,” Stiles cracked up. “I was projecting emotion, not sharing my feelings.”

Scott eyed Stiles. "Who are you feeling like making out with if you're projecting? Cuz, I gotta tell you, that's some pretty hot and shit. Like. Like Bon Jovi."

"What the hell do you know about Bon Jovi?" Stiles asked.

Scott shrugged and wiped at his mouth. "You're like my brother. I think I need therapy."

"Go get a scotch," Stiles snorted.

“No, but s--it’s Derek, isn’t it?” Scott said, making one of the leaps that he occasionally did that tended to leave Stiles feeling like his best friend was momentarily possessed. “It’s totally fucking Derek.”

Stiles looked away, making a show of digging for another Twinkie. “So what if it is?”

“So what nothing, it just means that Isaac and I win the bet!” Scott crowed. “Allison thought that we were idiots, that it couldn’t possibly be right.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I’m so glad my life is a game for you.” He tossed another snack cake at Scott and unwrapped his own. “...what’d you win?”

Scott blushed and grinned at the same time, and Stiles shuddered. “Nope, never mind. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to hear it.”

When they went back to playing the video game, Stiles allowed himself to relax. He still didn’t really know what was going on. He still didn’t know why his father hadn’t told him anything, or even why he hadn’t been wolfing out the entire time. He sure as hell didn’t know what was going on with Derek. Right now, though, he kind of thought he could work through it all. Scott was back by his side, his dad was aware, and Derek…well. Derek was there.

Even if this wound up being a bigger deal than he expected it to be, if he couldn’t just blend in with the pack, he was okay with that, because he had the important things.