Archive of Our Own

“This better be quick, I have a manicure appointment at six.” Lydia entered Deaton’s clinic with her usual flourish, clicking high heels and faint notes of perfume. She pursed her lips and sat down on a chair that her boyfriend Jackson hurriedly pulled out of thin air.

The pair seemed to be the last one to arrive since the whole pack was already inside with Scott and Allison whispering to each other while leaning against one of the tables, and Isaac picking at the wall in the far corner with his back turned to them.

“This is pack business,” Scott argued, frowning slightly. “Your manicure can wait.”

Lydia clicked her tongue and lifted a thin eyebrow, which made Jackson immediately growl at their Alpha.

“We have better things to do than listen to his fucking lectures.”

“I'm sure Deaton wouldn’t make it sound so urgent if it wasn’t important.” Allison gave him a reprimanding look.

Jackson huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Unfortunately, Miss Argent is right.” The voice was so quiet and the arrival of the man so sudden, that it made even the pack’s Alpha jump. Deaton was always like that — quiet and unassuming, a silent observer. Scott always thought the vet secretly enjoyed scaring them. “The matter is of the utmost emergency.”

The pack members looked at each other. Jackson immediately stepped closer to Lydia’s chair; Allison tensed and frowned; Isaac started biting his nails and glanced at Scott as if seeking reassurance. The Alpha squared his shoulders and looked at Deaton.

“Is this about that Alpha?”

“Yes.”

“Hold on a minute.” Jackson stepped forward and squinted at the pair. “What Alpha?”

Scott stole a quick glance at Allison. Lydia lifted both of her eyebrows.

“You mean to tell us,” she started, her voice stone cold, “that there’s an Alpha in Beacon Hills and you didn’t tell us?”

Isaac whined.

“He didn’t approach me,” said Scott. “So he probably doesn’t mean any harm and is just passing through.”

Deaton stayed silent and observed the crowd.

Jackson huffed a disbelieving laugh. “How long?”

“How long wha—”

“Two weeks,” Alisson interrupted Scott.

Jackson’s eyes glinted with bright yellow color and his pupils turned into slits.

“And you didn’t think to tell us?!” he roared, ignoring Isaac’s flinch. “You piece of shit, he could have killed us a hundred times—”

“Calm down.” Lydia put a dainty hand on the inside of his elbow. Jackson’s eyes turned back to human blue almost instantly.

“Do you have any idea how many times I left Lyds alone this week? What if —”

“I’m perfectly capable of defending myself.” Lydia glared at the back of his head.

“That doesn’t mean it’s not fucking dangerous, and… Would you stop fucking whining?” Jackson suddenly turned to Isaac, who, upon seeing his flaming eyes, shut his mouth with his hand.

“Don’t talk to him like that,” Allison threatened quietly.

“Children, if you please,” sighed Deaton. “We, as it turns out, found ourselves in a dangerous situation.”

Everybody quieted, though the glares continued their murderous spree.

“I discovered that this Alpha is not of the regular kind. He is one of, if not the most dangerous one.”

“I fucking told you—”

Scott snarled at Jackson, making him shut up and bow his head.

Deaton waited for a couple of seconds, then continued.

“He is several hundred years old. In fact, he is the son of one of the first werewolves to ever roam the Earth. His power is immeasurable, infinite.”

“Can you speak like a normal person for once?” Jackson apparently couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“Just to clarify, what exactly makes him so dangerous for us?” Lydia asked, rubbing her hand on her boyfriend’s meaty arm.

“His target.”

“We are his target?” the redhead clarified with a healthy amount of skepticism. “We are a small pack of just two wolves, a kanima, a huntress, and a banshee,” she pointed at each of them. “What use does he have of us?”

“Is he going to kill us?” Isaac asked tentatively from his corner.

“He doesn’t touch those who don’t stand in his way.”

When all he received was blank stares and annoyed huffs, Deaton sighed once again.

“Guess, I ought to elaborate further.”

“Please, do,” Lydia grit her teeth.

“Thousands of years ago, this Alpha received an ultimate gift of power and mightiness from one of the rarest magical creatures of this world — a Spark. It is a divine being encompassing the essence of magic. One could say they are magic. Everything they believe in is possible.

“The Spark in question granted this man an infinite life. With it, came the strength, the greatness, and the inability to lose the Alpha status. But this wasn’t enough for the Alpha. The great power, once tasted, yearns for more. He demanded more power from the Spark, which the creature refused to give. After seeing the rage and ferociousness boiling in the wolf, the Spark fled. The Alpha went insane from greed and hunger for more power. He vowed to catch the Spark no matter what. He has been chasing the Spark all this time, destroying everything in his way.”

“He’s here for the Spark, then,” Lydia said, staring at the floor.

“There’s a Spark in Beacon Hills?” Isaac murmured.

“Everything leads me to that conclusion, yes,” Deaton answered. “It is our duty to protect the Spark and help it escape once more.”

“Why should we risk our lives,” Allison asked tentatively, “for someone we don’t even know?”

Scott opened his mouth, but Jackson was quicker. “Argent’s right. This Spark dude has evaded the Alpha this whole time. He’s fine on his own.”

“The Spark is in constant need of guardians,” said Deaton. “To protect and give him the opportunity to run. It is considered the highest honor to help such a sacred being. Creatures of night and day, of storm and fire had always aided him and in turn, were gifted with unimaginable treasures.”

That made everyone perk up.

“Like money or something?” Jackson smirked.

“Like you need more,” Allison sneered.

“The Spark gives what the heart desires.”

“That’s vague,” said Lydia, inspecting her nails.

Scott looked at each member of his pack, then turned to Deaton with a determined frown.

“We will do it,” he said. “Regardless of the gifts, we will protect him.”

“I didn’t doubt you, Scott,” Deaton smiled faintly. “You must find the Spark first and inform him of the Alpha’s presence. Allow him to escape, distract the Alpha.”

With that, the meeting was over. Scott had taken Allison to his house for some planning and Isaac had disappeared somewhere. The only one who decided to stay was Lydia who seemed to completely forget about her appointment. After sending her boyfriend to wait for her in his Porsche, she turned to Deaton.

“If this Spark is so mighty, why didn’t he kill the Alpha already? It’s been centuries. Isn't he tired?”

Deaton busied himself with cleaning his instruments but glanced over at the girl.

“Sparks are creatures of light,” he said. “They are inherently good. They were created to protect the supernatural, not to destroy it.”

“He can’t kill the wolf.”

“No. Sparks can’t do harm with their magic. He can’t do anything but flee.”

Lydia narrowed her eyes. “How do we find the Spark? Do you know what he looks like?”

Deaton’s lips tightened.

“I do not have that knowledge.” He saw the frown on Lydia’s face and sighed. “However, one can imagine the divine creature to be quite unique, don’t you think? There must be something that will distinguish him from the others.”

“We’ll see,” said Lydia and left Deaton to his cleaning.

Stiles slid the key to the main door of his house into the lock and slowly, oh so slowly began to turn it. Despite his hopes, the lock cracked loudly making him wince and bite his bottom lip. Shit. Now he was going to be busted, for sure.

He waited for a couple of seconds, then turned the doorknob and sneaked into the house.

Instantly, Stiles smelled it. The stench.

He closed the door, ignoring its loud clang. Not like it mattered now — he could be as loud as he wanted. Dad wouldn’t wake up anyway.

Stiles sagged against the closed door, lifted his head towards a ceiling, and closed his eyes.

Fuck his life.

The living room stank. The TV was murmuring the news, unaware of its disrespectful audience. Empty cans of beer littered the coffee table between the sofa and the TV, some of them had even fallen on the floor; at the center of the table, akin to a queen on a chess board, rising above all the cans, was a half-full bottle of whiskey and an empty glass.

John Stilinski sprawled on a sunken sofa, head bent uncomfortably low on his chest. He was snoring. He didn’t hear Stiles come in.

Stiles glanced over the trashed living room and got to work trying not to think about his surroundings too much. He threw away the cans, turned off the TV, then tugged the blanket from underneath his snoring father to wrap it around him. Straightening out, Stiles watched his dad for a minute with downturned lips, sighed, and went upstairs.

Honestly, Stiles wasn’t surprised things went this way. His father was a paranoid man, suspicious of everything and everyone. Maybe it was a cop thing, and his father, being a Sheriff, had those feelings turned to a maximum level. They were moving constantly from one place to another, so much so Stiles didn’t even bother to unpack his old small suitcase anymore. They had been staying in this town (what was it, again? Beacon Hills?) for quite a while now. It seemed that Dad had decided to relax a little bit. And that meant drowning himself in alcohol.

Stiles tried to get it, he really did. Sheriff’s job was a brutal one. Nobody expects someone who looks at gruesome crime scenes and deals with the consequences of violence nearly every day to turn out okay. So, John Stilinski liked to drink. More than he liked spending time with his own son, but, well… At least, he didn’t beat him. Small mercies.

Stiles loved his father despite everything. Even though sometimes he felt like it wasn’t his choice to love him. It was always just the two of them — an alcoholic father and a son with memory problems, running from life.

Stiles didn’t remember his mother or his childhood. He didn’t have much of a life with all the moving, so why the fuck would he remember his past, right? Again, fuck his life and fuck his stupid brain.

Stiles closed the door to his room, pulled off his clothes, and fell onto the bed. Shower and clean teeth would have to wait for tomorrow. He’d rather eat glass than take a step out of his room tonight.

He spent all of his free time roaming around the town. He loved inspecting small towns and their people; they were always filled with tight-knit communities, where everybody knew each other and helped one another. It was nice and cozy; town’s favorite cafes with chipped stairs at the entrance, the local farm market loud with life, the old cinema that charmed everyone in with the delicious smell of buttered popcorn.

Stiles always felt like an outsider looking into people’s house windows, unwelcome and strange. He never had a chance to settle into this coziness. It was always “never stay in one place” and “we have to be cautious” and “don’t trust anyone, Stiles”. It was tiring.

Dad never told him what he was afraid of, but one could take a guess. He was a good cop, smart and observant. He had probably sent tons of criminals to jail and now was running from their accomplices.

Despite everything, it seemed that fate decided to pity Stiles just a little. He actually found a friend in this town. Scott McCall, the equivalent of a Labrador puppy, a guy full of sunshine and joy with a crooked smile. He and his adorable Disney princess of a girlfriend Allison made every old lady coo at them.

To be frank, Stiles felt like they’d adopted him into their circle of friends and now he was stuck with them until he inevitably left again. He hadn’t spent enough time with others to call them friends, but Scott and Allison have become dear to his heart. Just this afternoon they went bowling together and not once did they laugh at Stiles’ clumsy flailing. Allison was patient with teaching him how to get a perfect strike; Scott stared at her with heart eyes the entire time and gushed to Stiles how perfect she was the minute she turned away. Yeah, they were sickeningly in love, which was funny and adorable to a certain degree.

Stiles had never been in a relationship. Guys and girls flirted with him, but they never felt right. Besides, what was the point when he would probably leave in a couple of months anyway?

He wondered what it would be like to have someone like that. To be a boyfriend. Some nights were full of so much loneliness that it was impossible to fall asleep. Something was missing from his life and his heart. He longed for something or someone; who and what — he didn’t even fully understand himself. Then, in the morning, he would wake up, go downstairs, see empty beer bottles and numbness took over again. Stiles would throw on his red hoodie, pull the hood up and go. Anywhere, everywhere, just not there. Sometimes he hung out with his newfound friends, but most of the time he spent walking around alone.

That was probably what he would do tomorrow since Scott told him he would be busy. Because Scott had a job, like a normal person. Which Stiles wasn’t. He sneaked out and walked around like a creeper, praying that, upon his return “home”, his father wouldn’t yell at him for daring to walk so far away from the house.

Stiles couldn’t recall a single time when something bad happened to him during those walks. No one talked to him, no one was tailing him. The main danger in his life was his father’s delusions.

He wondered if it was worth his father’s wrath to go explore the local preserve. There would be bugs and he would definitely trip up and inevitably fall, but… nature, man. Stiles wouldn’t mind some fresh forest air.

***

“Stiles, I’m sorry, bro, I know I promised, but this thing came up —”

“No, no, it’s fine.”

“ — and we just have to find this missing person and I —”

“Scott.”

The boy was startled into silence.

Stiles sighed. “I get it. Missing people is no joke. And, hey, your PS won’t go anywhere, right?”

Scott’s relieved breath made the phone hiss.

“I feel like the worst friend.”

“You’re being a concerned citizen and a good person, that’s what you are.” Stiles rolled his eyes. “Dude, it’s fine. Go save people, I’ll meet your ass on Saturday, okay?”

“My ass will be ready, dude.”

“TMI.”

Scott guffawed and hung up after saying the final goodbye.

Stiles put the handle of the landline phone back in its place and closed his eyes.

This isn’t about you, this isn’t about you, he kept reminding himself. His heart refused to listen, though, and clenched once again.

His reaction was sad and pathetic, but he couldn’t help feeling this way. Scott was his first proper friend. Not just an acquaintance or a friendly neighbor or an old lady down the street who loved feeding him cookies when he helped her with groceries.

Stiles couldn’t help but sink his hooks into Scott.

His dark thoughts were interrupted by a cough. Stiles lifted his head and saw his dad in a Sheriff uniform, standing in the hallway with his hands on his sides.

“Who were you talking to?”

Stiles grit his teeth. “Scott.”

“Going out again?”

“No, he’s —”

“Good.”

Stiles lifted a heated gaze at his father.

“Am I not allowed to go out with my friend?”

“You know it’s for the best that you stay home.”

“Why?”

Dad closed his eyes for a couple of seconds, exasperated, then turned around to grab the keys to his car. Something nasty and desperate raced through Stiles, making him get up and follow him through the front door.

“Am I not worth your answers, then?” he spit out staring at his father’s back.

“It’s —”

“— dangerous, I know,” Stiles interrupted him. “But why?”

“I don’t have time for this.” His father got into the car, turned the engine on, and glanced at his son. “Stay inside the house.”

Stiles huffed and clenched his fists.

“What if the house catches on fire? What if robbers get in? What if —”

But Dad wasn’t listening; he turned his car on the street and drove away, leaving Stiles staring at the backlights.

“FUCK YOU!” he screamed.

Fuming, Stiles went back into the empty house. He ran up into his room and started pacing, hugging himself with one hand and biting the loose skin near the nail on another.

God, he hated his father.

He wasn’t a child, he had the right to know the truth about his father’s secrecy. He could go out whenever he wanted and Dad wouldn’t be able to do shit about it. At least, from the legal standpoint. Screaming matches notwithstanding.

Well, fuck this. Fuck him.

Stiles stopped in the middle of the room and looked around for his red hoodie. After putting it on, he thundered down the stairs and out of the front door, slamming it behind himself. He was beyond caring.

He walked around the house, past the empty garden and the old shed, then looked up and stopped.

The forest. One place he had yet to explore in this town. Its existence was always at the back of his mind, like a tinnitus. He avoided it, although couldn’t help but throw glances at the top of the trees, whenever he was near it.

The town was safer. There were people in it; the police station and the hospital weren’t far if he ever got into trouble. He could always ask somebody to call his father (no, he didn’t have a cell phone, because “it could be traced, Stiles”) and he would come for him within minutes.

In the forest, he would be utterly alone. Then again, Stiles thought, am I not? always?

The trees loomed over threatening to sweep him under their murmuring rustle. He was so small in comparison to them, so insignificant, like a bug. The preserve seemed like a place where people could be easily lost, where they could melt and disappear into the background much larger than them.

Maybe for Stiles, it would be the place where he would finally breathe.

He took a step forward, then another, and another. He didn’t even notice how deep into the preserve he was going. It was as if something took him by the hand and led him further and further.

Chirping birds flew over his head. The crickets screeched. Twigs and branches broke under his feet, echoing through the forest and announcing to everybody the presence of an intruding stranger. However, he didn’t feel like a stranger. The forest was warm, quiet, and welcoming, like a mother’s hug.

Jesus, he didn’t feel this safe in his own house, now look at him.

He didn’t know how long he had been walking. It wasn’t dark yet, but maybe it would be soon. Stiles didn’t care. Especially when he stumbled upon the next sight.

It was a big tree, not unlike a sequoia, but how did it end up here? Stiles stepped around it, craning his head with an open mouth, staring at the tree with awe. It felt alive like it was pulsing ever so slightly and beckoning him to touch it.

Stiles came closer and lifted his hand to touch the old rough bark. The tips of his fingers were tingling; his body was covered in goosebumps. Something was about to happen, something big and significant.

“I wouldn’t do that,” a gruff and deep voice broke Stiles out of his trance.

He jumped and swirled around, his heart beating out of his chest.

A man stood not far from him. Stiles barely noticed the deliciously handsome body of a Greek god, the bright light eyes, and the upturned corners of his lips, because in a span of a second, he took a step backward and tripped, because of course. Stiles’ hands went flying as he caught himself on a giant tree.

Immediately, his body was set alight with a sledgehammer discharge of electricity; lightning coursed through his veins and filled him with heat. The second Stiles let go of a tree, it all stopped.

A whimper of pain left his lips; his knees buckled. The last thing Stiles was aware of was somebody’s terrified shout and warm firm arms catching him before he lost consciousness.

***

The awakening was slow, like molasses and morning mist. A strong smell of fresh wood, like in new houses, filled his nostrils. Stiles felt cold to the point of shivering and forced himself to open his eyes to look for something to cover himself with.

Blinking the haze out of his eyes, Stiles realized that he was lying on a surprisingly soft but unfamiliar sofa with not one but two pillows carefully placed under him. The first thing he saw was a wooden ceiling, then a coffee table, and a small living room with a giant TV on the wall. The lights were dimmed, which he was thankful for.

How did he end up here?

Stiles shivered once more and sat up, immediately squeezing his eyes shut to stop his head from spinning. After a minute or so he opened them again and noticed that he had somehow lost his favorite hoodie.

“Hello, Sleeping Beauty.”

Stiles jumped, turned his head towards the voice, and immediately regretted it as the pain lanced through his eyes. He put a hand on his forehead and whined.

The sound of hurried steps grew louder.

“Easy, easy.” A warm hand took him by the elbow and pushed him back, and Stiles ended up reclining on his little mountain of pillows. When he opened his eyes a minute or two later, he saw the same handsome man from the woods.

The stranger was well… extremely attractive: dark hair, thick stubble that framed an artfully sculpted face with high cheekbones. The sweater he was wearing did nothing to hide his muscular figure.

The man would have been quite intimidating if not for the spark of amusement in his river-water eyes and the edges of two front bunny teeth peeking through his lips. Stiles would definitely have a crisis sometime later because nobody was allowed to be this effortlessly hot.

“Hi.” The man was watching him with a slight smile. He sat on the edge of the couch Stiles was lying on with one hand on the back of it, essentially cornering Stiles like a wolf who caught his prey. The stranger’s eyes were running up and down Stiles’ face and body as if he were looking for something.

“Hi,” Stiles croaked, staring back. Before, he was ready to bolt at the first opportunity, but the smile and the disarming warmth in the stranger’s eyes made him stop in his tracks.

The man took the cup of what looked like black tea from the coffee table and put it in Stiles’ hands, supporting them to make sure he didn’t drop it.

“Here, drink this.”

It was incredibly stupid of him to take the cup from a fucking stranger and even more insane to do as was told. But, to be fair, Stiles wasn’t exactly flying on all cylinders.

The tea was warm and slightly sweet with a touch of flower honey. Which… was Stiles’ favorite way to drink his tea.

Naturally, in typical Stiles’ fashion, he couldn’t not put a foot in his mouth, while faced with the hottest man he has ever laid his eyes upon.

“Are you going to kill me?”

Great. Excellent.

Stiles winced at his own words and lowered his eyes at the cup in his hands. But, after hearing an amused snort, he dared to glance up.

The GQ model in front of him was tapping his lips with one finger and seemed to barely hold back laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Stiles’ face grew hotter.

“You are.”

Stiles huffed indignantly.

“So you’re going to kill me and laugh at me? Is this some kink I don’t know about?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said the stranger. “There was an accident in the woods. You lost your consciousness, so I brought you here. You are completely safe.” He looked at Stiles up and down. “How’re you feeling?”

Stiles took some time to answer, sipping the tea while assessing his health. His headache was gone, which was weird — Stiles rarely got headaches, but when he did, they were severe and usually lasted a full day or two. Now, though, it disappeared as soon as the stranger laid him down again. His hands tingled as if there was a white noise running through them. Did he sleep on them or something?

“Fine,” Stiles squirmed and traced the rim of the cup with his thumb. “A little cold.”

The stranger frowned a little, moved closer, and then had the balls to put his heavy hand on Stiles’ neck.

“You have a fever, actually,” he muttered, ignoring Stiles’ wide eyes and opened mouth. “It came down a lot when you slept, so you should be fine.”

“Listen, dude —”

“Don’t call me dude.”

Did he… Did he just growl? What a weirdo.

“Then what should I call you?”

Stiles thought he saw something sad race through the stranger’s eyes, but it was gone a second later.

“I’m Derek.”

“Listen, Derek,” Stiles continued as if nothing happened but stuttered almost immediately, because, “Oh, my God, would you stop smiling?!”

Derek grinned like a Cheshire cat and lifted an eyebrow. “Am I not allowed to smile?”

“It’s distracting.”

Goddamn it, Stiles had to find the filter for his mouth, seriously. It was really hard to think with such a fine specimen sitting right in front of him and fucking smirking.

“Well,” Derek chuckled. “I’ve been staring at you this whole time and somehow I’m still able to talk, even though you’re pretty distracting yourself, so… Deal with it.”

That certainly didn’t help his fever. His body went from feeling cold and clammy to hot and bothered. Derek called him “distracting”. Was it in a good way or a bad way? Was he flirting or insinuating that Stiles was annoying?

Stiles, however, was too embarrassed to look for answers in Derek’s face.

“So,” he licked his lips and looked around, “where am I?”

“Inside a Dalek.”

Stiles turned back so fast, that he almost spilled his tea.

“Was that a Doctor Who reference? Who are you?”

Was he dreaming? Because no way somebody could be that perfect.

“I am who I am,” said Derek. “This is my cabin. Rented it about two weeks ago.”

“So you could bring all boys to the yard?”

“No, only lost ones.”

“Dude, if you were trying to hide your serial-killer-ness, you just failed. Miserably.”

Derek huffed an exasperated laugh. “You’re saying I should have left you lying under that tree?”

“No,” Stiles blurted out. “No, umm… Thank you, by the way. Don’t know what happened there.”

With all the dizziness and this unexpected turn of events, coupled with Stiles getting distracted by Derek, he had actually managed to forget that he was talking to his savior. Some people would have gotten scared and probably left him lying in the forest, freezing to death. This man, however, brought a complete stranger to his own house, laid him on his couch, and acted like Florence Nightingale. Derek had to carry him all the way to his house and, even with his impressive muscles, Stiles’ weight of a mostly healthy young man probably wasn’t the lightest thing to carry.

“No problem,” said Derek.

It was then after Stiles had finally shut up for a second, that he realized that Derek was actually sitting very close. Their thighs were touching on one side, making their positions look warm and intimate. Interestingly enough, Stiles didn’t feel trapped. Perhaps, it was because Derek was hot. Pretty privilege did wonders, huh?

His father would murder him if he found out just how casually he was chatting with his “kidnapper”.

Fuck.

His father.

“What time is it?” Stiles sat up straighter, looking around for a clock.

“Six.”

“Oh.” That wasn’t so bad.

“In the morning.”

WHAT.

“And you didn’t wake me?!” Stiles screeched and threw away the blankets. Derek snatched the empty cup of tea from his hands in case Stiles decided to fling it across the room, and placed it on the table.

“Got somewhere to be?” he asked casually.

“My father will wring my neck.” Stiles finally untangled his feet from the blankets and stood up, but did it too quickly; dark spots danced in front of his eyes and he tilted to the side, feeling weak in his knees.

Suddenly, a pair of muscly hands caught him under the elbows.

“Easy, easy.”

After his vision cleared, Stiles found himself breathing heavily down Derek’s ridiculously sculpted chest. Don’t think about him naked, don’t think about him naked…

Stiles’ hands tingled strangely, again.

“You okay?” Derek studied him with a frown. Stiles wanted to put a finger between his bushy eyebrows to smooth out the wrinkle.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, then forced himself to stop staring at the man’s face, because he wasn’t a weirdo. He straightened and took his hands out of Derek’s hold, which seemed to linger a bit. “I’m not gonna keel over, relax.”

Derek didn’t look so sure and kept his hands raised to Stiles’ sides.

“Seriously, I need to get home, or my father will have a heart attack.”

“You’re under a house arrest or something?” Derek asked. “It’s just, you don’t look underage, so…”

“Are you saying I look old?” Stiles put a hand on his chest in mock offense, silently begging for this distraction to work.

Derek frowned even harder.

“No, I… I meant —”

“Relax, dude.” Stiles snorted and slapped a hand on Derek’s shoulder. He made a point not to touch him for too long because it’s not like he was developing a crush. He wasn’t!

To distract himself, Stiles looked around for his hoodie, because like hell he was leaving it here. He didn’t have that many clothes to leave them everywhere.

“Have you seen my—” Stiles broke off because, at that exact moment, Derek handed him the item. “Are you a mind reader? And how did you move so quickly?”

“I move okay, your brain is just too slow.” His face was inscrutable despite Stiles’ indignant squawk.

Stiles tried to take the hoodie, but Derek opened it up to help him put it on — a picture of a perfect gentleman.

This entire experience was so bizarre and out of the blue, that Stiles just didn’t have enough in him to protest. He turned his back to Derek (he could hear his father screeching at him) and obediently slid his arms into the sleeves. Derek tugged it up and smoothed it out by rubbing down his shoulders. Fuck, his hands were so hot. Stiles shivered again and swallowed his nerves.

“I’ll drive you.” The quiet words were like a heat wave against his ear. “Come on.”

“Okay.”

Stiles needed to chill, like, yesterday.

He glanced around the living room for the last time and went after Derek.

Derek’s house turned out to be a small cottage situated in the middle of fucking forest. Like, there were maybe fifty steps separating the house from the tree line. It was small and cozy, just like on the inside, with wide windows and no fence.

Derek was standing beside a gorgeous black car. Stiles couldn’t help but whistle, which earned him an exasperated look. Once again the man had shown his perfect manners by opening the door for him and, after making sure Stiles got all of his long limbs safely inside, closed it.

Within seconds, he appeared in the driver’s seat; the car purred to life, and on they went.

Stiles had always had a suspicion that he was a quiet person not by nature, but rather due to the circumstances of his fucked up life. He didn’t have a good relationship with his father — the only constant presence in his life — and even with Scott it wasn’t all smooth from the beginning. They stuttered and stumbled through their first meeting until they discovered their mutual nerdiness.

With Derek, though, he never wanted to shut up.

“So what do you do?”

“Driving.”

Stiles huffed but then saw the beginning of a satisfied smirk on the man’s lips. Shit, his dry sense of humor got him played.

“Derek! I meant in life!”

Derek glanced at him with a full-on smirk, then made himself more comfortable in the driver’s seat. Did he really have to spread his thighs like that?

“I travel. A lot.”

“O-oh, like exploring?”

“No, it’s not by choice,” Derek’s smirk dwindled a bit.

“Work?”

“You could say that.”

Yikes to getting started right with the sore subject. Better not to push it further.

“Me, too,” Stiles confessed, aiming for lightness in his voice.

Derek hummed as if asking for clarification.

“I mean, I travel a lot, too. Not by choice, either, so I kind of get it.” Stiles looked out of the window. “Sometimes you just want to stay in one place. Have, like, a proper home, so that even if you travel somewhere, there could always be a place you can return to.”

“Now who’s a mind-reader?” Derek broke the somber mood. Stiles huffed a laugh.

“What places did you like the most?”

Derek thought for a minute and flexed his hands. It drew Stiles’ eyes to the grip of his fingers on the wheel, then on his arms with dark hair and prominent veins.

“From the recent ones… Spending Christmas in New York was fun. Everybody’s so… happy and free. What about you?”

Stiles immediately regretted his question.

“I was in New York, too.” Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles noticed Derek glancing at him, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet his gaze. “I don’t really remember it.”

Derek hummed. Stiles knew he was allowed not to elaborate but something about Derek’s openness made him want to confess.

“I have, um…” Stiles wrangled his hands together and cleared his suddenly dry throat, “memory problems. Long term. I generally remember bits and pieces, but sometimes it’s like a whole chunk of my past is suddenly lost. It’s like missing a step that’s supposed to be there.”

Silence filled the air between them, thick and uncomfortable.

Stiles’ heart clenched as the ball of humiliation formed in his throat. Why did he open his fucking mouth? Derek was a complete stranger, he wouldn’t fucking care. It was a heavy subject and Stiles was stupid enough to pile it all on Derek. Why didn’t he ask about his favorite movie or a book?

That’s why he never talked. He should remember it next time he decides to open his damn mouth.

Suddenly, a big warm hand covered his trembling sweaty one. Stiles looked at it dumbly for a couple of moments and lifted his eyes at Derek.

The man was staring at the road, like a dutiful driver. Stiles turned away, too, though careful not to dislodge the hand.

There was no awkwardness or hesitation in Derek’s gesture. It was a way to show Stiles his support and understanding without expressing condolences or pity that Stiles hated.

All of a sudden, he could breathe again.

Stiles didn’t see the white-knuckled grip of Derek’s other hand on the steering wheel.

After a couple of minutes of silence, Derek spoke again, his tone light, easy, and a little cheeky.

“I’m going to call you Dory, now.”

Stiles couldn’t resist and laughed out loud. He kept laughing and laughing, spurred on by Derek’s satisfied smile. The heavy weight on his chest was dissolving with every passing second until Stiles felt light as a feather.

“Oh, my god,” Stiles’ cheeks hurt. Ironically enough, he couldn’t remember the last time he felt that. “What does that make you, then? Marlin?” he giggled.

“Yeah, I’m looking for my own Nemo,” Derek said, still smiling. “Have you seen him?”

Stiles huffed a breath and rolled his eyes. Then something clicked for him.

“Shit, I’ve never even told you my name!”

Derek frowned, opened his mouth, but then unexpectedly, chuckled.

“I thought we’ve established that your name is Dory.”

“Shut up!” Stiles exclaimed trying to hide his embarrassed grin. “I’m Stiles.”

“Well, then, Stiles,” Derek turned to him with a sly grin. Stiles felt his fever return and his heart beating at double speed. “Will you tell me where you live?”

Stiles blinked at him, then glanced around. He didn’t even realize that they’d stopped at the intersection — one turn led to Beacon Hills, the other to Sunnyvale.

“Forty-two Wallaby Way, Sydney.”

“You’re hilarious.”

After another giggling fit, Stiles managed to give Derek directions to his house. The sun was up by the time they reached it, as was Stiles’ mood. It was the lightest he felt for the last… whatever the fuck. Laughing was easy; the conversation with Derek was flowing, like Niagara fucking Falls.

Stiles didn’t want to leave this gorgeous car, nor its even more gorgeous owner.

Fortunately, his father’s car wasn’t in the driveway, which meant he was still at work and Stiles could say his goodbyes without any rush.

“Thank you,” he said simply, as they stopped in front of his house. He wouldn’t even dream to elaborate, because otherwise, they would be here for a long and awkward time. Derek probably didn’t need to know how their time spent together was the most fun he had in a long time. Including his time with Scott.

Stiles’ only hope was that he would actually remember all of this.

Derek hummed and squeezed his hand.

Wait, were they holding hands this entire time?..

Stiles didn’t want to release his hand and it seemed that be some miracle Derek thought the same.

The man’s handsome face went tense; the furrowed eyebrows and clenched jaw made him look angry, but Stiles doubted he was.

He wanted to have this, have him just for a little bit longer.

Swallowing down the embarrassment and dawning humiliation, Stiles breathed in and blurted out,

“Y’know I’ve never properly thanked you for basically saving my life.” Stiles bit out a chuckle, not looking Derek in the eyes. He knew the man was watching him. “There’s a place here, it has amazing pies, and —”

“Yes. Let’s go there.”

Stiles forgot to close his mouth and glanced up shyly at Derek. Man, his eyes were intense.

“Really?” he asked, biting down a relieved smile.

Derek’s eyes slid down to look at his lips for a split second — too fast, so Stiles wrote it off as a weird hallucination of his tired brain.

“Yeah, why not? Tomorrow.”

“That soon?” Stiles wanted to take those damn words back immediately.

Derek looked him in the eyes with a weird expression on his face. “I try to live in the present. Why would I waste time by not spending it with someone like you?”

Stiles’ face went completely red.

“Yeah, you know, um… Same.”

Nice one, Stilinski.

Fortunately, Derek found it funny.

“Rest for today. Eat something, sleep,” he said to Stiles, finally releasing his hand. “See you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Stiles breathed out and got out of the car. He decided that he never wanted to say goodbye to Derek.

***

Stiles woke up from the loud thud of a front door, his heart beating hard and quick. He opened his bleary eyes and blinked, listening in.

Light clinking of keys, something heavy being dropped on a shelf, then a quiet hum of a TV.

Dad was home.

Stiles breathed out and fell back onto the wrinkled and slightly damp pillow. Was it evening already? Had he really slept through the entire day? He craned his head to look over at the window and, sure, it was dark outside.

It seemed like his body took its sweet time to recuperate after whatever the hell happened in the forest. Stiles slowly turned on his back and put his hands in front of himself. They looked normal, but he definitely felt the sensation of a white noise running through his arms, though that may’ve been because he was sleeping on them for too long.

Upon waking up at Derek’s (DerekDerekDerek, shut the fuck up, brain) he was so out of it that he didn’t even stop to think about what happened at that tree. Had he electrocuted himself? Who would put a power cord or whatever those things are in the fucking forest? To hell with Stiles, what if some innocent bunny decides to hop nearby? Bunnies were cute, fluffy, and pettable; hares though, scary-looking dudes…

Anyway, was wood even an electrical conductor? Stiles doubted it very much, though maybe he was wrong. Was he?

Besides, there were no burns or blisters or even a cut on his hands.

Ooh, maybe it was one of those freaky cases of sudden lightning? But, then, shouldn’t he be dead and like… roasted?

Damn, he was hungry. The last thing he ingested was that tasty honey tea at Derek’s.

Ngh, Derek.

A smile took residence on his lips, no matter how hard he bit them to keep it to himself. Closing his eyes, Stiles remembered Derek’s crazy gaze and the way his beefy hairy arms were flexing when he was driving…

He jumped at the sudden knock.

“Dinner.”

Right.

Stiles got up with an old man groan and went downstairs, stumbling and wobbling slightly. Dad had already put leftovers in a microwave, so Stiles decided to take out plates and utensils.

They had a day-old and too-hot store-bought lasagna and none of the chatter. Stiles usually tried to lift the mood, but today he was too sleepy and consumed by the thoughts of one particular wannabe model. What if he wasn’t a “wannabe”…

“Did you stay home?”

Stiles barely glanced at his dad and continued to seesaw through the cardboard lasagna with a knife.

“Yeah.”

Silence, again. Father’s gaze laid over him like a wet blanket — heavy, unwanted, and hard to get rid of.

Stiles sucked in a noisy breath through his nose. “How was work?”

Dad lowered his eyes, apparently satisfied with him for now.

“Fine.”

An exquisite conversation, truly. Stiles worried his lip and blurted out the first thing that came to mind,

“Does wood conduct electricity?”

“Don’t think so.”

Stiles put his elbows on the table and opened his mouth to start a discussion, but Dad didn’t pay him any mind; he stood up with a wheeze, put the dishes into the sink, took the beer out of the fridge, and went into the living room. A minute later the TV was switched to some baseball game.

Stiles stared at the entrance of the living room with unseeing eyes for a few minutes, then turned his head down. The last pieces of now cold lasagna reeked of sadness and idleness. Stiles closed his eyes and put a hand through his hair, tousling it up even more.

Why did he even bother? It was as if his father only cared if he stayed locked behind four walls or not.

When was the last time they had a normal conversation? Watched a movie together, cooked something, went for a walk? No, it was always either a torturous small talk or a screaming match.

Stiles breathed out, then stood up. The dishes went into the dishwasher; the pepper mill went to the high drawer, and the sauces — into the fridge. Stiles wiped the table with a damp paper towel to get rid of the crumbs and drops of sauce and oil.

The only noise from the living room was the rumble of the TV.

Like always.

Cleaning done, Stiles went through the living room to the stairs. “Night, Dad.”

His father grunted, not taking his eyes from the baseball match.

Stiles stared at the back of his head for a minute or two, then walked up the stairs and quietly closed the door with a clenching heart.

***

“It’s overrated.”

“How dare you! It is the gift of gods!”

“You’re going to end up with cavities from all the sugar.”

“I’m not listening to some gym junkie’s opinion on the deliciousness that is caramelized popcorn.”

Derek rolled his eyes and put his arm around Stiles’ shoulders, dragging him to his side.

“You’re gonna spill my popcorn!” Stiles squeaked, clutching the bucket to his chest. Some of the pieces dropped on the floor anyway. “Look at what you’ve done!”

Derek glanced at him with a sneaky grin and ducked his head, pressing a tender kiss to his temple. “Mmm, sorry.”

Stiles went pink in the cheeks and tried to stop the smile from showing by pursing his lips. Derek saw his weird lip wobbling and started pressing light kisses down his cheek, but, as he reached Stiles’ jaw, he bit unexpectedly right at the edge.

“Hey!”

“Come on, I'm already suffering. This movie is for toddlers.”

“DISNEY ISN’T AGEIST.”

“Then think about how we look.” Derek looked around pointedly. The movie theater was experiencing hard times with screaming kids leaving their sticky handprints all over the place. “Two grown men…”

“Dere-ek,” Stiles whined, “I can’t even—” he stuttered suddenly but hurried to continue because he didn’t want to ruin the mood. “I don’t even remember the last time I went to the movies.”

Derek’s gaze burned the side of his face, but instead of meeting it, he glanced around, as if looking for the right movie hall. His sweaty hands fidgeted on the popcorn bucket.

Calloused fingers caught his chin and turned it, so Stiles had no choice but to look at his date. Derek glanced over his pink face and carefully kissed him on the corner of his mouth.

Stiles melted quicker than butter on his popcorn.

“Let’s go watch this… “Finding Hobo”, or whatever,” Derek grumbled, making Stiles snort.

***

Thankfully, his father had a shift the next day, so Stiles didn’t have to worry about him seeing Derek, or worse, seeing his own son disappearing into some stranger’s car. Dad would have an apoplexy.

Honestly, Stiles could relate, though for different reasons. See, since they were always moving (more like on the run), Stiles didn’t have a lot of clothes. Just your usual comfy T-shirts, jeans and sweaters.

So what the fuck was he going to wear?

After staring at his pitiful collection of clothes with a bouncing leg for a good hour, Stiles cursed and stormed down the stairs to the stupid telephone.

“Hello—”

“Allison,” Stiles exclaimed. “I need your help—”

“What happened? Are you alright?” The girl went straight into alert mode.

“— emergency, SOS, I repeat, S, O —”

“Stiles!” Allison barked. “Tell me!”

“I don’t know what to wear!”

Not hearing any answer, Stiles pulled the telephone from his ear to look at it, even though it wouldn’t tell him anything about whether it was working or not — it was so fucking old!

“Hello?”

“Don’t scare me like that!” Allison hissed. “I thought something bad had happened!”

“Something’s about to happen, alright…”

“Relax and tell me what’s the deal.”

Stiles forced himself to breathe out. Allison and her stoic quiet strength always had this calming effect on him, which he was grateful for.

Fuck, and his hands were falling asleep again, now’s not the time!

“So I’m going out—”

“O-oh, a date?” Smiling couldn’t be heard, but he could just picture those dimples on her cheeks.

“No, it’s not,” Stiles huffed, rubbing his forehead. “Well… Maybe — No, no, it isn’t.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So I may have met a guy. He may have helped me with something,” more like, saved his fucking life, “so I may have offered to take him out for some coffee.”

Allison squealed so loud, that the phone fucking zipped him and right on the ear, too!

“Ouch, Allison…”

“My baby has grown so fast!” She cooed at him, then laughed at her own silliness. “Okay, okay, let’s see what you’ve got.”

Stiles told her in vivid detail about his lack of choice, then had to wait for her to call her best friend Lydia (whom he had met only once and thank god for that) to discuss the color choices. During the lecture about complementing colors and bashing of fast-fashion brands, Stiles got distracted by the tingling in his hands. That was probably the result of the phone shocking him, an old piece of garbage.

First, the tree, now this phone. Was he turning into Storm or something? He wasn’t sure he would rock the white hair as much as she did.

“Stiles!”

He turned away from studying his hands.

“Huh?”

“I waste my time on him and that’s the only thanks I’ve got?” Stiles heard the tinny voice of a rather exasperated Lydia.

“No, no, just, uhh… You were sayin’?”

“Goodbye.”

“Lydia has just hung up,” Allison told him.

“Sorry.”

Allison sighed, even though it was rather fond. “Right, so you’re going to wear an all-black outfit. It will fit with your complexion and enhance your paleness of a sick Victorian child.”

“Rude!”

“What? Some find it attractive! And wear those black jeans, your ass looks amazing in them.”

“I’m telling Scott.”

“It was him who pointed it out in the first place, darling.” Those two were certainly made for each other.

He had to give her and Lydia credit though, because they had managed to calm him quite a bit. After saying his profound thanks and goodbyes, Stiles practically skipped back into his room and put on an outfit.

His ass did look nice.

“It’s not a date, Stilinski,” Stiles said to his frowning reflection, then put his hands through his hair in an attempt to quell it.

A soft rumble of a nearing car made Stiles freeze in an instant. It was his father, he must have returned early…

Two loud beeps made him jump high in the air. Stiles ran to the window and peeked through it.

At the sight of a sleek black car, Stiles smiled like an idiot. He hurried down the stairs, forgetting all about his clothes, his hair, and the mess he left behind in his room. Shaking out his tingling fingers, Stiles stopped right in front of the closed door, breathed out slowly, straightened down his T-shirt, and went out.

Don’t run to his car, don’t run.

Stiles walked to Derek’s car, opened the door to the passenger’s side, and climbed in. Fuck, the smell in this car; Stiles was going to steal all testers from a perfume store, once he figures out what it is.

“Hi,” Stiles said, locking the safety belt in place, and turned to Derek.

He looked gorgeous in a grey shirt and black jeans, his hair tousled with sexy effortlessness. Derek, however, was looking at him all weird and tense, his gaze slipping down and up Stiles’ figure.

“Hi.”

Oh hell, please, don’t let it be awkward.

After a few silent seconds of Derek just staring at him from head to toe and not talking, Stiles squirmed a little in his seat and decided to intervene.

“I was thinking,” he glanced into Derek’s crazy-colored eyes, but got nervous all of a sudden and looked around, “that pie place is famous here, right? Not that there are a lot of pie places here and people know each other, so how truthful can they be in their judgment? I thought maybe we’ll see what’s on the menu and try a little bit of everything, like request samples, right?”

As Stiles was rambling the awkwardness away, Derek stopped whatever he was doing by glaring at him and started driving down the street. Stiles noticed him taking deep breaths — maybe he liked the smell in the car, too. Not that he had noticed his breathing patterns before.

Stiles fidgeted again, his heart thudding in his throat. He looked around the luxurious and complicated front panel of the Camaro and upon noticing the stereo system, excitedly thrust his hand towards it.

It seemed, Derek had the same idea. Their hands touched for a millisecond.

And, of course, Stiles’ stupid hands sent a small jolt of an electric shock up Derek’s arm. Stiles immediately jerked back his hand, hugging it to the chest, and swerved his head to Derek.

The first thing he noticed was that Derek was frozen; then, weirdly, the thick black hair on his arms stood up. Stiles thought his eyes flashed red, but that was probably a reflection.

“I’m so sorry!” Stiles blurted out. “It’s this shitty phone, it shocked me, and now I’m…”

Derek relaxed a tiny bit, even though his shoulders were still tense.

“Are you alright?” he asked with a weary tone.

Stiles chuckled and squeezed his hands together.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?”

“I’m fine,” he said it like it was so obvious, “are you?”

“Yeah,” Stiles brushed off. “Sorry.”

“I heard you the first time,” Derek lifted an eyebrow. Stiles sagged a little bit into the soft leather seat. “Everything’s fine. Turn on the radio.”

Stiles wiggled and pushed some buttons anxiously, afraid that at this point he was going to fry an entire stereo system, but nothing happened. He went through the channels and settled on some pop songs.

“I feel you judging me,” Stiles said, not looking at Derek.

“… I’m not.”

“Convincing. What do you prefer, then?”

Derek didn’t say anything at first, so Stiles looked over; the man put his hand on his dark hair and ruffled it back and forth.

“Classical.”

Stiles stared at him. “Like, Mozart and shit?”

Derek rolled his shoulders and put both of his hands on the steering wheel, flexing his fingers. He seemed embarrassed.

“Think, Beethoven.”

“Somehow, that makes perfect sense,” Stiles said, now observing him unapologetically.

Derek gave him a brief glance, then scratched at the back of his head again. If Stiles wasn’t paying such close attention to him, he would’ve missed the way his ears pinked up.

“What?” the man said with a hint of whining in his voice.

Stiles grinned. “Bet, you like reading classics, too.”

“Modern authors are shit,” Derek grunted.

Stiles stifled a giggle.

“How many have you read?”

“I don’t read them, because they’re shit.”

Stiles opened his mouth to protest further, but the car had already stopped. Oh, they had arrived already.

He couldn’t even manage a blink before Derek was on his side of a car opening the door.

“How are you this fast?”

“I don’t sit with my mouth open,” he said and annoyingly put one finger underneath Stiles’ chin to close his gaping mouth.

The tingles were now all over his body.

Derek’s gaze was too intense for him to handle, so Stiles silently got out of the car and followed him into the diner. The waitress saw Derek and immediately choked on the air. Stiles rolled his eyes, even though he could definitely relate.

They were quickly provided with the best seats and given shiny laminated menus. Stiles hid himself behind it, still feeling hot in the face after… that.

The pie selection, though…

Stiles opened his mouth, but Derek was quicker.

“I’m willing to bet that you will hate lemon meringue and vanilla with passionfruit.” The dick wasn’t even looking at him but rather was carefully studying the menu.

“What will I like, then?” Stiles lifted a daring eyebrow.

“The Nutella banana one, even though it seems too sweet.” With that, he put the menu on the table and looked Stiles in the eyes with the most self-satisfied expression.

Stiles squinted a little.

“Y’know, I’ve never tried passionfruit, at least I don’t remember doing so,” said Stiles. “But who hates lemon? And what are we betting on?”

“You’ll see.” He smiled at Stiles’ frustrated frown.

After placing their orders, they settled into silence. While Stiles was used to a complete lack of conversation in his own household, it didn’t mean he liked it. That’s why (and maybe to stop Derek from looking at him so intensely) Stiles tried to think of something, anything to talk about.

The idea popped into his head, unbidden. Did he dare ask for Derek’s opinion, though? Or would he completely disregard him like his father did and not care at all?

“What do you think happened that day, in the preserve?”

Derek’s gaze grew somber; he frowned a bit and looked away from Stiles, though his eyes remained unfocused.

“Don’t know,” he grunted as if it frustrated him. Before the sinking feeling managed to settle in Stiles’ stomach from being brushed off again, Derek continued, “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Me, too.” So, Derek wasn’t annoyed at him? Or did Stiles bore him already? After watching Derek’s thoughtful and serious facial expression, Stiles took the risk, “I was just thinking, maybe we should tell somebody.”

Derek turned his calculating gaze on him; Stiles hurried to explain further.

“What if somebody stumbles upon it like I did and ends up getting hurt? Think of bunnies, Derek.”

Derek huffed a laugh and relaxed, leaning back on his seat. There were now crinkles spreading from the corners of his eyes and a light smirk dancing on his lips.

“Animals will be fine.”

“How do you know?” Stiles squinted at him.

“Because I’ve gone there and touched the tree and nothing happened.”

Stiles’ jaw dropped on the floor. Did he… did he care that much for Stiles to go investigate the cause of his injuries or was he just curious about the weird phenomenon? It was probably the latter.

“So you’ve seen what it’d done to me…” Stiles started and Derek rolled his eyes, “and your dumb ass went back there and touched it? And here I was thinking you were smart.”

“Oh, were you?” Derek smirked. Stiles felt his cheeks burn.

“You were the one talking about classical music and literature!” he huffed in exasperation. “Now I think you were overcompensating.”

Damn his fucking mouth.

“I’m not overcompensating for anything, believe me,” Derek grumbled, but the turned-up corner of his lips betrayed his playfulness. His gaze didn’t leave Stiles’.

Stiles fidgeted and lowered his eyes. He was being flirted with, right? This was flirting. He knew it, kind of, because it happened to him before, but not like this. Usually, it was crude guys looking for a one-night stand or stuttering blushing girls, who giggled their way into Stiles’ disinterest.

Clearly, Derek knew what he was doing; he was smooth and confident, smirking at him without condescension and making those fucking insane bedroom eyes. And even though it was flattering and made Stiles all breathy and fidgety, he couldn’t let himself forget that it wasn’t a date and Derek was just painfully aware of his own attractiveness and used it to his advantage like all beautiful people did.

Fortunately, Stiles was saved by the arrival of their food. The pies looked all crispy, tasty, and full of sugar. Stiles took a sip of his hot coffee, licking his lips, and looked over the spread.

Derek put his chin on his palm, observing him. Deciding to prove him wrong, Stiles picked up his fork, took a big chunk of the passionfruit pie piece, and put it in his mouth.

Shit.

Derek started laughing, looking at his puckered lips.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was sour?” Stiles complained with a mouth full of tartness. “Who puts sour things into a dessert? Stop giggling!”

Derek didn’t. Stiles frowned, pursing his lips, then took another piece of the pie and put the fork in front of Derek’s face.

“You try it!”

The laughter died out and Derek looked at him over the treat. Suddenly, Stiles realized how they must have looked (like a lovey-dovey couple who was gross enough to feed each other, what the fuck was Stiles thinking) and felt the redness spread over his entire face. Before he could backtrack and hopefully laugh it off, Derek caught him by the wrist, stopping him, and took a bite, all while looking Stiles right in the eyes.

Stiles could literally feel his heart beating in his chest; it was so quick and loud. Thank god people couldn’t hear that, or he’d be so embarrassed. As if reading his mind, Derek quickly glanced at his chest.

No, it was impossible, Derek couldn’t hear his heart. Stiles probably dropped something on his T-shirt, which, yikes.

“The tartness is balanced out with sweetness and vanilla,” Derek said at last. “It’s not bad.”

“Okay, Gordon Ramsay,” Stiles bit out and dug into the next one, which was lemon. It wasn’t great either, though better than the last. He decided to give it to Derek, though on a plate this time.

The Nutella one he scarfed down, not letting Derek take even a tiny bite.

“How could you possibly have known what I would like and what wouldn’t?” Stiles asked, licking the fork. Derek drank his black coffee, watching him with a smug look.

“A lucky guess.” After noticing Stiles’ lifted eyebrow, he added, “You just look like a person who doesn’t like fruit in their dessert.”

“And how exactly do those people look?”

“Sweet.”

Stiles fumbled with his cup so much, he nearly spilled his coffee everywhere. Why was it so hot all of a sudden, didn’t they have air conditioning here?

He didn’t even know how to proceed from that, so now he was just sitting there like an idiot, blushing. Real mature. He sneaked a glance at Derek, but the man kept staring at him and smirking.

God, please, help.

“Did you know fruit juice isn’t actually that good for you?” Stiles rattled on to ease the tension.

The distraction worked; they spent, like, half an hour on a heated debate about the validity of fruits, of all the things. Yes, it was quite a random topic and definitely not for a first date (which it wasn’t!) but it made Stiles relaxed and Derek off the flirty things.

Derek really liked to frown and roll his eyes, it was like his thing, as Stiles found out, and not at all an indication of anger, but rather Derek being deep in thought. Sexy and clever, just like Stiles liked.

No, really, he was amazed at the amount of knowledge Derek possessed about nutrition, which shouldn’t have been a surprise, really, because, well. He was a total beefcake and that leather jacket was not hiding anything. When Derek started naming the percentages of vitamins in fruit versus vegetables, while citing a fucking research, Stiles clapped a hand over his own mouth and just… enjoyed the experience.

Holy fuck, cleverness was sexy.

They moved from topic to topic, their conversation easy, smooth, and interesting. It seemed they were too loud in their discussion, though, so it came to the waitress pointedly slapping a check on their table for them to remember about the real world. Stiles hadn’t even finished opening his mouth to say that he would pay, since he was the one to drag Derek out, because the man had already put the money on the table and was getting out of the booth.

What just happened?

“Come on,” Derek said, now glaring at the waitress for interrupting their conversation.

Stiles waited until they were back at the car to speak out.

“That wasn’t really fair,” he pointed out, picking at the nails.

Derek lifted an eyebrow, so it was Stiles’ turn to roll his eyes.

“Well, the point of all this… outing was for me to thank you,” he muttered.

“So?”

“So you shouldn’t have paid for me or at all!”

“Eh,” was Derek’s response, like it didn’t matter to him at all. But to Stiles, it did.

Dad’s job, even with the position of a Sheriff, didn’t pay that well. Yes, they did have a roof over their heads with his father somehow managing to find nearly dilapidating old houses for them to live in, no matter what city they were in. They lived mostly on TV dinners because fresh produce was more expensive. When was the last time Stiles ate, like, a carrot? This diet wasn’t healthy for either of them, especially his dad who wasn’t that young anymore.

He avoided thinking about the amount of money that went into Dad’s alcohol.

So, yeah. Stiles didn’t get a lot of pocket money; he wasn’t allowed to have a job to earn his own, wasn’t allowed to go shopping — only when his father needed another bottle of beer or two. He did have his savings, which he gathered over the years of keeping what little change he got. He always thought if it was going to be spent, it better be worth it.

And he was ready to spend it to thank Derek. Because he was worth it.

The fact that Derek didn’t accept it was kind of humiliating.

Derek seemed to catch onto it after a few minutes of anxious silence from Stiles. The man glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and sighed.

“Well, you can still repay me.”

There was probably porn that started like that and fuck, bad thoughts, Stiles, bad! Those were for later.

Derek chuckled like he knew what Stiles was thinking, making him blush for the hundred’s time this day.

“I would like to have your number.”

Stiles blinked in surprise and turned in his seat to look at him. Derek was completely serious, staring straight ahead and running a hand through his hair.

“I can’t.”

Derek opened his mouth, but then immediately closed it and frowned. Based on this and the way the steering wheel creaked under his grip, Stiles thought that maybe he wasn’t used to being rejected. Which wasn’t at all what Stiles was doing.

“No, it’s just,” Stiles hurried to explain, trying to ignore the embarrassment, “I don’t have my own phone, just the landline.”

“Oh.” Derek was still frowning, but the leather stopped creaking.

“Yeah, my dad’s kind of…” fucking paranoid nutjob, “old-fashioned.”

“You don’t say,” Derek smiled faintly, likely for Stiles’ sake.

And just like that, they were back at Stiles’ driveway. Like he didn’t spend this afternoon with an amazing man having an interesting conversation and just a great time for once. Stiles glanced at his house; he had never hated the sight of it quite like at this moment.

The more he stared at it, the more the dread filled his stomach.

That was it. Derek would drop him off and Stiles would never see him again. Like there never was a Derek in his shitty grey life.

He forced a smile, trying to hide his rapidly quickening breathing.

“Well, thank you again—”

“Can I give you my number, then?” Derek interrupted, turning to face him.

Stiles felt like he was put in a hot bath after freezing in the cold for an entire day. The smile burst out of him and he bit his lip; if he spoke right now, he would fucking squeak, for sure, so he settled for a nod.

Derek breathed out and smiled, having been watching closely for his reaction. He quickly managed to find a piece of paper and a pen and scribbled out the number.

“Here,” Derek put the paper in Stiles’ waiting palm and closed his fingers around it with his own hand. Stiles looked at him questioningly. “You can call me anytime.”

“Okay,” Stiles said quietly, feeling his throat drying up.

“I’m serious.” It felt like Derek really wanted to get his point across. “If something happens and you need help or… anything, really, call me, okay?”

Stiles met his gaze and held it for a few seconds that felt like hours.

“I doubt I would be touching any trees any time soon,” Stiles chuckled. Derek grinned, and the tension in the car dissipated. “Though you may regret giving this to me when I call you at one in the morning to blab your ear off about some stupid random things.”

“I won’t,” Derek promised, as his gaze slipped down and up Stiles’ body, “definitely won’t regret it.”

Stiles huffed a laugh and looked down at his hand, clutching the piece of paper. He could have this. For however long they would stay in this town. He could spend this limited time with Derek, even if it would never become something more than a friendly companionship.

As long as Stiles ignored the fluttering in his stomach and his quickly beating treacherous heart.

***

“Stiles! Hey!”

Stiles lifted his head from where he was studying his shoes and saw Scott, who was jogging to him across the street. He was slightly out of breath and his black hair flopped around his forehead, but besides that, he was as smiley and merry as ever. It was truly astounding how much positivity a person could carry inside themselves.

Stiles tugged a corner of his lip up.

“Hey, yourself.”

Scott stopped in front of him and they shared a ‘bro’ hug, with back-slapping and all before Scott gestured to the front door of his house.

“Come on, I’m really sorry I’m late, Deaton, my boss, decided to give me another lecture.” Scott turned his head back to Stiles and rolled his eyes as if inviting Stiles to share an inside joke. Stiles just smiled, nodded, and followed Scott into his home.

And it was a proper home, with knick-knacks here and there, lots of family photos of toothless baby Scott and a beautiful woman with dark curly hair and kind eyes. Stiles felt a pang of pitiful jealousy pierce through him. Whatever house he and his father had lived in was spartan and void of warmth.

Scott noticed him looking around and winced sheepishly while scratching the back of his head.

“Yeah, it’s not much.”

“No, it’s wonderful!” Stiles hurried to reassure him. “Very homey and nice. You haven’t seen mine yet — it’s full of boxes and cobwebs and shit.”

“Yeah, uh... Choose whatever game, I’m gonna find us something to drink.”

Stiles nodded and went over to the PS to look at the games. He had never had a game console because they couldn’t afford it, or so Dad said, but he had heard of a few games. He picked the “Mortal Combat” in the end.

“Here’s your drink.” Scott handed him a can of Mountain Dew and put his own can on the coffee table as well as chips and some Cheeze-It’s.

They played for a solid hour, and Stiles started to finally feel like a normal teenager, even though he was nineteen. In between cursing and cramming chips in his mouth, Scott mostly complained about his work, even though it was obvious he loved the idea of being a vet. As an apprentice, he got assigned the most disgusting jobs, like cleaning shit. According to Scott’s boss Deaton, it built character. Then he remembered Allison and that was it for the last half hour.

“By the way,” Scott turned to him with an excited glint in his puppy eyes, “Allison told me.”

Since those two told each other every single detail of their lives, Stiles felt like he needed a bit more clarification.

“’bout what?”

“Your date.” Scott smiled evilly, even though he would never pull it off.

Stiles turned away from him and fiddled with his console, then squinted at the TV, pretending he was choosing a character.

“It wasn’t a date.”

“HA!” Scott thrust one finger in his face. “Bet it was if you know what I’m talking about.”

“It wasn’t a date, the dude just fucking saved my life. I’ve had to repay him somehow,” Stiles grumbled.

“Wait,” Scott clicked a button on his controller, stopping the game, and turned fully to face him with a slight frown. “What happened to your life that required saving?”

“Nothing, I just went into the preserve —”

“YOU WENT INTO THE PRESERVE!”

“— and, like, fell over and nearly brained myself, so…” Stiles didn’t want to tell him about electric shock and that tree, because, well, who would believe that weird shit? Well, Derek would, though he witnessed it happening.

Scott’s jaw fell to the ground and, after staring at Stiles for a minute, he shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, like an old grandpa.

“Stiles,” he started, “I’m sorry, it is all my fault.”

It was Stiles’ turn to stare at him.

“Didn’t see you there, unless you were hiding behind the trees, which, creepy, dude…”

“No.” Scott shook his head and lifted his sad guilty eyes on him. “You’re kind of new in this town, and I never even thought to mention it to you, because it felt like we’ve known each other forever —”oh, that was really nice to hear, “but the preserve is off limits.”

“Wh—”

“Like, deadass.”

As Stiles looked at Scott’s completely serious and concerned face, he couldn’t help but think about his own experience.

“Why?”

“It’s dangerous, believe me.”

“But why?”

“You’re like a child, seriously,” Scott chuckled and shook his head at him.

“And you’re seriously not telling me something,” Stiles said in a sing-song voice, trying not to get annoyed, because he got enough of that shit at home.

“There are a lot of dangerous animals there,” elaborated Scott. “And I’m telling you that on behalf of being a vet apprentice and as a man whose girlfriend’s father comes from a family of seasoned hunters. They know these woods and they don’t even let Allison go there.”

“Okay, Dr. Dolittle, I believe you,” Stiles snorted.

“Promise me you won’t go there.”

And, as Stiles looked into his friend’s earnest eyes, he felt the same smile he always gave his father when promising something slip onto his lips.

“Cross my heart,” said Stiles.

Scott smiled back at him, relieved.

“Now,” he wiggled his eyebrows, “tell me about your man.”

“He’s not my man,” Stiles whined, hiding his face behind his hands. “He just happened to be there, when I tripped.”

“… and fall into his arms, right?”

“Dude!” Scott didn’t need to know that he was technically right, god.

“Well, you certainly won’t talk about him with your father,” Scott nodded at Stiles’ horrified gaze. “Right, so you obviously need to vent, so…” he spread his hands and inclined his head a little, “here I am.”

Stiles looked at him from behind his fingers and pursed his lips. Scott put his hands down and sighed.

“That’s what friends do, man,” he said quietly and then smiled a little bit. “Come on.”

Shit, of course, Stiles was going to give up after that. He better not fucking regret telling all of this to him.

“He’s so fucking hot,” Stiles nearly wailed, and Scott burst into laughter. “I can’t even look at him sometimes; even his muscles have muscles and that fucking stubble, he probably spends like an hour each morning to get it that perfect, and he has these insane eyes and his hands —”

“Wow,” Scott’s eyes were wide open.

“Yeah,” Stiles crossed his arms on his stomach and put his head back on the sofa to stare helplessly at the ceiling.

“So…” Scott drew out, “you wanna just bang him or?..”

Stiles swiveled his head with a mouth open in outrage. “Scott!”

“Dude, you’re obvious,” Scott clapped him on the knee. “I mean, I get it. When I met Allison,” Stiles groaned at that, turning away from him, but Scott continued his moral tale, “I felt kind of the same. She was just perfect to me in every sense; her scent, her eyes, her hair…” he sighed as if remembering all of that. “It’s obvious now because she’s my m— my soulmate I mean, so…”

“So?” Stiles prompted, fumbling with the strings of his hoodie and not looking at his friend.

“Is it that or you just want to get laid?”

Stiles honestly thought about it quite a lot, especially at night in the dark, lying on his uncomfortable bed. Obviously, he was attracted to Derek, you’ve got to be blind not to be, but at the same time was there something more to that?

“I’ve never…” shit, that was so embarrassing, “you know, had a relationship, what with the constant moving and all.” Stiles glanced quickly at Scott, but the guy just nodded in complete understanding and empathy, not an inkling of laughter in his eyes. “And I’ve never been the “one-night stand’ type of guy, either. And he makes me laugh.”

“He’s your “Allison”, then,” Scott decided, and, god, did he ever not think about his girl? “I see it in your eyes, buddy. I’m telling you, I’ve been there, I feel like looking in the mirror right now,” he chuckled, making Stiles grin at him.

“It doesn’t really matter though,” Stiles said as the smile faded. “Dad can go…” Stiles swirled a finger near his temple and whistled, “…every minute; I can’t let myself get too attached.”

“That’s bullshit,” Scott protested. “You’re a grown adult.”

“You don’t know my dad.”

“I know what I would have lost if I had never spoken to Allison.”

Stiles looked at him, and for a long time, nobody spoke. Scott seemed to decide to let Stiles stew in his own thoughts and picked up his controller to do a match against a computer. Stiles turned to the ceiling again.

Whatever relationship he and Derek would have would be short-lived, there was no question of that. Unless they eloped.

Jesus, they had seen each other a handful of times since their first meeting and he already had thoughts of eloping. Too fast too much; especially when all Derek ever did was flirt with him and not give any indication of wanting to develop their relationship further. Maybe, Derek flirted with everybody and Stiles was just a lost puppy attached to the first person that gave him attention.

Whatever it was, Stiles couldn’t stop thinking about Derek. He doubted Derek remembered his existence when Stiles left his sight.

“What do I do?” he asked quietly.

Scott didn’t look away from the TV screen.

“You go on dates with him… Die, motherfucker, and talk to him. Figure out if he’s the real deal. I vote you bang him anyway,” Scott smiled slyly at his frowning, but red face.

“Fine.”

“Use protection, kid.”

“Ugh, Scott!” Stiles threw a pillow at his smirking face and picked himself up, taking his controller from where it was lying next to him on the floor.

There would be no more talking about feelings today. Otherwise, his brain would explode. He’d rather explode some pixels and annihilate Scott’s record in the game.

“By the way,” Stiles started in order to forget about stubble and blue-grey-green eyes, “how’s that case with the missing dude going?”

Scott whined.

“Can’t find him anywhere, it’s like he doesn’t even exist, but I know he does.”

“Well, what does he look like? I walk around town a lot; maybe I spot him or something.”

“I don’t know.”

Stiles glanced at him with a lifted eyebrow.

“No wonder you can’t find him if you don’t know who you’re looking for.”

“He’s supposed to be this special dude and I’m supposed to automatically know it’s him, when I see him,” Scott scowled.

“… Right.” Stiles didn’t even know what to say to that.

“Most of the time I don’t even know what I’m doing,” Scott confessed like it was a secret he kept hidden for a long time and it’s been gnawing at him.

Stiles didn’t understand what he was talking about, not really, but he knew the feeling.

“Why are you looking for him anyway?”

“He’s got this other bad dude, like, chasing him around the country and shit, so me and my buddies have to help him escape.”

“Y’all in a gang or something?” Stiles asked incredulously.

Scott snorted.

“Nah,” and left it at that.

This town was officially weird.

“Well, you’ve got to think like this dude,” Stiles offered. “What would you do in his place? Where would you hide? What would be the safest place for him? Maybe he would go out only at night so as not to be seen by anybody, or he would always keep being in the crowd to blend in? Put yourself in his shoes.”

“Wow,” Scott looked at him like he found a cure for cancer. “Have you thought of being a detective?”

Stiles winced, thinking of his father and what their living was like. “Thanks, but no, thanks.”

Once again, Scott exhibited an extraordinary sense of knowing when to shut the fuck up and did just that. The rest of the day was spent rather nicely.

***

“… told ya loud and clear, and you’re still not listening to me —”

“News flash, Dad, I’m not a child anymore, I can go wherever and whenever I want!”

His dad was standing in the middle of the kitchen, glaring at him; a bag of Chinese takeaway was sagging at the table beside a half-empty bottle of whiskey. Stiles was ready to grab it and chuck it at his father’s head.

“How many times we’ve been through this?” Dad shouted, throwing his hands. Stiles rolled his eyes so much he worried he was going to have a headache. “If you want to go out, go. But you’ve got to call me first.”

“So that you can tell me to stay in the house, huh?” Stiles chuckled unkindly. “Been there, done that.”

Dad shook his head and turned back to the table.

Throughout the years Stiles learnt how to read his father to a very good degree, given that the man was not good at conversation or simple communicating. Right now his tense back and rounded shoulders screamed disappointment.

Stiles heard the clinking of glass against glass, then pouring liquid — again, once fucking again he made his dad turn to alcohol. Stiles put his trembling hands up his hair, rubbing back and forth.

Dad sat at his usual seat at the table with a glass of whiskey. Why did he even bother with the damn glass, if he was certainly gonna end up drinking out of the bottle?

“Haven’t I done enough?” his father grunted, staring at nothing and swirling the drink round and round.

Stiles stayed silent, breathing deep, or at least forcing himself to do so.

“All this damn time.” Dad took a sip and tsked. “Never listen to what I say. After everything I’ve fucking done.”

Stiles winced at the curse word. It’s one thing to hear it from your peers or say it yourself, but to hear it from your parent, who rarely did so… The bitterness filled his throat, threatening to release itself later, much later at night in the form of muted tears.

“Nothin’, but trouble.”

“I know, Dad.”

“And I get nothing from this.” He lifted the hand with the glass still in it and pointed a finger at Stiles; then, as if noticing the whiskey, took a gulp and did not say anything for a solid five minutes.

Then, like lightning before the storm, “You’re grounded.”

Stiles lifted his head, feeling the now familiar tingle in his arms, and arched both of his eyebrows. “Say that again?”

“Go to your room.”

“I’m not fucking five!” Stiles yelled, throwing his hands up. “I’ve gone out with my friend —”

“ — when I explicitly told you to stay here!” Father answered loudly, not even deigning his son with a glance. “What’s so hard to understand? Or did you forget?”

Stiles felt a flare of anger so bad coming up from the depths of his heart where it was born long, long ago. As his father lifted the bottle to pour himself more of a poison, Stiles wished, he wished so fucking hard…

There was a loud crackling followed by what seemed to be a million bright plinking sounds, then silence. Not Stiles, nor his father moved an inch, struggling to realize what had happened.

The bottle in his father’s hand had exploded. The only thing that was left was the cracked bottleneck still clenched in Dad’s fingers. Brown liquid now spread all over the table and was slowly starting to drip on the floor. The glass shards were everywhere.

Stiles stayed where he was, covering his mouth with tingling hands, his eyes wide and anxious. Did he… did he do that?

Dad seemed to be asking himself the same question, even though he didn’t have any reason to, due to not knowing a single fuck about what was happening in his son’s miserable life. He was drilling a hole in Stiles’ face, all furrowed eyebrows and suspicious glint in his eyes.

“This what you wanted?” he asked very quietly.

“Wh— what?” Stiles managed to breathe out, still looking at glistening shards of glass. Then his father’s words fully came through the fog in his brain, “You’re making this my fault? I was standing right here!”

Stiles was struggling to keep his breaths even; the sour unfairness of it all clogged his throat, which only made everything worse.

“Go. To. Your. Room,” his father grit out.

Stiles glanced at him once more, feeling the mist blurring his vision, and ran up the stairs and straight onto his bed. Five seconds later the door slammed on his own.

Stiles gulped a breath and swiveled around to look at it. It was just an ordinary door. Nobody was behind it or in front of it, however, the chills still went up Stiles’ spine.

He didn’t even touch it. He just wanted to be left alone.

Stiles flopped his head on the pillow, shut his eyes tightly, and kept them like that until the white spots filled the entire space behind his eyelids. One, two, three, four — in. One, two, three, four — out. Repeat. Repeat.

Finally, Stiles opened his eyes and looked down at his hands. As his door and as his life, they were ordinary. Sweaty palms, long trembling fingers; all the same, if not for the tingling sensations, like little shocks going up his veins and exiting through the tips of his fingers.

But Stiles didn’t see anything upon his skin. It wasn’t real. Just another fucked up mental thing to add to his growing collection.

Not bothering to change his clothes, Stiles covered himself with blankets, put a pillow over his head, and tried to forget, since that was what he could do best.

***

He woke up groggy and disoriented. The sun shined annoyingly through the window, making Stiles squint at it through puffy eyes. It should be gloomy and dark and shit, like in the movies when the main character feels bad. Stiles huffed and turned around to stop the jeans’ clasp from digging into his stomach. Sleeping in day clothes SUCKED.

After slugging in his bed for half an hour and hearing absolutely nothing, Stiles decided it was safe to get up. His father had probably gone to work or wherever the fuck he went. Not like he wasn’t allowed to.

Stiles put his elbows on his knees and closed his face with his hands. What a fucking mess. He was going to have to apologize to Dad eventually, just to get him to talk again; fuck pride and fairness, right?

As he went into the bathroom, Stiles noticed the tablecloth that was soiled yesterday peeking out of the washing machine. Guess, it was laundry day today. He stepped under the shower, still blinking sleepily, and turned the water on.

Icy coldness was a fucking miserable way to wake the fuck up. 0 out of 10, would not recommend!

“Argh, fuck, stop!” Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, throwing his hands in front of himself in an attempt to reach the faucet, when the water, just… stopped.

Stiles felt another kind of chill run down his body and opened his eyes.

The faucet was still up and turned to cold, but the shower head produced none of the water.

Stiles threw a quick glance at his hands, then up on the shower head. Feeling more stupid with every second, he cursed under his breath and said,

“Uhh… Turn on?”

Immediately he was hit with the water flow so strong, he was for sure going to end up with bruises on his torso. And still cold, fuck!

“Stop!” Stiles shrieked at the shower and jumped out as quickly as he could without risking falling to his death. Naked, shivering, and covered in goosebumps (and not in a fun way), he turned off the faucet and went to brush his teeth, while his brain was screaming at him “WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE EVERLOVING FU—”

Stiles was compelled to ignore the problem until it went away. Even then, thoughts kept stumbling in his head, because… Paranormal activity is one thing, but the idea of developing even more brain problems was somehow scarier. A lot scarier.

First memory loss, and now visual, tactile, and auditory hallucinations. Stiles was itching to google the shit out of it, but he didn’t have a pass to the local library yet and of course no computer on his own. No way his father was going to give him money to pay for the internet access at the library’s computer class after last night’s fiasco. Which was, in case of developing sudden supernatural powers, entirely his fault. Shit.

Cramming his dirty clothes in the washing machine along with the alcohol-soaked tablecloth, Stiles pushed a couple of buttons to turn it on and went out of the bathroom, but then stopped, tilted his head, and listened.

There was no usual whirring sound. Great. Now the washing machine was broken. Maybe he forgot to close the door…

He returned to the bathroom, slammed the angry fist on top of the machine, and growled, “Work.”

The washing machine whirred into life.

“I HATE ALL OF YOU,” Stiles screamed and backed out of the bathroom.

He put on fresh clothes and ran downstairs, because he needed coffee and sustenance like, yesterday.

Alas, the dried-up lemon and an assortment of sauces along with some butter sticks were the only food in the fridge. Today was officially the worst day.

Stiles cursed under his breath the entire time it took to walk to the nearest store, which turned out to be closed, because why not? Oh, yeah, it was too early and a Sunday.

He still had, like, forty minutes to spare till the shop opened. Stiles whined to nobody and lifted his head to stare at the morning sky.

What the fuck was happening? For real. Why couldn’t he have a normal life?

He always felt like shit after fighting with his father; his heart turned into a massive weight in his chest, making it hard to breathe in fully. He hated fighting, he hated his father. Hated, that it affected him this much.

And now the hallucinations. If he told his father, the man would put him in the insane house and then his life would officially be over because it was the most perfect place for his father to monitor him.

Stiles went to sit on the nearest bench that was overlooking a park occupied by yoga enthusiasts and geriatric sports lovers.

He decided to hate them on principle. It was when he was glaring at innocent citizens, that somebody dropped on the same bench he was sitting on.

“Woke up on the wrong side of the bed?” the newcomer asked.

Stiles turned his head and did a double take. It was Derek, smirking and perfect as always, now sitting next to him with his arm swung casually on top of the bench behind Stiles’ shoulders.

“Hi,” Stiles said dumbly.

“Good morning, Stiles,” Derek smiled predatorily.

And even in this shitty mood, Stiles felt the corner of his lip lift. Oh, he was screwed. The weight was already lifting from his chest, tiny bit by bit and it honestly made him want to cry.

Stiles couldn’t even describe how nice it was to see him right now.

He didn’t realize he was staring at Derek until the man’s smile turned into a soft grin.

“What are you doing here so early?” Derek asked, tilting his head.

Stiles looked away from him and stared at his dirty sneakers.

“Forgot to do groceries, so now there’s no food at home,” Stiles admitted, kicking at a random stone, then pointed at the closed store. “And they’re not open yet.”

“Hmm.” Derek kept studying him from the top of his still slightly damp hair to the bottom of his shoes. “I was going to grab a bite, wanna keep me company?”

Stiles felt his heart leap to his throat in excitement, but then he remembered something and bit his lip.

“I have like, five bucks,” he chuckled forcefully.

Derek arched his eyebrow and, yeah, Stiles was supposed to do groceries with that? Busted. He pursed his lips, trying to think of an excuse or a joke, but Derek had already stood up. Stiles tried to ignore the disappointment he felt at the sight, but oh well.

“Come on, my treat,” Derek announced suddenly, taking a couple of steps away from him.

“What?” Stiles blinked.

The man flashed his fangs from behind the playfully curling lips.

“There’s a waffle house not far from here, I think.” Derek lifted an eyebrow. “I thought you liked sweet things. I know I sure do.” He gave Stiles a once over again.

“You like broccoli and raw eggs, that’s what you like,” Stiles said petulantly, standing up to walk next to him.

“Uh-huh.”

Stiles wasn’t in a very talkative mood this morning, so they walked in companionable silence for the first few minutes. It was rather different from the silence he and his father found themselves in so often. Maybe it’s because Derek hadn’t been disappointed in him (yet).

After a few minutes, Stiles felt Derek nudge him with his elbow a little bit.

“Something on your mind?” he asked lightly.

Stiles shrugged, not knowing how to start or even what to say. Yeah, everything’s getting worse by the day, my father’s not talking to me and electrical devices have come to life, but, otherwise, nothing much.

Stiles sighed and Derek had slowed down. Oh no, was he going to pry?

But no, they had just arrived at the café, which was already bustling with life with underpaid students serving overpriced coffee and waffles to busy and not-so-much citizens.

Derek led him to a table near the window with the softest couches the café like this had ever hoped to provide. Feeling Stiles’ hesitation, Derek sternly told him not to worry and order whatever he wanted, or else he would be offended. It made Stiles smile a little bit and roll his eyes, but eventually they placed their orders and now he knew he wouldn’t escape talking.

In order to stick to safer topics, Stiles blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

Derek looked at him strangely.

“No.” He lowered his eyes and tapped a finger on the table. “Why d’you ask?”

Stiles shrugged.

“I think there’s a Casper in my house,” he said in a joking manner so as not to seem weird.

“How so?” Derek asked.

He was looking at Stiles and nobody else; one of his hands was resting on a table, the other on his thigh. He was frowning slightly as if not quite understanding what Stiles was talking about, but paying attention nevertheless. He was taking Stiles seriously.

And that’s what prompted Stiles to open up a bit.

“The shower kind of, um…” no, it was still ridiculous, and Stiles cringed while talking, “…turned on by itself? Now that I think about it, maybe the faucet was faulty, or something about water pressure. And then the washing machine didn’t start working until I smacked it. But that happens sometimes with machines, right?” Stiles chuckled, then took a napkin from a holder and started tearing it piece by tiny piece.

“Is that all that happened?” Derek asked suddenly. Stiles stole a glance at him, but his expression gave nothing away.

Stiles swallowed.

“Well, all of it happened after I screamed at them,” Stiles winced and slouched in his seat. Great, now Derek will think he’s a nutjob.

But Derek only hummed and frowned even more in thought, lowering his gaze to Stiles’ hands.

“It’s just a coincidence, like, obviously.” Stiles smiled wryly; he was practically eviscerating the poor napkin, when a warm hand landed above his own, stopping his nervous movements. Stiles lifted his gaze, but only up to Derek’s V-neck. That was a nice shirt on a very nice chest, but so not the point.

“There are a lot of unexplainable things and happenings all over the globe,” Derek started. “Not all of them can be explained by science.”

“But these are… I mean, I can kind of see what likely had happened,” Stiles muttered, trying his hardest not to dislodge Derek’s hand.

“Maybe. Maybe not,” Derek said vaguely.

Stiles lifted his eyebrows.

“I’m saying that I believe you.”

He didn’t even realize how tense he was until Derek told him that. Stiles finally looked him in the eyes, breathing heavily in relief. Derek, once again, was completely serious, his beautiful eyes open and understanding, even under those furrowed eyebrows.

“I’m still not sure what that was, but thank you.” Stiles’ smile was a lot more genuine now, and Derek, after noticing it, smirked at him, like usual.

Stiles decided not to tell him about the shattered bottle. The shards of the events surrounding it still dug deep in him.

Their orders were brought in, making them (sadly) part hands. Derek, being the giant beefster that he was, ordered a full English breakfast with bacon and sausages, while Stiles decided to gorge himself on syrupy chocolate waffle goodness.

They chattered as they ate, about everything and nothing: the old people’s obsession with yoga and the effectiveness of smoothies, whether the sugar addiction was a real thing or not, and got into another heated debate. Stiles knew the answer, he just adored to see Derek being so vehement about something. He got this weird glint in his eyes when Stiles agreed with him on something once in a while, and his eyebrows for sure deserved their own dictionary.

Stiles could listen to him for hours, sitting like he was now, with his chin on his hand. Derek, as he was slowly starting to learn, had a giant nerdy side, which was insanely attractive to him.

Finally, they walked out of the café with full stomachs and smiles on their faces.

“I’ll walk you home,” Derek announced.

Stiles bit his lip to hide a pleased smile and nodded.

“So you don’t believe in ghosts,” Stiles said after a while, “but you don’t run from me screaming when I tell you about ‘The Rise of the Machines’ in my house.”

“Because ghosts are not real,” Derek answered simply. “What you have is a mischievous house spirit, most likely.”

He said it with such conviction as if he really meant it.

Stiles lifted his eyebrows and looked at him from the corner of his eyes. “You’re a believer in those?”

“Yeah.”

“But…” Stiles spluttered. “Science?”

Derek looked at him like he was a naïve child discovering that water is wet.

“I’m not judging!” Stiles backtracked quickly. “I’m just curious about what made you believe in those things!”

“There are a lot of things humans don’t have the capacity to understand,” Derek hummed, frowning. “Folklore tales and legends didn’t appear out of nowhere. People have known for a very long time that they are not the only ones to roam this Earth. There are creatures you don’t want to meet, trust me.”

The rational side of Stiles had immediately flared up, screaming at him that things like that were unscientific and trivial and had no evidence and had yet to be proved, but at the same time… There was evidence. Stiles was the sole witness to strange happenings. He still kind of doubted it was a hallucination. Even coincidence was more likely. Even then, the thought that there was something beyond everything he thought he knew, filled him with trepidation, excitement, and a little bit of fear.

“Have you met one of them? The creatures, I mean?” Stiles inquired carefully, turning to Derek.

The man’s smile was full of mischief and mystery, his gaze somewhere far away.

“Oh, yeah,” he said.

“Who?”

Derek looked at him, smiling faintly, then took a deep breath.

“There is fae in the preserve.”

“What, here?” Stiles opened his eyes wide. “How did you know? Did you see them? Can you show me?”

Derek laughed at his childlike wonder and giddiness.

“Yeah, sure.”

“What, like, really?” Stiles asked again, still not fully believing in what was happening. He unconsciously gripped Derek’s arm, barely keeping himself from skipping.

“Like, really,” Derek teased him with a fond look.

“You’re not pranking me, are you?” Stiles asked suddenly. He was afraid of what would happen to him if all of this turned out to be some sort of a joke. Then he would really become a hermit in whatever house his father put him in, and never come out.

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” Derek said, his smile dropping slowly.

Stiles stared at him for a while, and eventually, Derek met his gaze. They stopped in front of Stiles’ house, his hand still on Derek’s arm.

“Give me one hour,” Derek asked. Stiles nodded. “Change into something comfortable to hike in. We won’t go far, but I don’t want you to catch yourself on braches and stuff.”

“Okay.”

“See you in an hour,” Derek smiled again, still not wavering his gaze from Stiles.

Stiles was transfixed by those still-water eyes.

“See you.”

***

Stiles knew he would return to the preserve, even before he promised Scott to never do so. The calmness he experienced that first time was so fulfilling, that he wanted to feel it again. Sometimes at night he opened his window and stared at the trees, which were standing still, strong and steadfast. Their murmur was a lullaby he needed to calm his mind and soothe his heart.

Hiking with Derek was an entirely different experience. Either he knew this forest very well, or he was just a natural at navigating the woods; Derek led him deep inside the forest, as if following a path only he could see. Sometimes he stopped suddenly, throwing one hand out to warn Stiles against moving. Stiles then waited with a bated breath, not looking away from his tense figure, because he heard and saw nothing.

There was so much grace and strength in Derek’s movements, which Stiles knew he would never achieve and because of that was secretly jealous about it. It was as if Derek had become a part of the forest itself. It was truly a magical sight.

Stiles didn’t tell anyone where he was going and with whom. Everything he was taught told him it was a bad idea — the worst, actually — to go into the forest without any means of communication with a man he barely knew. From the outsider’s view, he was a lamb blindly following a wolf to its den.

Yet he felt like he could trust Derek. Maybe it was blind trust, Stiles didn’t know. And he didn’t care. The feeling of freedom was more enticing than danger.

Finally, they stopped in front of the small meadow; Derek turned his head towards him, smirked, then put one finger in front of his lips and beckoned Stiles to come near.

With a thundering heart, Stiles came close and looked at what Derek was pointing at. He didn’t see anything at first but then noticed a small perfectly round ring of stones placed suspiciously right in the center of the meadow.

Stiles couldn’t help but open his mouth a little bit in wonder and glanced at Derek questioningly. Rather than observing the stones, as Stiles had been, Derek had been watching his reaction. Then he put one of his hands on Stiles’ lower back and bent his head down close to Stiles.

For a shameful moment, Stiles thought he was about to be kissed. And he wouldn’t have minded, he realized. His heart was beating so loudly, that even Derek ought to have heard it.

Rough stubble scratched his cheek, making him stifle a gasp. Stiles closed his eyes, not able to fully comprehend the world right now, and heard a barely audible voice in his ear, more like a wave of a hot breath, rather than a sound.

“After you see this, there is no going back,” said Derek. “You must keep their secret for the rest of your life, otherwise the chaos will commence. Do you understand what I'm telling you?”

“Yes,” Stiles breathed out against Derek’s neck. He could have sworn it made Derek growl a bit, even if it was very quiet.

“I’m trusting you with this.” Derek leaned away but not very far. Their eyes met; he was so close, Stiles could still feel Derek’s breath on his lips, could smell his heady scent. Stiles was tense like a guitar string, waiting for Derek to play him with his fingers digging into his spine.

Stiles nodded.

“Also, remember that I'm here,” Derek added. “You have nothing to be afraid of when you’re with me.”

He carefully took off his heavy backpack and took out a container full of fresh honeycomb. He broke one small piece off the whole block, swirling it around to catch the strings of honey, then chucked it right into the middle of the stone circle.

Stiles was waiting, holding his breath. He put a hand in front of his mouth, the other on Derek’s bicep, and leaned on Derek’s back to watch over his shoulder.

Suddenly a buzz filled the air not unlike a hundred bees threatening to swerve at them right this second.

Then, Stiles saw them.

Tiny creatures, the size of a sparrow, flew out of the grass and flocked to the honey. They were a strange mix between human form and a bee’s one — large black insect eyes were like a pair of round headphones around their small heads; wings were translucent black and their bodies were yellow, round, and pilous, like bumblebees, but without stripes. They flew around the honey for a bit, then took it apart piece by tiny piece, and just as suddenly as they appeared, they vanished.

Stiles blinked at the grass, where the creatures were seconds ago.

It was real. Real.

He looked up and met Derek’s eyes, full of mirth and a touch of wariness.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

Stiles continued to stare at him. Derek took another piece of honeycomb and offered it to Stiles.

“Want to feed them?”

Stiles took the treat with numb fingers, which were filled with white noise again, and carefully threw the honey onto the grass.

The creatures rose once again, swirling slowly around, then disappeared, like the first time.

After that, Stiles left the feeding to Derek and just watched, charmed and stunned by the sight. At last, Derek turned to him and, upon seeing the shock on his face, snorted. He put his heavy arm around Stiles’ shoulders and led him away from the meadow. They walked for a bit, not that Stiles knew where he was or where they were going; he let Derek take the lead, feeling grounded by the warm weight on his shoulders.

At last, he resurfaced, when they sat on a sturdy log among the trees. Derek was looking for something in his giant ass backpack. Stiles watched him, detached.

“Here,” Derek took out a bottle of water, opened it, and put it in Stiles’ hand.

As he drank, Derek took out a sandwich and a muesli bar and put it on Stiles’ knees.

“I was hoping to let you try the honeycomb,” Derek said, putting his backpack on the ground. “But they were so happy, I couldn’t resist letting them feast.”

“Feast?” Stiles asked in a hoarse voice, then cleared his throat and took a gulp of water, watching Derek get settled by Stiles.

“Yeah, we basically got them drunk,” Derek chuckled.

That made Stiles frown and lean towards Derek.

“Are they old enough to get drunk?”

Derek lifted an eyebrow at him as if encouraging him to keep up.

“Those were adult species, don’t let the giant cartoonish eyes fool you,” he shook his head. “We gave them raw honey. They wouldn’t have managed to gather that much in a span of a whole year. So, yeah, they are probably a bit loopy from all the sugar right now, but also very happy.”

Stiles stared at Derek, seeing the man in an entirely different light. He talked about those creatures — fae — like it was something casual; like he lived in this world, so new to Stiles, every day.

“How do you know all of this?” Stiles wondered, taking a muesli bar in his hands, and plucked at the packaging. “You’re talking like this is old news to you.”

“Very old,” Derek corrected and left it at that.

The silence grew between them once again. Stiles ate his sandwich and his bar almost mechanically, just as a way to keep his hands busy while rethinking his entire life. Derek didn’t interrupt his thought process, which, at this point, wasn’t surprising. The man was very perceptive.

“Please, tell me you can’t actually read minds,” Stiles blurted at last, going pale.

His anxiety, however, diminished somewhat after Derek laughed.

“I can’t, no,” he said, eyes squinting at the corners. “I can just read people very well.”

“Will you tell me more?” Stiles asked hesitantly, pulling the hoodie sleeves past his wrists and poking at the frayed edges.

“Of course,” Derek said lightly, watching his hands. “But not today,” and, at Stiles’ confused expression, added, “I feel like you need time to process this particular revelation before I tell you more.”

Thinking about it, Stiles realized he was right. Stiles was so overwhelmed that all the thoughts in his head bunched together in one giant mess with constant internal screaming in the background. He needed to sleep on it.

On their way back the sun started to set slowly, but, because they were in a relatively dense forest with absurdly tall trees, the darkness was falling fast. Stiles had to strain his vision to see what was under his feet and at one point had to hold onto Derek’s arm above the elbow, because that man could apparently see in the dark. Yet another fascinating thing about him, huh?

Eventually, they got out of the preserve, and Derek drove him home, not talking and letting Stiles stew in his thoughts. After he stopped in front of Stiles’ house, Derek made him promise that he would call when he was ready for some answers.

Stiles went into the dead house, up the stairs, then whined after remembering about the laundry waiting to be put in a dryer; he dealt with that, then changed and went to bed.

The sleep didn’t come for a long time. It would be a miracle if he fell asleep this night — he was buzzing with thoughts, like fae around the honey. He smiled when he remembered their cute faces and plump fuzzy bodies, not unlike toys. Derek, of course, told him sometime in the forest that despite their cuteness anyone who dared to step into their stone circle — their claimed territory — would disappear as quickly as the honeycomb did.

Stiles knew he just had to know more, he was so hungry for it. He twisted and turned in his bed, staring at the ceiling, at the walls, and his empty desk.

How did fae eat, if they couldn’t leave their circles? How did they acquire the territory? Was there a queen, like with bees? Where did they all go, under the ground? How did nobody, excluding Derek, notice them?

Stiles’ wandering gaze stopped at the moon, shining through his window, and his thoughts returned to Derek.

How? Just how did he know this? And why had he decided to show this forbidden, sacred world to basically a nobody? Did he trust Stiles that much, already?

Just like Stiles trusted him?

Maybe he was just as lonely.

Or maybe… Stiles turned on his back and put his hands on his belly, scrunching up his pajamas T-shirt. What if he knew?

Stiles put his hands in front of him up in the air and wiggled his fingers. They felt normal, even though earlier, in the forest it was tingle-fest galore. He was scared he would shock Derek accidentally half of the time but managed to keep it to himself, mostly due to his weird brain freeze.

Derek said he didn’t believe in ghosts and, while he suspected it was a house spirit and holy fuck what if there was one, he also looked at Stiles expectantly, like… like he knew Stiles wasn’t telling the whole truth. What if that’s why he showed Stiles the fae? To show him that it was all right, that he knew and Stiles could trust him?

His arms fell on the bed on each side of his head. His heart was beating itself out of his chest.

Derek knew this stuff, he lived it.

He was definitely going to call him tomorrow. Yeah.

It appeared, that both Stiles and his father were going to give each other silent treatment. When Stiles came downstairs the next morning, Dad was sitting at the kitchen table, reading an honest-to-god newspaper, like an old man, with an empty cup of coffee. Apparently, the privilege of being acknowledged was not something his son deserved, not yet.

Whatever. What-fucking-ever.

At least, he bought groceries. After making himself a turkey sandwich and a cup of coffee, Stiles returned to his room. He was determined not to ruin his own mood today by enduring the pointed coughs throughout the breakfast. Stiles ate in peace, then puttered around his room, waiting for his father to fuck off somewhere. He needed to use the phone. Preferably, without his father listening in.

After changing and making himself look presentable, Stiles was left with nothing else to do, which wasn’t an unfamiliar situation. So he walked to the closed door and put his right ear against it to spy on his father.

He heard the scrape of the chair and Dad’s usual grunting and rolled his eyes. His father wasn’t that old, he was just approaching fifty, not a hundred, yet behaved like a decrepit. Then there was a sound of TV, some sports game again, and Stiles banged his forehead on the closed door. Fuck, he was going to be there for hours!

Stiles turned and looked around the room, worrying his lip. His usual trick with escaping through the window wouldn’t make it this time: it was sunny, his father was awake, not drunk and in the living room with a perfect view of both the front and the back of the house due to placement of windows. Dad would definitely notice his recreation of “The Shawshank Redemption”.

“Think, think!” Stiles whispered to himself, drumming fingers against his mouth.

Wait…

Stiles froze, then slowly pulled his hand away from his mouth and looked at it. Would he dare?

He just had to cause a distraction to get Dad out of the living room. He didn’t know how, but if he were to spend another minute in this house walking holes into the floor, he would go insane.

Stiles took the dirty dishes that were left from breakfast and walked downstairs. His body was on high alert like he was doing something illegal, all sweaty palms, bitten lips, and wandering eyes.

Dad was concentrating on the game and therefore didn’t see him. Perfect.

Stiles walked into the kitchen, put the dishes into the sink, and started to wash them as slowly as possible. Out of the window, he could see a lawnmower out on the lawn behind their house. It was an electrical thing, even though it wasn’t currently plugged in.

Stiles stole a glance at his father over his shoulder, turned off the water, and thoroughly dried his hands. Water and electricity didn’t mix, he knew that at least and, without knowing much about Whatever The Fuck as he lovingly called it, wasn’t willing to risk causing more damage.

Stiles looked out of the window and glared at the lawnmower, then lifted his hands a bit, like he was reaching for the dishes. The “white noise” feeling spread from the tips of his fingers up to his elbows. It grew and grew in intensity until his arms started tingling.

“Move?” Stiles pleaded, wincing internally at how stupid he must’ve looked, and waved his hands in the direction of the window, like an idiot.

The lawnmower took his command to an extreme level. It roared into life, spooking a whole ass flock of birds from the tree, drove itself across the lawn at an amazing speed, and crashed into the side of an old shed. It completely destroyed its southern wall, with splinters and pieces of old grey wood now lying all over the scene of the crash.

Stiles didn’t expect this to happen but was glad it turned out this way, because in the next second his father ran past him to the window, cursing at the sight. Stiles didn’t say anything, just stood there with an open mouth, pretending to be shocked.

Dad hurried out of the house, damning everything and everyone he knew, cursing at “damn kids with their damn pranks”. As soon as his foot was out of the door, Stiles sprang to the phone, nearly tripping on the carpet.

With trembling fingers, he put in the number Derek gave him and started praying for him to pick up the fucking phone, frantically staring at the front door and listening to his father’s shouting. Fuck, if Dad catches him, he’s screwed.

There was a loud click over the line and then,

“Hi, Stiles.”

“How did you —” Stiles spluttered, then shut his eyes tightly to refocus himself. “Whatever, can you pick me up?”

“Sure,” Derek answered. “Everything alright?”

“Yes. No,” Stiles stuttered, then cursed.

“I’ll be at your house in —”

“No!” Stiles exclaimed, then slapped a hand over his mouth. Shit. “Pick me up at that grocery store, you know, the one, that —”

“I remember,” said Derek carefully. “Are you —”

“Gotta go,” Stiles blurted out, then slammed the phone handle down, damn near shattering the plastic. And right on the time, because in the next moment, his father reentered the house, marching for the closet where his instruments were, and stopped at the entrance, noticing Stiles.

“Who were you calling?” he asked tightly, eyes brimming full with suspicion.

“I figured, m-maybe, we should call the police…” Stiles mumbled, making himself look as innocent and confused as possible.

“I am the police!” Dad barked, turning away from him and shaking his head at his son’s frustrating stupidity.

Stiles barely stopped himself from scowling at him and simply lowered his head.

Having found his toolbox, Dad stormed out of the house once again. It was now or never.

Stiles picked up his hoodie from the hanger near the door and sneaked out, glancing over his shoulder. Further and further, he reached the fence, ran down the street, then turned onto another. No one was chasing him or screaming after him.

A giddy smile took over his face. A laugh bubbled out of his chest, light, like a feather.

***

Derek had been waiting for him already; he was leaning on the side of his car, hands in pockets of his leather jacket. A deep frown clouded his face — it seemed, he was scowling at something. As soon as Stiles turned around the corner, Derek’s head swiveled towards him, as if he felt his presence. Intense eyes were running up and down his body the entire time it took Stiles to get to him.

“Hi,” Stiles huffed out, breathless, but still smiling.

Derek kept his sour face.

“What the hell was that?” he grumbled. “Can you fucking tell me if you’re alright, or not?”

Stiles, unperturbed by the grumpiness, giggled and put his finger on Derek’s forehead, right where the frowning wrinkle was. God, this fucking euphoria.

Derek smacked his hand away but managed to relax a little bit, noticing his good mood. “Stiles.”

“Derek,” Stiles teased, mimicking his voice, then laughed at his face. “Everything’s fine, I’m here, I escaped. Now, let’s go.”

“‘Escaped’?” Derek repeated, now lifting one brow. “From who?”

“My father,” Stiles brushed aside and pointedly opened the door to the car. “It’s complicated.”

Derek watched him for ten more seconds, then huffed and went to the driver’s side.

Stiles hummed to the radio the entire time and drummed lightly on his knees, but Derek had never once lost his serious and broody expression. He kept glancing at Stiles, almost as if checking him for injuries (pfft, what?), but eventually gave up and lost a bit of tension.

Derek’s house was filled with sun this time but still smelled amazingly woody and fresh. They went into the living room, with Stiles immediately falling on the couch and staring at Derek.

The man walked to the giant bookshelf and took out some heavy old books, tilting his head to read the names. Some of the books he put back after consideration, some he kept, and at the end settled on the other end of the couch with three tomes, which he put on the coffee table.

“I’m going to answer your immediate questions,” Derek started. “Then I’m going to leave you with these,” he gestured to the books, “because, frankly, I’m bad at explaining things.”

Stiles glanced to the books, then back at Derek, and nodded.

“I was born into this world,” Derek told him. “From the start, this was something I knew, something that was around me all the time. I don’t like calling it ‘supernatural’ or ‘otherworldly’, because for me it isn’t. It’s a part of life.”

Stiles hummed, then looked at his hands and forced himself to ask one of the most burning questions.

“Are you one of them?”

Derek didn’t answer at once. He kept looking at Stiles, making him feel like prey forced into a corner. Stiles knew he was being evaluated, he just hoped he earned Derek’s trust.

“I’m not… I mean,” Stiles offered, looking at him through his lashes. “I won’t tell anyone. First of all, no one would believe me. Secondly, I don’t have anyone to tell.”

“I know you can keep a secret.”

He knew. Their eyes met and Stiles just knew Derek knew.

“What’s the deal with your father?” Derek asked out of the blue.

Stiles raised his eyebrows but then lowered his gaze.

I show you mine if you show me yours. It was that kind of a situation, then.

Stiles blew out a breath. It was never easy to peel yourself open for somebody who could poke you in the most vulnerable place. But something told Stiles that Derek wouldn’t do that. The man was incredibly perceptive and seemed to genuinely care for Stiles; combined, these two things had made him notice something was wrong.

“We, umm, fight a lot,” Stiles told him quietly, picking at his nails. “He’s a bit paranoid that someone would come for him or me, I guess. He’s a cop, a Sheriff, so I get it. He doesn’t like it when I go out. Doesn’t let me have a job.”

Derek kept silent, watching him.

“Even if someone was really after him, they never do anything. Maybe he received threats, but he doesn’t tell me stuff. It’s probably for my own benefit,” he shrugged.

“He shouldn’t lie to you, you’re not a child,” Derek muttered. Stiles lifted his shoulders once again. “You would be better equipped to deal with danger if you knew about it.”

Stiles didn’t say anything to that, because he and his father had this talk thousands of times before without coming to a consensus. There was no sense in his father’s words, in Stiles’ opinion.

“I am one of ‘them’.”

Stiles stared at Derek with his eyes wide open.

“A mind reader,” he whispered, bringing one hand to his mouth.

Derek scoffed with an exasperated smile.

“Wrong,” he said so smugly, that Stiles wanted to squish his face. “Also, I'm not telling you.”

“I— WHAT?! Not fair!”

“Something tells me,” Derek grinned, his teeth glinting dangerously, “you’ll be far more excited to find out by yourself.”

Fuck, he was right. Stiles’ whole body trembled in anticipation of solving a good mystery. He slapped both of his hands over his mouth, but Derek still managed to catch him smiling and laughed at him.

“Give me one clue,” Stiles put one finger up and looked pleadingly at Derek, “just one.”

“Nope.”

“Derek, please.”

Derek clicked his tongue and muttered something under his breath. “Fine.”

A squeak of delight escaped Stiles’ lips, much to Derek’s amusement. He forbade himself to blink in case he missed his clue. Derek leaned towards him, so Stiles followed his movements and wiggled closer, too.

Derek’s irises turned bright red as if they were filled with blood and someone lit them up from inside.

“Wow,” Stiles breathed out.

Derek’s eyes returned to normal; he was frowning a bit, weary of Stiles’ reaction.

“This is AWESOME!” Stiles screamed in his face with the hugest grin ever. Derek winced from the sudden loudness, but at the same time smiled, leaning more freely on the back of the couch.

What, did he think Stiles was going to freak out and run away? Ha!

A giant heavy book fell onto his thighs, making Stiles glare at cheeky-looking Derek for nearly kicking him in the nuts.

“This is a Bestiary,” Derek explained, nodding at the book. “It contains information about all kinds of creatures.”

“And those?” Stiles nodded at the other pair of books.

“Introduction to Herbology should cover the basics for you.” Derek showed him the musty green tome with letters in faded gold, then picked the other one with a smug smirk. “And this one, I think, you’ll like the most.”

Stiles took a closer look at the title and gasped.

Magic. Tome I.

“Magic?” he breathed, reaching out to trace the letters. “Is it real, then?”

Derek just smiled and nodded.

“How many tomes do you have?” Stiles was going to read all of them, just you see…

“Twenty.”

“TWENTY?” Stiles exclaimed.

“It’s a heavy subject,” Derek lifted an eyebrow like he thought Stiles was a naïve idiot. “And one more thing: the books don’t leave this house.”

Stiles opened his mouth to retort in outrage, but then immediately closed it.

Derek had a full right not to let those books out of the house. It was a miracle on its own that he was allowing Stiles to read them. Those books were obviously very valuable to him and to imagine if they got in the wrong hands… Stiles wouldn’t want that on his conscience. Besides, it gave him an opportunity to be near Derek.

“Deal,” Stiles smirked, then added with the utmost sincerity, “thank you.”

Derek just smiled with some unexplained sadness in his eyes, then got up and went towards the kitchen area.

“I’ll make us something to eat. You start on the Bestiary.”

Stiles watched his retreating back and mouthed “bossy” at him, but couldn’t deny he was secretly pleased at the attention. He opened the book that was lying in his lap, wiggled himself into the soft cushions, and started reading.

The author was very methodical about the content; he put creatures in alphabetical order, described their appearance in excruciating detail, adding a detailed list of their abilities, strengths, and weaknesses. Instead of pictures, there were beautiful drawings; sometimes multiple if the creature had many forms. Stiles was in morbid awe of one particular drawing of an anatomically correct depiction of a banshee’s vocal cords, which differed from human ones. It seemed that whoever wrote this had taken an almost scientific approach, and Stiles sometimes felt like he was reading a doctor’s dissertation. Fascinating.

He was so engrossed in the Bestiary, that he jumped from his seat a little when he noticed Derek standing near the sofa with his hands crossed and an amused look on his face.

“What?” Stiles whined, feeling warmth in his cheeks.

“Lunch is ready,” said Derek and nodded in the direction of the kitchen.

“That quick?”

“It’s been two hours.”

Well… if so, it felt like two minutes.

Derek had cooked them two pizzas. From scratch. It had a perfectly golden crust and an inappropriate amount of cheese. If Stiles didn’t already have a ginormous crush on Derek he would’ve developed one right then and there. There was something about people who could cook, you know? Probably some ancient instinct about having a good provider and shit. Stiles did not think about Derek cooking for him every now and then, with Stiles sitting at the kitchen table, staring at him working… Shut up, he didn’t.

And Derek knew the food was good — he kept glancing at Stiles digging into his pizza and moaning (probably inappropriately, but who cared); Derek’s eyes were shining with pride and smugness.

After lunch, Derek sat him down on the couch with the Bestiary. Not that Stiles protested much since he almost ran to the living room to return to his reading. Derek cleaned the kitchen and joined Stiles on the other side of the couch.

Stiles had spent the entire day at Derek’s. He honestly didn’t notice how much time had passed, because Derek just left him to his own doings, only occasionally fed him snacks and shoved glasses of water in his hands.

Stiles had resurfaced when the letters in front of him started blending. He put down the book and took a look around as if remembering where he was. He was astounded to realize it was dark outside; the living room was filled with soft lighting and a certain somebody had apparently put a reading light above Stiles, so he wouldn’t blind himself, and a soft blanket around his legs to keep him warm.

After blinking at his own wool-covered knees for a full minute, Stiles looked up and saw the man himself. Derek was sleeping on the other end of the couch, one hand resting on his stomach and the other on the cushion above his head. His legs were on the floor, their knees touching. Derek looked so peaceful, so relaxed, and unbothered in that moment, Stiles wanted to print this picture inside his brain.

Of course, Stiles couldn’t help but notice he was in his most relaxed state around Derek. Take today for example; Stiles was warm, he was fed with the most delicious homemade food, and not once did he worry about somebody drinking themselves to death while he dared to relax. Derek gave him what he needed — the source of knowledge that eased his anxiety and made everything clearer the more he read.

More than that, Derek was here, so close that Stiles could touch him, feel his warmth, and bask in his strength. It was amazing how perceptive and considerate the man was, providing noncommittal silence in one situation and being an incredible talker and companion in the other.

Stiles couldn’t tear his gaze away from Derek, from his chest, slow in its rise and fall, from the tiny opening between his lips, where he could see his ridiculously adorable bunny teeth. Stiles wanted to push his fingers into his dark tousled hair, to lie down on him, to feel his warmth not just at where their knees were touching, but with his entire body. He wanted to hug Derek and feel his arms around him; wanted to provide him with the same safety that Derek made him feel. Stiles wanted to kiss him.

But he did none of that. Instead, he put his hand on Derek’s knee, waking him up immediately, almost violently. It was fortunate that Derek showed him his red eyes earlier because if Stiles saw them now, like this, he would have definitely freaked out. Instead, he just shivered a little and put his hands up in a non-threatening way.

“It’s me, Derek,” Stiles said slowly and quietly. “It’s okay.”

Derek stared at him for a bit, then squeezed his red eyes shut and shook his head, like a canine. When he opened his eyes again, they were their usual handsome green-blue-grey.

“Iss’ late,” Derek yawned and sat fully on the couch, then rubbed his face.

Stiles, once again, watched him like a creep, feeling a flush on his entire face.

At last, Derek turned to him. There was a crease from the pillow on his right cheek. A crease like that should be kissed, Stiles decided, but, alas, just pursed his lips.

“Wanna stay?”

Stiles looked up at the sudden question, but Derek’s face was neutral like he expected nothing from Stiles. Like either answer would be fine.

“I shouldn’t,” Stiles said, tracing the etched letters on the front cover of the book with his finger. He wanted to stay — the desire was so overwhelming, his throat clenched at the thought of leaving his warm and soft nook.

“It’s okay,” Derek said, picking up on his ruined mood. “You know you can always return. I like you being here. My door will always be open for you.”

Right, because Derek wasn’t at all like his dad. He wouldn’t force him to stay home or move to another side of the country.

Stiles nodded, biting his lip.

“Come on, let’s get you back,” Derek sighed and stood up, extending one hand to Stiles.

Oh, right, the book. Stiles lifted the heavy Bestiary with both hands and gave it to Derek. He was quite confused when Derek scoffed and rolled his eyes. He took the offered book, dropped it on the table which rattled from the sudden weight, and offered his hand again.

Oh, right. Stiles took his hand and Derek lifted him from the couch so effortlessly, like he weighed nothing. Stiles felt all tingly inside.

Derek smirked. Probably smug about showing off his strength, the bastard.

Stiles’ hands tickled and prickled from inside for the whole ride home.

***

Stiles became a frequent guest at Derek’s house. He took every chance he could to sneak away and call Derek, so the man could whisk him far from home. He felt kind of bad for making him drive all the way from the middle of the preserve to the town all the time, but when he brought it up Derek called him an idiot. There was no public transportation in such a small town — definitely not the one to drive him to the preserve, and he was apparently forbidden to walk through the forest alone.

When Stiles started to argue (because he was in no need of another person dictating his life, thank you), all his protests were immediately shut down. Worst of all, Stiles knew Derek was right and he kind of saw his logic.

“There are not just fae in that place. Even if there were, no one can guarantee that there wouldn’t be many more dangerous creatures encroaching the territory,” Derek told him, looking Stiles straight in the eyes. “You are not going to the preserve alone until you learn to defend yourself.”

“Not everybody is as strong as you!” Stiles grew hot all over. “The best weapon I will ever have is an old bat and a great deal of sarcasm. So, what, you’ll never let me get out by myself? Fuck off.”

He was getting all worked up and anxious because of how much this reminded him of interactions with his father. The constant belittlement, doubt, and suspicion; Dad treating him like a small stupid child. His heart bled from the thought that it would be the same with Derek.

But the man didn’t take the insult. He just raised one eyebrow very slowly and very pointedly.

Stiles was ready to boil and explode from his audacity, but something soft, gentle, and understanding in Derek’s eyes made him draw a breath, stop, and fucking think.

Shit, yeah. There was this thing, where Derek knew that Stiles was hiding powers from him but stayed silent, waiting for Stiles to come to him on his own.

After a lengthy staring match, Stiles gave up, throwing his hands in the air.

“Fine. And get that smirk off your stupid face!”

He got a dusty pillow in the face for that.

And just like that Derek was driving him to his house as often as Stiles wished. He was still stuck on the Bestiary, barely past “Piasa” and “Pukwudgies”, and had yet to figure out what Derek was.

He was definitely not Gwyllgi, because those were from Wales and did not have a human form. Once Stiles read about the Mothman, his suspicion levels rose high; for that entire day, he had been trying to sneak up behind Derek’s back to poke him on the spine to feel if he was hiding wings or not. Turned out, there were no wings and Derek wasn’t a Mothman, but Stiles did learn, that Derek had a ridiculously good hearing and often tilted his head to the side, as if listening to something from far away.

Stiles’ own powers were put on a back burner. Firstly, because Stiles was still shocked by their existence, and secondly… Every time he used them, things got out of control. The shower, the washing machine, then that lawnmower, which ended up almost completely destroying the shed.

He would be lying if he said he hadn’t tried experimenting more. Stiles tried the first thing the wizards in the movies would do, which was to Wingardium Leviosa some shit. The poor pencil, which Stiles chose as his target, flew out of the open window with the speed of light and embedded itself in the tree trunk right outside his room. Thank fucking god, it hadn’t flown in the opposite direction, which would have been Stiles’ forehead.

His powers were a bit dramatic and needed to chill for some time.

Stiles loved spending time with Derek. Even though Stiles was forbidden to go to the forest, Derek had no qualms about taking him there on long leisure walks through the preserve. The man was adamant that Stiles was the safest when he was with him.

Now that Stiles knew about Derek being something other than human, it was all he could notice about him. His strength, the grace he kept jumping through the forest with; his quiet stare of a predator. Stiles could watch him for hours. Which, he did, sometimes.

He was also faintly sure Derek liked his company as well. It seemed like Derek made it his mission to shove as much food into Stiles as possible. Stiles suspected he just liked to cook and had no one to do it for before. Derek always put the plate in front of Stiles first and waited for him to take the first bite, watching intently; his gaze transformed into this weird intense stare Stiles noticed upon himself from time to time, as if Derek was cataloging every minuscule emotion or reaction he had. Stiles just took it as another sign of him being a predatory creature and Derek not hiding his true nature anymore.

Or he was making it all up and Derek was just super worried about Stiles not liking his food.

That’s why Stiles always made sure to thank Derek profusely, which was appreciated, based on the way Derek immediately puffed up his chest after the praise.

It was fucking adorable.

Stiles often wondered what Derek gained as a result of their friendship. For Stiles, there was a shit ton of nice things, like food and magic, and the emptiness inside him slowly chipping away from the sheer warmth that Derek gave him.

Derek just got a spastic wannabe-sugar-baby on his hands. Without even the fun bits.

They both knew about the tension between them without acknowledging it. Derek still flirted with him, even though Stiles just scoffed now in return (while trying his hardest not to fucking smile like a lunatic). Derek was a touchy-feely person; Stiles got used to feeling the heat of his body at his side, the hand on his lower back, fingers nudging him this and that way, demanding attention.

Derek seemed to be the happiest when Stiles had the opportunity to stay for the evening. He often laid on the couch with his head in Stiles’ lap, buried his nose in Stiles’ stomach, and switched off completely, barely noticing Stiles’ reluctant fingers in his hair.

Derek asked him every time if he wanted to stay. Stiles hated himself for saying no.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise that he finally slipped up.

Stiles didn’t know what woke him up. All he could feel when he opened his sleepy eyes was his overheated body, a fast beating of his heart, and an overwhelming sense of something being very wrong.

He looked down, because his arms were prickling again, and saw Derek, still sleeping in his lap. He should have felt safe with him, even with the man sleeping. Stiles turned his head around, struggling to turn his brain online.

The dim lights were on. The Bestiary fell from Stiles’ slack fingers to the floor. His empty cup of tea was cold on the coffee table. Outside was dark.

Stiles’ heart started beating faster; Derek frowned in his sleep and mumbled something incoherent, turning his head another way. With the gnawing feeling of dread, Stiles lifted his eyes to the far corner near the door where the clock was.

It was three a.m.

His breathing was becoming quicker with every fucking second. He couldn’t look away from traitorous clock hands, that kept moving and moving.

The weight was gone from his lap. Rough hot hands landed carefully on his jaw and cheeks and turned his head away from the clock.

Derek’s eyebrows were in deep furrow, lips set, eyes red and focused.

“Stiles. Look at me. We’re going to breathe in…” he pointedly took a breath.

In.

“Out.”

Out.

“Very good, baby, now a few more times, okay?”

Stiles felt lost, adrift in the bottomless ocean.

He breathed, like Derek said. He heard his deep voice, soaking his calmness in; felt his hands, steady and strong, a reminder of Derek’s unwavering presence. He was watching Derek’s blood-red eyes and, after the Bestiary, one might think he should have been afraid, but all he could remember from looking at them were Derek’s words:

‘You have nothing to be afraid of when you’re with me.’

“Stiles?” Derek asked, watching him with a hard gaze.

“I’m late,” Stiles breathed out almost inaudibly, but Derek, of course, heard him.

“It’s alright.”

“My father will kill me,” his voice slipped up at the end of the sentence.

Derek caressed Stiles’ cheekbones with his big fingers. “He won’t.”

He said it with so much conviction that Stiles didn’t have any choice but to believe him; he breathed out and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to make sense of his scrambled thoughts. He needed to go, but didn’t want to, but had to; what was his father doing right now, was he drinking, was he even home, he would scream at him again…

“I need you to remember,” Derek said quietly, making him open his eyes. “You are an adult, regardless of the relationship between the two of you. You have the right to be wherever and for however long you wish. Got that?”

Stiles sniffed. The anxious ball was still stuck in his throat, making him swallow constantly. He couldn’t look Derek in the eye, so he just stared at the open collar of his wrinkled Henley and the vein beating on his neck.

“You are safe with me,” Derek told him in the same quiet, but sure voice. Not once did he turn away. “You’re safe.”

That, Stiles understood, so he nodded.

“Now. We can stay here or we can go to your house. I’m not asking what you want, I’m asking what do you need to do?”

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut from all the emotions rushing at him all at once. Here he was, panicking over his father’s reaction and then there was Derek, who knew perfectly well that Stiles wanted to stay, but gave him the choice anyway.

Stiles’ heart was breaking from how much he wanted to bury himself in his arms and never come out into the real world.

He knew what needed to be done.

“Need to go,” Stiles whispered with a heavy heart.

“Good. I am going to drive us to your house and we are going to assess the situation. Yes, you are late to whatever curfew your father had set, but we can’t turn back time. The only thing we can do is move forward and deal with consequences, together.”

In some weird gesture, born from instinct, Derek leaned forward and rubbed Stiles’ cheek with his, from the corner of his mouth and right to his ear, then back and again. The scruff irritated Stiles’ skin so it would for sure be red later, but the gesture stunned him too much to complain.

Derek’s scent filled his lungs, calming and grounding, like his hands on Stiles’ jaw. The move was vaguely canine-like and Stiles could have cataloged and dissected this information, but instead, just closed his eyes and breathed, melting into Derek’s half-embrace.

Derek would go with him. He wouldn’t let anything happen to him.

After making sure Stiles’ cheek was rubbed to his satisfaction, Derek leaned away, glanced him over critically, took both of his hands, and led him out.

The ride home was silent; Stiles kept bouncing his left leg, so Derek eventually put his hand on it and kept it there. Not to stop him or anything but as an offering of comfort and support. It helped, but not a lot.

Time was always running the fastest when Derek drove him home. It seemed as if Stiles blinked a couple of times and they were at his house. The lights were on at the first floor, the police vehicle was parked on the driveway. Stiles stared at it, and his heart started racing again.

A warm hand closed over his, and another touched his jaw with fingertips, turning him away from the dreaded sight. Derek’s face was neutral if not a little tense.

“You know, one word from you and I will drive us as far away from this as you want,” he said softly; Stiles watched his eyes and fought the desperate desire to give in and run.

“I have to deal with this,” Stiles said, deeply tired, and lowered his gaze. If he didn’t march into the house right now and deal with the shit, the anxiety and guilt will eat him alive.

Derek didn’t say anything — he knew that already. That’s why he brought him here, instead of just driving away. But, more than that, he gave Stiles the choice of doing either.

Derek grabbed his chin, leaned up a bit, and pressed a gentle kiss on Stiles’ forehead. It was so soft and barely there, that Stiles wanted to scream and bury himself in Derek’s arms.

Instead, Stiles nodded, sucked in as much strength Derek was radiating as he could, and got out of the car.

Every step away from Derek left him more hollow and cold. It was almost a physical thing as if Derek dug hooks into his chest and kept tugging and tugging. Walking away felt like missing a step, sudden and disorienting.

Stiles stopped at the front door for a couple of minutes, boring a hole into the door handle.

Fuck this, he couldn’t stay here forever. Time to face the music.

His father was at his usual place, on the sofa in front of the TV. It was some cooking show — something his father would have never chosen to watch, and thus the first sign of just how bad his condition was. The bottle of whiskey was empty and lying on its side on the table. There was beer and vodka, too, as if his father didn’t care what he bought, as long as it contained alcohol.

His father was sitting, which was quite an accomplishment in his state. He put his elbows on his knees; his head was hanging low and his whole body was swaying a little.

Stiles breathed in, trying not to gag at the stench of stale liquor, and squeezed his eyes shut for a minute.

“Dad?”

His father recoiled from staring at the carpet and turned too quickly, toppling over on the couch on his side.

“S-stiles,” he hissed, frowning almost comically; his blood-shot glassy eyes, however, were nowhere near funny. “Sti-i-i-iles.”

“What did you do to yourself?” Stiles asked, feeling his heart in his throat.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

“Out.”

His father chuckled darkly, swaying his head from side to side.

“Out,” he muttered to himself. “I say ‘stay home’, you say ‘out’.”

Dad tried to stand up, but it appeared his legs were too weak and uncoordinated for that. He toppled over the table, sending bottles crashing on the floor. Stiles moved to help him, trying not to breathe in, and managed to tug him back onto the couch. He watched as his father lay staring at the ceiling but most likely not seeing anything.

“You’re unrat— ungaret—”

“Ungrateful,” Stiles muttered, frowning down at him.

“— bastard,” Dad managed to spit out. His eyes had finally focused on his son’s face. “I hate this.”

Me, too, Stiles thought to himself, even though he knew they were talking about different things.

“You are… so much trouble.” His father pointed a wobbly finger at him. “I wish I had never known you.”

Stiles swallowed, breathing through his nose, but said nothing.

“I am so —” Dad kept watching him and scrunched his nose, trying to remember the right word, “tired of you.”

The hollowness spread over his entire body, eating away the white noise and the leftover tingles in his hands and heart; Stiles felt numb and cold, stuck in a limbo of helplessness.

“Why are you so stuck on keeping me on the leash, then?” he asked.

Dad looked at him like he was a wet piece of old food stuck on the plate, like mold that kept coming back, no matter how hard you tried to get rid of it.

“She made me do it,” he gritted out.

Did he mean Stiles’ mom? Why would she do that?

Stiles felt his hands go cold.

What if— what if she knew about his powers? What if she made Dad keep him close, so he wouldn’t get out and cause harm? His powers were violent in their strength, but Stiles never wished to hurt somebody, he would hate that. Did his father know about his powers, then? Or did Mom not tell him?

Stiles wished he could remember her, but alas, there was a blank nothing where the memories should’ve been.

His father’s words stumbled together falling into an incoherent mumble. He was lying in a twisted uncomfortable pose, but either didn’t care or couldn’t force his body to obey and turn. He looked pathetic, and it made Stiles nothing, but sad. Sad and helpless.

Stiles stood there and waited for his father to fall asleep. Once the snores started, he covered him with a blanket and gathered the trash as always, but instead of walking upstairs to stare at the wall in his bed all night, he walked right out of the door.

He couldn’t stay there, Stiles realized. Despite his earlier panic about what his father might do to him, the thought of staying inside this stinking old house with his father unconscious in a drunken stupor made him choke on desperation and anxiety. He knew he wouldn’t sleep — he would lie in his bed, eyes wide open, listening for the signs of life from his father. The man who straight-up told his son he was fucking sick of him.

And that was unbearable.

The night air was fresh and cold, waking him up from the nightmare of his so-called home. Stiles shuddered, closed up his hoodie, then lifted his head and froze.

Derek hadn’t left. His car was parked in the same spot, and the man himself was leaning on the driver’s side door, hands in pockets.

He looked like he always did, when waiting for Stiles, his gaze somewhere far away, brows furrowed slightly. And, as always, Derek heard him first and turned his head, but this time he wasn’t smiling. He took one hand out of his pocket and extended it towards him.

Stiles broke.

One simple gesture, one silent move from him, and all emotions he kept so tightly shut inside himself broke out like a tidal wave. He heaved a breath in an attempt to get at least a little bit of air and walked towards him with trembling fingers, not even looking out for the possible traffic.

He reached Derek, dove right under his inviting arm, and plastered himself over him. Stiles’ hands sneaked around Derek’s waist and gripped the leather so hard, it creaked. As he felt Derek’s arms close around him, he buried his cold nose in Derek’s shoulder and neck and felt tears slide from his stinging eyes down his cheeks.

Neither of them said anything; Stiles didn’t have it in him to talk, and Derek… had likely heard everything, if his ears were as well-functioning as Stiles thought. Derek just took all his weight, gripped Stiles’ body tight, and pressed him to his front. Stiles felt Derek’s breath warming up his neck and ear and shuddered; Derek squeezed him even stronger and grumbled in his ear, low and long.

They were pressed so tight, that Stiles felt his chest vibrate from the sound; every breath he took was laced with Derek’s scent. The warmth of his body filled his every pore, making everything cloudy and far away. He had never felt so comforted in his life.

It had taken a long time for Stiles’ tears to finally stop flowing, for his breathing to return to normal. Derek held him, even when he started crying again, shushing and stroking his back.

Stiles forced himself to lean away from Derek when the sky started to pink up. The wind immediately made him shiver and his cheeks became even redder.

“Come on.” Derek put an arm around his shoulders and led him to the passenger’s side.

Stiles obediently climbed into the Camaro, breathed out, and rubbed his face.

His life was a mess. He’d rather have Dad scream at him. Would they recover from that? Was there any point to it? Did he even want that?

Derek drove around for a while, and, at first, Stiles thought it was aimless, but then he noticed Derek looking at street signs.

“Where are we going?” Stiles rasped, then cleared his throat.

“You’ll see,” Derek said and sneaked a look at him, offering a little smile.

Stiles didn’t answer, didn’t smile. Maybe he would never be able to make himself smile again. It would feel foreign on his lips.

He relaxed into his seat and looked out of the window, watching crazy morning people, dog walkers, and joggers; the town was waking up, making life move on.

Suddenly he felt a hand sneak into his, intertwining their fingers. Stiles stared at them, then lifted his gaze.

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Like I'm going to put your life in danger,” Derek huffed as if the concept was utterly ridiculous. “I’m a good driver, trust me.”

And Stiles did. He turned away once again and thunked his forehead against the vibrating glass, blinking slowly. Their hands stayed together.

The sky was more orange than pink now. More people flooded the streets. Stiles wanted to slide down his seat so that nobody would see him.

He was so out of it, that he didn’t notice when they stopped. His wandering gaze fell onto a couple, sitting on a bench not far from the car. It was a white woman with thick blond curly hair, that fell prettily on her round belly. Next to her was a black man who was maybe even bigger than Derek. What was the deal with muscleheads in this town? Free gym membership, or something?

For the lack of anything to do, Stiles stared at them. The couple were talking, and the woman was eating an ice cream, which was odd because it wasn’t that hot of weather, but what did Stiles know about pregnancy cravings? The man was watching her with literal hearts in his eyes that could be seen even from a distance. The woman thrust her half-eaten cone under the man’s mouth but missed a bit and ended up slathering the ice cream all over his chin. She immediately burst into laughter, clutching her heavy belly.

The man was still wiping the cream from his face with an indulgently fond smile when the Camaro’s door slammed a little bit too loud. Stiles jumped and turned to look, but all he saw was Derek climbing in. He was carrying a giant to-go cup with a lid, a straw, and a paper bag, all of which were immediately dumped on Stiles’ lap.

“Huh?” Stiles managed to say.

“One Oreo milkshake and fries,” Derek announced, grinning smugly.

“What about me?”

Derek snorted, “These are for you.”

Oh.

As they started driving again, Stiles snatched the milkshake, so it wouldn’t go all over the upholstery. He took a tentative sip and moaned a little, it was so tasty! Then he opened the paper bag and took out one fat and greasy-looking fry. It was also delicious, salty, and perfect.

“Thank you,” Stiles muttered, shoving another fry in his mouth.

Derek just hummed, staring straight ahead.

Stiles was very careful not to spill or drop anything and was successful. He even managed to feed Derek a little, shoving a fry in front of his mouth and ordering him to say “a-ah”. Derek sneaked a glance at him, then frowned down at a fry; Stiles was ready to call it all a joke when Derek snatched the fry from his fingers with his teeth so inhumanly fast, that Stiles didn’t even get to blink.

After a couple of such feedings, Derek put a stop to it as the food was bought for Stiles specifically. Whatever, his loss. It was delicious!

Full stomach in combination with this night’s events made him very sleepy, if not downright exhausted. Stiles was fighting to keep his eyes open, startling himself after nodding over.

“You can sleep,” Derek said, making Stiles wince and rub his eyes, “we won’t be home for another twenty minutes.”

For a heart-wrenching, disturbing second Stiles thought Derek would drop him off at his house, where his father was still sleeping. Then he remembered, that Derek had never, not once, referred to Stiles’ house as “home”.

Stiles nodded, swallowed down a nervous lump in his throat, and closed his eyes. His heartbeat had eventually slowed down again and sleep consumed him.

… The grass tickled his ankles, sharp stones and sticks dug into the soles of his feet, but he didn’t care. His breath was lost from laughter and running. He was a bird, flying high, a fawn, prancing around the woods. Something roared from behind him; there was a tremendous crackling sound of breaking branches, and then strong hands caught him by the waist.

With an excited shriek Stiles fell, but, miraculously, didn’t end up on the ground. His captor turned them in time, so Stiles landed on the muscly body instead of the forest floor.

“Well?” the man said, not even out of breath. His smile reeked of self-satisfaction.

“You win, Mr. Hale,” Stiles breathed out, swallowing a laugh.

“It is heaven to hear that from you,” Mr. Hale rumbled and suddenly turned them.

Stiles ended up pinned underneath the hunk that was this man. Or, should he say wolf? Either way, the blush on his face from their run was immediately fueled by this amazing lustful feeling that made it hard to breathe.

Mr. Hale leaned to his neck and breathed in, greedily opening his mouth, as if Stiles’ scent was an ambrosia to him. Stiles squirmed, hearing his grumble. He felt overly hot and tense and clutched at Mr. Hale’s white shirt. Lips touched his neck, kissing up and down, almost reverently. An eager tongue slid up his throat, right along the vein.

Stiles couldn’t keep down a whimper that turned into a moan as the man kissed his neck right below his ear.

“Mr. Hale…”

“I beg you to call me by my name,” he rumbled in Stiles’ ear, biting the lobe.

“Derek,” Stiles rasped, now looking into his beautiful, magnificent eyes. They glinted their usual red; Derek’s smile was so prideful and smug and pleased, that it was impossible not to return it.

“Will you grant me the pleasure of tasting your lips?” Derek asked, looking down at them.

Stiles’ unconscious response was to lick them immediately. The red in Derek’s eyes was now permanent.

“Please,” Stiles whispered, so no one but Derek could hear him.

Derek leaned over him, his hot breath waved over Stiles’ lips. He closed his eyes and —

“Stiles?”

Something was stroking his cheek, back and forth, light and careful. Stiles opened his eyes; he was in the car, not in the forest; the past night was awful — the complete opposite of his dream.

Stiles turned his head and stared at Derek. The blush had filled his face, unbidden. Shit, he really hoped Derek wasn’t lying about not being a mind-reader.

“We’re here.” Derek waved over at his own house in the woods, then leaned his head on the headrest, watching Stiles. “Will you stay?”

Unlike the other times, his question sounded more like a plea. Stiles glanced over his face, noticing faint dark circles under his eyes, almost unnoticeable if not for Stiles’ attention to detail; he was tense, and corners of his lips were downturned slightly.

Stiles knew without a sliver of doubt in his mind or heart, that Derek would still be fine with either answer. If Stiles demanded to be brought home, Derek would do so without saying anything. However, for the first time, Stiles saw the desperation in his eyes. Was it from Derek being exhausted, too? Perhaps, it had always been there and Stiles was just blind. He didn’t know.

He didn’t want to fight. He wanted to make Derek happy, see his smile. So his answer to that question would have to be exactly the one he wanted to give him all this time.

“Yeah.”

Derek closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, they were red. His smile wobbled a bit from the relief he probably felt.

Stiles felt his own lips tug up a bit at one corner. Then he ruined the moment by yawning.

Derek huffed a laugh at him, then got out.

Once they were back in the house, Stiles saw the Bestiary, still on the floor, the blanket, that Derek was sleeping under just several hours ago. It felt like centuries had passed.

Derek followed his gaze to the couch, then quickly took Stiles by the hand to lead him away. Stiles obediently went after him. They walked down a long unlit hall and into a bedroom. It was small, but everything in Derek’s house was; the bed was made, nice and clean. There were no clothes lying around, just a book on the side closest to the door. It looked exactly like the bedroom Derek would have.

Stiles sat down on the right side of the bed, the one with no book. It was right in front of the window, which Derek had immediately closed off with curtains. Then he dumped a T-shirt and some pants on Stiles’ lap.

“Change here or in the bathroom, you know where it is,” Derek said and went out.

Stiles stared at the closed door. Did… did he offend Derek? Maybe he sat on the wrong side of the bed? What if Derek now regretted letting him into his room? Maybe he had some instincts that were warning Derek against a stranger in his sacred and safe space.

Stiles changed, folding his clothes and putting them on the nearby chair, then sat on the very edge of the bed, fiddling with his fingers. He waited five, ten, twenty minutes, thinking that maybe Derek went to take a shower. Maybe he was cooking again?

Anything, just anything, except leaving Stiles completely alone.

He couldn’t wait anymore.

Stiles stood, swaying to the side from tiredness, tentatively opened the door, and listened in.

Nothing.

Did he… leave?

With a heart beating in his throat, Stiles went down the corridor and into the living room. There was no blanket, no books on or off the table. The place looked immaculate.

Stiles swallowed, turned to the kitchen area, and prayed…

Derek stood there with his back turned to Stiles. He was leaning on the kitchen counter with his hands; his back was still tense, making his muscles more prominent.

There was no way he hadn’t heard Stiles coming to him. Stiles had normal hearing, but even to him, his breathing was obnoxiously loud.

“Derek?” Stiles whispered and took a step towards him.

It was a couple of seconds too long before Derek turned to face him. Stiles was startled to find his eyes red; it usually required some sort of deep or sudden emotion to bring them out, so what happened?

“Is everything alright?” Stiles asked, frowning.

“Yeah.” His voice was deeper than usual, almost a growl.

Stiles didn’t lower his eyes, didn’t break their connected gazes. He didn’t feel like he needed to, even though his body was screaming that he was playing with the instincts of a predator. Stiles had never felt the full power of his glinting red eyes and that almost animal-like unwavering stare being focused on him before. He would definitely be scared and cowered if it was anybody else.

But this was Derek.

Stiles took another step towards him. “Are you not going to sleep?”

Still no answer, just Derek watching his every move.

“I can sleep on the couch, it’s fi—”

Stiles didn’t get to finish the sentence, as he was suddenly backed into a table. The edge of it dug into his back, but it didn’t register, because of what was in front of him.

Derek put his hands on either side of him and leaned close, so they were almost nose to nose. He was breathing deeply, taking a lungful after another through his nose. His eyes were shut tightly, his entire forehead wrinkled. Derek was swaying back and forth, just a little bit, but Stiles was so attuned to him, that he noticed anyway.

Stiles decided to give him a few minutes. Clearly, he did something that riled Derek up, but in a good or a bad way, Stiles didn’t know. The one thing he was clearly aware of was that Derek would never cause him deliberate harm.

Time seemed to help Derek; he wasn’t frowning or squeezing his eyes anymore, instead opening them, still breathing deeply. Still no green-grey-blue.

“Bad couch, got it.” Now would be a fantastic time to shut up. “Are you… are you mad at me? Did I do something?”

Stiles swallowed, and Derek followed the movements of his neck with his eyes.

“No,” he growled.

Stiles breathed out a relieved sigh.

“Okay, so, umm,” Stiles finally lowered his eyes, watching Derek’s chest rise and fall. “I kind of… Don’t want to be alone, right now.” God, this is so embarrassing, but he needed it. “Can you, maybe… Just stay with me, until I fall asleep?”

Great, now he decided to be scared of looking into Derek’s eyes. But he had to, he wasn’t above begging, because, if he was to be left alone right now, he would most definitely have a severe panic attack. He would take dying from embarrassment any time instead of that.

Derek was silent, but after a few minutes growled quickly and quietly, then turned and walked towards the bedroom, taking Stiles with him by the hand. Stiles was getting a serious whiplash from him.

“If you’re not comfortable with that —”

He got one more growl in his face for that. Now, Stiles wasn’t fluent in grunting, but that did sound like he had just been called an idiot.

“Okay, please, chill,” Stiles impulsively put his hands on Derek’s chest, and, to his surprise, the growling stopped immediately.

While the noises stopped, the weirdness continued. Something was clearly wrong here, and Stiles had a suspicion it was certainly his fault, even though he didn’t remember doing anything.

Fuck, what if it was one of his episodes? What if he did forget?

He didn’t have time to dwell, because right the next second Derek had wound his giant arms around him and lifted him like he was a kitten instead of a grown man. Stiles squawked, grasping at Derek’s shoulders.

“What is it with you?” Stiles huffed, getting a mouthful of Derek’s hair.

He didn’t get an answer and instead got carried to the bedroom and thrown on the bed. Stiles was lucky it was so soft.

Derek had apparently decided to mess with Stiles even more. He promptly shrugged out of his wrinkly Henley, baring his glorious chest, then pulled down his pants. Ignoring Stiles’ open mouth and wide eyes, he got on the bed and rearranged them, so that Stiles was pinned under Derek’s weight on his chest and legs. Derek hugged him tightly to himself, then buried his nose in Stiles’ neck, breathing in so deeply, it tickled. Stiles let out a giggle but quickly shut up when Derek growled and sunk his thankfully human teeth into his jaw.

Having a god-like specimen of a man, dressed only in his boxers, lying so close to him and putting his lips in the near vicinity of his face should have definitely put Stiles into a very horny mood. However, for whatever reason, as soon as Derek sunk his teeth into his flesh, Stiles’ body relaxed like it had never done before. He couldn’t even say anything, just whimper in confusion and pleasure.

Stiles had never had a massage, but he imagined it would feel nothing like this, not even close. Derek managed to transform him into a putty, soft and malleable, giving the control of his body entirely in Derek’s hands. It was strange, but so, so good. All tension was gone from his body in a matter of seconds.

Finally, Derek released him, licking the bite afterward. It didn’t hurt, just made Stiles want it more.

Fuck, how did he ever think Derek was human?

Derek grunted once more, then slid his nose down Stiles’ throat once again and put his head there.

It wasn’t a surprise Stiles fell asleep almost immediately after that. Derek’s hot heavy weight, his rhythmic breaths, combined with whatever weird mojo he had done to Stiles, put him out like a light switch.

***

It was hot, too hot, and also there was no air.

Stiles blinked at the unfamiliar ceiling, trying to make the annoying morning eye fog go away. He was at Derek’s; and, oh, yeah, yesterday happened. Was it yesterday or still today? What century was it, again?

The source of heat and a distinct lack of oxygen in his lungs was still sleeping on Stiles’ chest, or maybe his entire lower body, even. Stiles should have known Derek would be an octopus in bed. Not like he thought about what Derek would be like in bed. Shut. Up!

With a great amount of buckling, he managed to roll Derek slightly off him, so that only his head was on Stiles’ chest, with his hands firmly wrapped around Stiles’ torso.

Finally, Stiles took a deep breath. Derek, of course, noticed all the moving and grumbled under his breath, pushing his dark eyebrows together. Stiles’ tired mushed brain didn’t register what his own body was doing; one of his hands had flown up to drag fingers through Derek’s hair soothingly, and the other found itself on his bare back. Stiles closed his eyes and let out an almost silent “shh”, which magically made Derek relax and bury his nose deeper into the hollow of Stiles’ throat, tickling him with his beard.

Since when Stiles was the GQ model whisperer? What has his fucking life turned into?

Stiles sighed and put his cheek on Derek’s temple, caressing his hair. It wasn’t long before his thoughts returned to one place he wished he could forget.

His father’s words hurt. A lot. Parents shouldn’t say that to their children. Yes, Dad was in an awful state, drunk literally to the point of unconsciousness, but… Stiles knew he meant what he said that night. He was keeping Stiles out of some sort of obligation to his mother; he was tired of his child. Just for how long has he felt that way?

Stiles never wanted to be a burden, to be someone dragging the other down. Maybe it was a sign for Stiles to let his father go. It seemed like dad wouldn’t, couldn’t do it himself, despite his wishes. Well, that wish was about to be granted. It was the least Stiles could do for hurting his father for so long, even though it was unintentional.

But if his own father didn’t need him… What about Derek?

At this moment, Stiles had nowhere to go, nobody to turn to. He was scared to think of Derek as an exception because what if Stiles becomes a burden to him? Sure, there was tension, flirting, there was something, but was it enough to ask for a stay? Could he do that? He didn’t have any money to pay Derek back and probably won’t have them for a very long time.

What will happen to him when Derek gets tired? Stiles could picture him standing there, not looking Stiles in the eyes, scratching the back of his head and telling him he should go.

But where do you go when no one needs you?

He was slowly but surely working himself into a panic attack. It has been hovering on the horizon for the past two days, like a dark storm cloud, waiting for a single gust of wind to destroy him to pieces.

A loud growl startled him out of it. Stiles was suddenly aware of his shaking fingers clutching at Derek’s hair, of his rapid breathing and a lump in the throat. Derek growled once more right in his ear, then dragged his stubbly cheeks along Stiles’. It felt rough and hard and just enough pinch of hurt for his senses to shake themselves out.

“S’rry,” Stiles mumbled, unclenching his fingers.

“Don’t be. I’ss alright,” Derek grunted, barely awake himself. He laid there, face tucked between Stiles’ neck and pillows, and snuggled him even tighter than before.

Stiles couldn’t help but huff in amusement. They lay there in complete silence for another ten minutes, even though both were awake. Stiles forced himself to concentrate on Derek’s scent, musky and heavy, on the heat, surrounding them, on Derek’s quiet puffs of breath on his neck.

The paradise was broken by the pitiful growling of Stiles’ stomach.

Derek chuckled, and it felt so weird and exciting at the same time to feel his stomach contracting against Stiles’. His naked stomach, with abs. Oh, god.

“I’ll hit the shower, then breakfast,” Derek muttered, lifting himself up. How could anyone look this sexy after waking up? Fuck. “You rest.”

Yeah, if he laid there for one more minute, thinking about Derek and all his glory, they would have a very awkward problem.

Stiles waited until Derek disappeared into the bathroom turned on the water, and only then jumped off the bed. The least he could do was treat Derek with food for once. Stiles was an okay-ish cook, but he did do some mean pancakes.

Thankfully, all the ingredients were there. Stiles was very careful not to spill anything on his borrowed clothes. He decided not to brew coffee, because, as it turned out, they’d slept through an entire day and it was now eight p.m. Hot chocolate, then.

He flipped the last pancake, put it in a stack on Derek’s plate, then turned off the stove and turned around. And nearly dropped both plates, because Derek was standing right behind him.

“I’m going to put a bell around your neck,” Stiles threatened, his heartbeat calming down gradually.

He pushed past Derek, who, for some reason, wouldn’t stop staring at him, just like earlier today. Stiles didn’t know how to react to that, so he just went on like normal.

“There’s blueberries and bananas for you, Mr. Muscle,” he said, plopping down on his seat. He put one plate in front of himself, then drenched his pancakes in maple syrup and topped it off with whipping cream. Amazing.

“You…” Derek stopped himself, then shook his head and went to sit down in front of him.

Then something horrifying occurred to Stiles.

“Oh, please, don’t tell me you don’t eat pancakes!” he whined and looked up at Derek after some hesitation. “They’re not even pre-packaged, I’ve made the entire mixture myself —”

“Okay,” Derek said, lifting one eyebrow.

“ — and I’ve made them for you, so —”

Derek’s eyes shined red for a second before he seemed to gather himself and interrupt Stiles’ rant.

“Stiles, it’s okay,” he muttered, gritting his teeth for some reason, but then looked at Stiles and smiled warmly. “I like pancakes. Thank you.”

“So, dig in if you like ‘em,” Stiles insisted, not fully convinced. He put his own utensils on the table and crossed his arms, staring at Derek in defiance.

Derek looked at him strangely, then glanced at Stiles’ untouched food. Very slowly he took a fork and a knife, cut a piece from a stack of pancakes and, only after lifting his gaze to Stiles’, put it in his mouth.

Derek’s stare was full of so much meaning and something deeply intense, but Stiles didn’t understand why. He was aware something was happening, he would be stupid not to but didn’t have a single clue as to what.

There was a big probability that everything would be clear once Stiles found out what Derek was. Until then…

“It’s good,” Derek growled out quietly, then cleared his throat and looked down at his plate. “Very good. Again, thank you.”

Stiles couldn’t help but preen and smile happily. Ignoring Derek’s huff of laughter, he started inhaling his own portion, like a starving man.

After “breakfast” which was actually a dinner and finally brushing his teeth, Stiles was unceremoniously dragged out on an evening stroll through the forest. He suspected it was because Derek didn’t want him drowning in his depressing thoughts, but the man swore he just wanted to show Stiles something.

It was dark by now; Stiles figured he should have been nervous or at the very least uncomfortable to walk in the preserve at night. However, he felt safe with Derek. The man practically drilled in him that nothing would happen to him when they were together.

Derek held his hand from the minute they stepped into the forest, brushing away low-hanging branches that were in Stiles’ way and telling him when to step over a fallen tree. Stiles realized then, that Derek could see in the dark. Huh.

There was an embarrassing and kind of exhilarating moment when they had to get over the cold stream of water to get going further. Stiles was a hundred percent sure he would find a way to slip and fall into the freezing water and firmly told Derek so. As a result, Derek just smirked, then picked him up, wrapping Stiles’ long legs around his own waist, and, ignoring Stiles’ confused protests and his red face, jumped over the water in one giant leap.

Stiles was certain he left scars on Derek’s shoulders because of his strong grip. He had to clench and unclench his fingers several times before they stopped tingling in excitement.

Yeah, his “magic” also had a crush on Derek. Welcome to the fucking club.

At last, they reached their destination, which turned out to be a lake bank. Derek led him down to where the grass stopped growing and the rocks started. They sat down on a soft patch, side to side; Derek nodded at the lake.

“Now, we have to be very quiet and not move, which is hard for you, I know,” Derek smirked and immediately oofed when Stiles poked him with an elbow to the side. He retaliated shortly, though, by biting Stiles’ shoulder, which made Stiles gasp and bite his lower lip to keep embarrassing noises inside.

“Shh, look,” Derek whispered in his ear, which was so not fair.

Indeed, as Stiles looked at the lake, he saw it glowing. It was an icy-blue shimmer, like the lake was steaming a bit.

Stiles frowned and leaned in a bit, trying to see what it was, then gasped.

It wasn’t a steam, nor a glow. It was hundreds, if not thousands of tiny creatures, very light baby blue in color. Each had wings not unlike that of a dragonfly, long and see-through. It was from their lightning-fast flapping where the shimmering was coming from. They had a humanoid body, but instead of legs, they had tadpole tails.

The creatures were all moving in synch just above the water's surface, like in some sort of a dance. It was mesmerizing, something you could look at forever, like a dream.

Stiles felt a finger gently push under his jaw to close it.

“They’re water sprites,” Derek breathed against his ear, making him shiver. “They’ve just hatched, so they’re basically toddlers. This is a ritualistic dance to signify the start of their life out of the water.”

“And we didn’t bring anything to the kiddies’ pool party?” Stiles whispered. “Derek! How rude.”

Derek bit his lips and looked down to keep in the laughter.

“They eat insect eggs and larvae,” Derek said, watching in amusement as Stiles cringed his nose. “Didn’t think you’d be up for digging some worms.”

“Eww.”

They watched the sprites dance until midnight. One by one little creatures dissipated into the water, making it glow from inside, until they reached the bottom of the lake, making everything dark and intimidating.

Stiles woke from the trance-like state and found his butt very sore from sitting on a flat surface for so long. He blinked around and saw Derek already up with his hands in front of him.

Stiles put his hands in his and was quickly tugged on his feet. He must have indeed been sitting for too long because he immediately went dizzy. Derek caught him first by his elbows, then put his hands around his waist.

“Alright?” he asked, looking down at Stiles, expression somewhere between amused and worried.

“Yeah,” Stiles breathed out, gripping Derek’s biceps.

The position put them very close; as Stiles lifted his eyes, he met Derek’s gaze, focused and steadfast. The darkness made everything more intimate and secretive than it should have been.

Stiles was suddenly aware of Derek’s firm body close to his, of his arms around him in a careful embrace. He felt the heat of Derek’s body and shivered.

“Cold?” Derek asked.

Stiles shook his head, but it was too late; Derek was already shrugging out of his leather jacket.

“But now you’ll get cold,” Stiles insisted quietly, but took the offered jacket, wrapping it around himself. It hugged him like a Derek-scented blanket, hot from the heat of his body. A pleased sigh broke out of his lips before Stiles could reign it in.

Derek took a deep breath, and his eyes flashed red for a moment. Then he grinned.

“I don’t get cold,” he said. “But you do, so I took it for you.”

At first, Stiles was grateful for the darkness, because it hid his blush, but then remembered Derek could actually see in the dark and closed his eyes for a few seconds. Shit.

Still chuckling, Derek started leading them back.

The forest wasn’t exactly silent, far from it, but it seemed much darker than before. For Stiles’ human eyes, it was pitch dark, and even Derek’s helping hand didn’t stop him from stumbling constantly. Stiles couldn’t even see Derek, who was walking right in front of him.

The man kept joking and teasing him, even though Stiles knew he was trying to keep him from being scared. While he appreciated Derek’s attempts, he still glued himself to his side, which didn’t help with stumbling, but at least kept his uneasiness somewhat at bay.

“Stiles, hey, hey,” Derek stopped gradually and turned to him. Stiles felt him letting go of his hand and whined a little, but Derek quickly stepped closer and hugged him tight. “What’s wrong? You weren’t like this on our way there.”

Stiles put his hands around Derek and breathed into his broad shoulder. The hug admittedly helped, grounding him in Derek’s presence.

“I don’t know,” Stiles mumbled. “It’s stupid.”

“Tell me.”

Stiles wasn’t lying; it was weird and it was indeed stupid because they were fine before and they were walking completely fine now. Stiles didn’t think he was afraid of the dark before, but the darkness of the room in a house and darkness in the middle of the fucking forest were two different things. However…

“Something doesn’t feel right,” Stiles whispered, afraid to jinx them. Something was crackling up inside his skin, up his arms and fingers. “Like something ba—”

Suddenly Derek put one finger on his open lips, silencing him in an instant. His body went rigid, like a marble statue; Stiles felt him turn his head away; he heard his teeth gritting against each other.

Stiles wished so much he could see him; he could do nothing, but feel Derek’s tense arms around him. Stiles tried to hold his breath because it suddenly seemed too loud.

Then he heard it — branches snapping. Something or someone was coming closer and closer to them.

Stiles felt his heart lodge into his throat. If something came for them, he wasn’t any help to Derek, more like a distraction. He was literally a blind kitten.

“Derek—”

Two orbs of blood red glowed right in front of his face and Stiles… breathed a sigh of relief. There was probably something fucked up in his head if this sight calmed him down.

Derek promptly picked him up and carried him somewhere. Then he felt ground under his feet and Derek grasping his flailing hands.

“What—”

“Stay here,” Derek growled; his speech was a bit muffled all of a sudden, and Stiles tried hard to understand him. “Don’t come out until I come for you.”

The words sounded and felt more like a command. Even though Stiles was scared to death and worried for both of them, he nodded, not looking away from the two pools of light in this ocean of terrifying darkness.

The crushing and roaring were growing closer.

Derek let go of his hands and he missed them instantly. Two hot palms cupped the sides of his face as something prickled lightly on his temples and near his ears, where his fingers were; a set of lips landed softly on his forehead. Then all the warmth was gone.

Seconds later something burst on the spot Stiles was sure they were standing in a minute ago. There was harsh panting and hissing, soft pats on the ground.

Then, a terrifying earsplitting and thunderous roar. There was anger in it and a very clear death threat. All of it, Stiles was sure, coming from Derek.

He had never heard that from him before. Wasn’t even aware Derek could make such horrid noises. Animal, canine noises.

Stiles couldn’t do anything but cling to the tree he was placed behind and strain his hearing. For a few minutes, Derek and his opponent circled each other, growling and snapping; then another roar and a thud of bodies colliding.

Stiles clasped a hand on his mouth. His body wasn’t just trembling, but shuddering violently. A rough bark was cutting onto his temple, but he didn’t notice.

There was snarling, yowling, roars, and thuds, and no way to know who was winning. Stiles didn’t even know who Derek was fighting against, just that someone was hurt. Then, a horrifying ripping sound, a loud pitiful whine full of pain, and someone running away.

Another loud roar, now victorious, tore the darkness apart. Stiles jumped from this sound. After that, there was only paralyzing deafening silence.

Stiles was suddenly very much aware that there was dark nothingness behind his vulnerable back, on his sides and front. He felt something wet slide down his cheeks, but was too busy trying to breathe to care about that.

He wished he could see, he wished he could see, please let him see…

Suddenly, a bolt of lightning, bright and quick, struck the ground. To Stiles’ horror, it did illuminate the scene.

It was now forever imprinted inside his brain.

There was blood. Lots of it, on the grass, on leaves, and tree barks. It was a sight fit for nightmares.

A thunder made Stiles scream out. After lightning, there was always thunder. He should have known, should have expected.

Stiles was so focused on the scene, of pools of blood everywhere, that he forgot if he saw Derek or not. Another wave of suffocating fear covered him from head to toe.

Light, light, light.

And there it was, another streak of electricity, right beside him. This time it was more awful because it showed that someone was standing right in front of him. Someone big and scary, face all hairy with long canines peeking out of the wolf-like mouth. The face was smeared with blood like the creature dug its horribly long fangs and tore the flesh apart.

Stiles’ scream was silenced by another bout of thunder.

Someone was making noises, but Stiles couldn’t understand what was being said. He still couldn’t…

Stiles felt pain rush through his arms, like something whipped at them, tearing the skin apart from the inside. A second later there was a third and final lightning, only this time, once it hit the ground, it didn’t disappear. It fell from the sky in a thick jagged rope of bright light.

Stiles could see, despite the pain.

Derek. It was Derek in front of him. With his usual beautiful face, with eyes like river water, clear in their concern. The monster was gone, but the blood remained.

There was more of it, on his t-shirt, which was slashed apart in four long gashes, even though Stiles couldn’t see any wounds, down his arms and a little bit on his jeans. It was as if someone had taken a bucket of blood and splashed it at him.

Derek didn’t even look at the lightning, as if he hadn’t noticed it; his focus was on Stiles only.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said as calmly as possible, putting his bloodied hands in front of himself. “Stiles, I swear on my life, I will never touch a hair on your head…”

Stiles just stared at him with tears streaming down his face.

Derek’s jaw clenched visibly, and that wrinkle on his forehead appeared again…

“Please, don’t be afraid of me. Please, I would die before I bring any harm to you.”

Stiles heaved breaths and watched in horror with eyes wide open, as Derek fell onto his knees in front of him; there was pain, immeasurable and indescribable in his eyes, like he was dying, like the way Stiles was behaving was killing him.

“Please,” Derek begged, voice shaking. He reached out with his hand towards Stiles and when Stiles looked at it, he saw sharp claws on the end of each finger.

Stiles lifted his eyes once again to Derek’s face, past all the blood and the mouth, that was once full of deathly fangs, to his eyes, not red, but blue-green-grey. The amount of hurt and desperation there was tearing Stiles’ heart apart.

Stiles moved; past the extended hand, past the claws, which minutes ago brought serious harm to another being or maybe even killed it. He couldn’t move quickly, not with his trembling legs and shaky knees, but he tried. He crawled into Derek’s lap, put arms around his shoulders, and heaved breaths, in a scary repeat of yesterday’s night.

Derek put his hands on Stiles’ back and his head and pulled him impossibly close. Stiles felt his clothes grow wet with blood. It only made him cling to Derek even more.

Derek was shushing him, rumbling quietly, stroking up and down his spine. He was warm and he was here. And Stiles was safe with him.

Stiles felt tired; he leaned more and more of his weight on Derek, which didn’t affect the man at all. Through a thick fog, he heard someone calling his name, voice urgent but tender.

“Stiles, baby.”

Stiles managed a confused hum. When did he close his eyes?

“You have to stop. You’re hurting yourself,” Derek rumbled in his ear.

Yeah, his arms and hands were hurting pretty bad. It was as if Derek’s words helped the pain register in his mind and he whimpered.

“I know, love. Let go of the light, come on. I’m here, you’re safe.”

He was safe, wasn’t he? He’s with Derek.

Even though Stiles had his eyes closed, he still felt the light disappear and the darkness cover them once more. He sagged onto Derek, arms still wrapped around him, head on his shoulder.

For whatever reason Derek put his hands on Stiles’ head, closing his ears so hard, that Stiles whined in discomfort. A couple of seconds later he understood why Derek did that, as the thunder split the air apart. It was the longest and the loudest noise he had ever heard. Stiles pressed himself against Derek’s rigid body and waited.

When it finally ended, Stiles’ eyes prickled again from tears of pain, ears ringing. But if his ears were ringing, then Derek’s…

Stiles managed to open his eyes and blink at Derek’s face; from this close, he could see a little bit, mainly that his eyes were squeezed shut and his face wrinkled from obvious pain. He was breathing harshly down Stiles’ neck and clavicles.

Stiles knew he couldn’t help him, since he was tired out to the point of near unconsciousness. He just pressed his temple against Derek’s and laid a soft kiss on his cheekbone.

It took about ten minutes for Derek to regain himself. He breathed out one last time, then stood up, lifting himself and Stiles in one go. He wrapped Stiles’ legs around his waist, like earlier, and started walking.

Stiles didn’t resist, nor say anything. He clung to Derek, less and less aware of his surroundings. He didn’t remember coming home.

***

Stiles woke up in a warm soft bed. His eyes were sore and puffy, head heavy. He lay there, not moving an inch, staring at the night sky through the window.

He had just witnessed a living nightmare. That scene would chase his dreams for the rest of his life now. It was horrible and revolting.

The house was silent. Although Stiles figured Derek was a silent creature by nature.

Derek.

That was his real face, in the preserve. That’s what he was, and not this picture-perfect man with a gorgeous smile and crinkly eyes. Derek was razor-sharp fangs and deadly claws, that would slice Stiles’ skin like paper; he was a predator, a silent killer; he knew the taste of blood.

He was the deadliest creature in this house, this preserve, and even town. That’s why he told Stiles not to be afraid when going to the forest with him.

The worst thing was that he proved it.

Was it the worst?

After all, it’s who he was. Derek told him he wasn’t human long ago, Stiles was just blind and naïve.

And the way he looked on his knees with arms out, begging Stiles not to be afraid of him. It was the first time Stiles saw genuine fear in his eyes. And he was right to be afraid. Stiles screamed when he saw Derek’s true natural form.

Derek opened himself to Stiles, showing him who he really was, and Stiles recoiled in fear. It must have been devastating.

He probably was just as lonely as Stiles. All this time Stiles thought he just took from Derek without giving anything back, when in reality Derek just enjoyed his company, reveled in someone being close without running away.

Derek was just as afraid to lose Stiles, if not more.

Stiles stood up and hissed when his legs hit the cold floor. He shuddered from the sudden chill and hurried to wrap the blanket around himself.

Derek was in the living room, standing still in front of the window that overlooked the front yard. He didn’t turn, even though Stiles knew he heard him.

Stiles stood in the doorway for a few minutes, waiting for Derek to acknowledge him in any way, but the man only grew more tense.

Stiles sighed and slowly moved towards him until they were a few inches apart. Derek’s jaw was clenched, his arms crossed on his chest; Stiles wasn’t sure he was breathing.

Stiles could talk his ear off, could annoy him, or beg for attention, but that wasn’t what either of them needed right now. Instead, he pressed himself against Derek’s rigid back, wrapped his arms around Derek’s torso, and put his cheek on his strong and warm shoulder.

Derek didn’t relax at all, not at first. He did it slowly, in tiny increments, like he didn’t allow himself to believe Stiles was still here, but the evidence peeled away any doubts. Only when Derek put his hands above Stiles’ on his stomach, did both of them manage to breathe out in relief. Stiles even closed his eyes, enjoying the heat of his body.

“Sorry for scaring you,” Derek murmured, threading his fingers through Stiles’.

“Sorry for screaming,” he said in return.

The silence fell for a few moments.

“Why are you standing here?” Stiles asked, lifting his head and putting his sharp chin on Derek’s shoulder.

“He might return.”

Stiles shuddered, closing his eyes for a second. Flashes of red filled his mind. He tightened his grip on Derek’s hands.

“Who was it?”

“A Kanima,” Derek muttered, not looking away from the forest line. “Anyone can be bitten by a Were. Some turn into the form of the one who bit them, and others die in agony. But sometimes…”

Stiles has read about Kanimas. Even then, he was glad he didn’t see it in person. His heart clenched thinking about how easily a Kanima could have overpowered Derek with one simple scratch by his venomous claws. It could have been over in seconds.

“Sometimes they turn into an abomination,” Stiles finished for him.

Derek looked down at him. Stiles felt the weight of his gaze but didn’t meet it.

He meant what he said.

After a while, Derek lifted one of Stiles’ hands and kissed his inner wrist. Stiles felt a wave of contentment wash over him.

They were standing for so long, that Stiles started to fall asleep on Derek’s shoulder when Derek said under his breath,

“I’m a Werewolf.”

Stiles immediately opened his eyes, as the puzzle pieces started falling into their proper places. Some things were still unknown and dark, but others became clear. Derek’s enhanced senses, his strength, and animal grace. His form, while scary and grotesque, now clearly resembled a wolf’s one.

“Haven’t got to them yet,” Stiles muttered, then smiled. “It suits you.”

Derek huffed, shaking his head.

“You’re impossible,” he said, lips tugging up on one side. “I have an entire book on Werewolves. Written by the same author as the Bestiary.”

“Was he a fan?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” Derek snorted, then smiled down at Stiles. “Go sleep first.”

Stiles pouted, then poked Derek in his rock-hard abs, trying to mask his sudden shyness.

“Will you come with me?”

Derek winced as if Stiles asked him something impossible.

“I can’t,” he sounded like the admission pained him, “the Kanima —”

“— has probably pissed his pants after the dressing-down you’ve given him. I saw the blood. He wouldn’t dare to come to us tonight.”

Seeing Derek’s indecisive frown, Stiles swallowed and lowered his eyes. He imagined going to the bedroom alone, lying in a cold bed alone, like he did all these years. He would be plagued by nightmares, overwhelmed with panic, and paralyzed by fear. He needed someone to be near, close to him. He wanted comfort and safety, he realized, wanted to feel that someone was there for him.

“I don’t —” Stiles cleared his throat, “I will go insane alone.”

He held his breath and glanced up at Derek.

“Yeah, I — fuck, of course, sorry,” Derek stumbled through words and with one last look out of the window, led Stiles back to the bedroom.

And, even though he knew Derek stayed awake the whole night listening to the darkness, Stiles slept like a baby, curled up next to his personal heater.

***

“So Kanima venom is paralytic?” Stiles questioned.

He was sitting on a running washing machine, one leg folded, another dangling below, and watched as Derek hand-washed his leather jacket. The task itself wasn’t the most entertaining, however, it was hard to look away from the man himself.

Derek decided it was laundry day and Stiles had volunteered to help (mental support counted, too!), mainly as an excuse to ogle him and his muscles bunching under the gray vest top.

“Yeah, it usually wears out —”

“— after a few hours, I know,” Stiles said all-knowingly.

Derek raised his eyebrows, turning his head from the sink to look at Stiles.

“Then why did you ask?” he teased.

“The Kanima got you,” Stiles waved a hand at his chest. “I saw the slashes in your shirt. So… how come it didn’t affect you?”

“Werewolves have accelerated —”

“— healing, I know,” Stiles rolled his eyes.

Derek glared and flicked cold water at him, making Stiles screech.

“Rude!”

“If you don’t stop annoying me, you’ll get a free ice bath,” Derek nodded at the bath full of icy water, where their bloodied clothes were soaking in.

Stiles cringed his nose.

“What I mean is, I know the basics, duh.” After all, he spent a whole day binge-reading everything Derek had on Weres and Werewolves in particular; and, while he didn’t manage to read all of it, he now knew a lot more than yesterday. “I know you can heal in seconds, especially since you’re, um… an Alpha, right?”

Derek flashed his eyes at him, but Stiles saw the corners of his mouth turn upwards.

“Anyway, your alphaness shouldn’t have mattered. Kanima venom is one of the most potent and strongest venoms in nature. The only ones who don’t feel the effects are Kanimas themselves. You’re not a Kanima. Hence, we returned to my initial question. Why weren’t you affected?”

Derek turned his head away and picked up the leather jacket.

“It’s um… a family thing,” he shrugged and scrubbed at one particularly annoying spot. “My ancestors were the first Werewolves this world has ever seen.”

Why did he sound so detached then?

“Wow, that’s… amazing,” Stiles breathed out, racking up his hair.

So Derek was kind of a big deal, then? Was he embarrassed about it?

For all that Stiles managed to get to know Derek and even befriend him, sometimes he was still a dark horse, like in this case.

Stiles could only see a portion of his face — he was frowning again.

“I don’t remember my relatives,” Stiles offered as a way to pull attention from Derek’s apparent sore spot to himself. “My —” he cleared his throat, looking down, “my mom was Polish, I think. I don’t know if I have any family from her side, actually. Dad’s always been by himself, so none from his side either.”

And now Stiles abandoned him, too.

The guilt he kept at bay all this time rose up again. His father, his only family was struggling; he needed Stiles’ help, even if he wasn’t willing to acknowledge it. And what was Stiles doing?

His best was the answer. Running away.

Fuck, his father was right. He was such a shitty son.

Something cold touched his cheek; Stiles lifted his eyes from the floor and caught Derek’s concerned gaze. The man was now standing close to him, between his legs, and was gently caressing Stiles’ cheek with his unusually cold hands.

“I need to go back,” Stiles whispered, feeling a large weight on his heart, dragging him down.

It was instantly clear that Derek didn’t approve but forced himself not to show it. He took a deep steadying breath, his eyes raking over Stiles’ face.

“Just to check on him, right?” he asked, leaning forward and trapping Stiles between his naked arms. His scent was so concentrated, that it overwhelmed Stiles. “You will come back to me?”

Stiles could stare at his eyes for hours, watch the pools of magnificent colors unite into one symphony that caught him in their trap so long ago. There was poorly concealed desperation in Derek’s gaze, in the beginning of a wrinkle between his brows and his tense jaw.

Because, while Stiles had his dad and his dad had the booze, Derek didn’t have anyone.

He and Stiles were similar in that way; they found each other, stranded in an ocean of loneliness, and refused to let go for the fear of drowning.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, feeling his breath reach Derek’s lips.

Then Derek leaned forward even more and closed the distance.

The kiss was light and chaste, despite the heat of Derek’s lips and breath; it was more a promise and a plea, combined in one tender touch. Derek seemed to be content just by being so close to him. Wolves, as Stiles found out from the books, were known for being touchy-feely, it’s how they spread their scent on loved ones to offer support and provide safety. It put a lot of what Stiles had witnessed these past few days in a different perspective. Derek was, probably, most certainly, touch-starved.

Stiles felt like he was taking advantage a little. Derek craved touch — probably any touch and Stiles was there and willing to provide it because of his hunger for Derek.

He was scared to let the hope of Derek reciprocating his true feelings blind him. For now, he would be what Derek needed, and if it turns out to be everything, then… Stiles would gladly give every single bit of himself to Derek.

They separated but didn’t sway far, still drunk on each other despite the innocence of their kiss.

“Stay,” Derek rumbled quietly, unable to look away from his face and lips in particular. “Just for a few days. Then I’ll drive you.”

Stiles nodded. His chest felt like an inflated balloon, ready to be popped.

Derek scooped him up into his arms and pressed their bodies together. Stiles put his arms around Derek’s shoulders and hummed into Derek’s neck, closing his eyes from the pleasure of simple human contact.

He would never get tired of hugging Derek. He was fully committed to becoming a leech.

Once again, he didn’t care. Just let Derek be near him, that’s all.

It took him two weeks. Fourteen days, filled with domestic bliss, carefree laughter and warm hugs, intense research, and an incessant stream of questions. He learned all about the Werewolf hierarchy and what it meant for Derek to be an Alpha; he found out, to his utter surprise, that Derek considered him a pack. He wasn’t sure when it happened, but the knowledge of Stiles deserving such honor brought him so much excitement that at the end of the day his cheeks hurt from smiling.

They went to the preserve again, though it lacked a certain wonder that was there before. Derek was tense the entire time and stopped constantly to listen in for the signs of danger; Stiles didn’t dare to wander far and stayed close, latched onto his hand.

The magic was another matter. It was mostly quiet, apart from tingling in excitement from Derek’s displays of affection. Stiles was reluctant to try and use it again, which he honestly didn’t expect from himself. Like, come on, if someone found out they had magic, they would be ecstatic and try to harness it, but Stiles’ big experiences with it were always surrounded by some kind of trauma.

Oh, it would certainly come to bite him in the ass, Stiles knew it. He just didn’t want to ruin the mood. For now.

By the end of week two, however, Stiles couldn’t sit still for more than five minutes and fidgeted all the time while staring into space. That’s when Derek, as much as he didn’t want to, put his hand down and drove Stiles to his old house. He said he couldn’t watch Stiles berating and torturing himself with baseless guilt.

Stiles would have argued about the “baseless” aspect of it, but all in all, Derek was right. He had to distance himself from his dad, but couldn’t do it without making sure Dad would be okay without him. Perhaps, the absence would truly make the heart grow fonder and they would make up.

Besides, he had to take some of his things — Derek was ought to eventually grow tired of Stiles stealing his clothes. No complaints from him yet, but Stiles himself was more and more annoyed at having to roll up his sleeves.

“Think you’ll come back today?” Derek asked hesitantly, staring at Stiles’ house with a great deal of apprehension.

“Maybe I’ll stay the night, we’ll see how it goes,” sighed Stiles; he shouldn’t be so optimistic, but he was still riding high from spending so much time with Derek. “I’ll find a way to call you, either way.”

Derek nodded, gritting his teeth.

“I’m going to come back, you know that, right?” Stiles watched him look down at his fingers flexing on his thighs.

Derek smirked at him, even though it didn’t reach his eyes. “In case you hear howling at night, just know it’s me missing you.”

It seemed like he expected Stiles to just disappear once he left his sight. And, while his attachment was adorable and kind of flattering, his reluctance to let go was concerning and completely unfounded.

Stiles smiled. After gathering all his courage, he leaned over and rubbed his cheek on Derek’s, imitating the scenting ritual. He couldn’t help but kiss Derek in the corner of his mouth in the end and was delighted to witness the man’s shock and awe.

Stiles did read about packs’ behavioral patterns after all. He had a suspicion that his own scent was drowned by Derek’s after all the cuddling.

“I’ll call you,” Stiles assured him with a warm smile.

Dumbfounded, Derek stared at his face before looking down at his lips. He lifted a hand and pressed it to Stiles’ neck, rubbing his thumb along the jawline. For a moment he seemed at war with himself before leaning close and kissing him on the lips.

This one wasn’t innocent or reluctant; Derek bit and tugged at his lips, licked his way inside. It was hot and demanding and saturated with desperation and hunger. Stiles melted in Derek’s arms, his heart drumming on his ribcage; the air left Stiles in a series of gasps.

He had never been properly kissed before, or at least didn’t remember it, but kissing Derek was so natural and easy as if it was an old instinct. He didn’t want to stop kissing him, feeling his demanding tongue and possessive bites.

Derek held his neck between his hands like he was something fragile and highly precious; his fingers were stroking Stiles’ cheeks and jawline in a painfully tender way, like Derek was committing them to his memory.

At last, they separated. Derek dropped a final handful of kisses on his puffy reddened lips and flushed cheeks.

“I’ll be waiting,” he rasped, looking up from Stiles’ lips to his eyes.

“Mhm,” was all Stiles was capable of, still a bit lightheaded.

It took a great effort to unglue himself from Derek and leave the car; he was sure he was floating the entire walk to his house.

***

The house was surprisingly clean — no bottles or trash anywhere. Despite that, Stiles looked around feeling like a stranger.

Dad was sitting in the sunlit living room on the sofa, reading a newspaper with a concentrated frown. He probably heard the front door being opened and shut but looked up only when Stiles showed up in a doorway and cleared his throat.

Their eyes met. There was nothing, except ringing silence.

Dad looked okay. Good even, sober. His eyes were tired, but, again, they always were; no bags underneath told Stiles he hadn’t been hungover for at least a few days. It was quite impressive, considering the state Stiles left him in. His lips were pursed in a tight thin line, but otherwise, he looked relaxed.

“How are you?” Stiles started after a few minutes.

His father’s light blue eyes pierced through him like ice picks, cold and hard. “I’m okay.”

His tone remained neutral, his face impenetrable. There was very little for Stiles to read from and it made him tired. They were supposed to be a family — a parent and a child forever bound by a sacred bond. Instead, it was ruined by secrecy and lack of trust on both sides.

Stiles realized the only person he trusted right now just drove away from him. Derek — the man he knew for as little as two months — managed to do something his father had been trying to accomplish his entire life as he remembered it.

Was he trying, though? Or just forcing it upon his son?

But it was still his dad. Stiles was determined to save at least that.

“You probably worried when I disappeared,” Stiles started, looking his father in the eyes. “But as you can see I'm fine. Nothing happened to me.”

Well, that was a lie, kind of, but whatever. He had to get his message across.

Dad glanced down and up his body as if checking for damage. There was none. More so, Stiles knew he didn’t look hungry or dirty — a fact that Dad would notice.

“I don’t want you to worry is what I'm trying to say.” Stiles glanced at the dust floating in the sunlight. “It must be hard to let go of your own child, and I know I will always be a child to you, but I'm also an adult. You’ve got to let me go.”

Dad hummed and frowned, deep in thought.

“I can take care of myself,” Stiles insisted, praying he didn’t sound like a fifth grader. He swallowed a nervous lump in his throat and glanced at his father.

“I understand,” Dad uttered after two minutes of silence.

Stiles felt his heart stop beating so hard in his throat.

But… no, that was it, that’s all he was getting from his dad. Well, still a progress. Stiles even smiled a little.

“Is there a game tonight?” he asked carefully. “Figured, we can watch it. Maybe order pizza?”

“Okay,” Dad answered simply and lifted his newspaper again.

His watchful gaze, however, stayed glued to Stiles as he skipped upstairs.

Whatever, not like he was gonna tell Dad he was planning on packing his things and leaving that same night. Let his father get used to the new reality of Stiles finally leaving the family nest.

He couldn’t help but smile, though. His relationship with his father was mending; Derek was waiting for him, probably with more hugs and kisses.

Stiles shook the white noise off his arms, noticing for the first time the tiny sparks flying out of his fingertips. He stared at his fingers in curiosity, but after shaking them a couple more times with no result, shrugged it away.

He was in a ridiculously good mood the entire day, humming and even dancing a little. Not like anyone could see him. He packed what little stuff he had in one bag. They didn’t have any pictures, which Stiles was pretty sad about, but nothing could be done.

Now that he thought about it, Derek didn’t have any pictures either, not anywhere in his house. But, again, family seemed to be a painful subject for him. How did he — an Alpha Werewolf — manage to survive this long without a pack? He told Stiles he was moving constantly so his pack would have to be nomad to move along with him.

But it was just Stiles and Derek. It was a miracle, truly, that Derek hadn’t gone insane or feral.

In the evening, Stiles went downstairs as soon as he heard a door ringing. By the time he got there, Dad had already paid the delivery guy and went into the living room. A baseball game was on; two full glasses of lemonade were already on the table in front of the TV.

Stiles cast a suspicious glance at Dad. Since when did he start drinking sweet stuff?

Whatever, at least it wasn’t alcohol. Dad could drink pure lemon juice and Stiles wouldn’t blink an eye.

The game was a bit boring since Stiles didn’t understand much of the rules. Dad just grunted when he agreed with the screaming commentators, but otherwise, the whole ordeal was a silent event. Stiles would take it.

Halfway through the game, he started to feel tired and had to force his eyes open a couple of times to stay awake. It was when he was in the nodding stage already when Dad nudged him a little.

“Maybe you should go and sleep,” he suggested, watching Stiles carefully.

Stiles frowned and rubbed his eyes to unblur his vision.

“M’sorry. Didn’t think I was so tired,” he mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

A heavy hand landed in the middle of his spine. Stiles swayed a little.

“It’s alright. Let’s get you into bed.”

Stiles’ head spun as he was suddenly put on his feet. The knees buckled immediately, but Dad swung one of Stiles’ arms around his shoulders, grunted a little, and helped him climb the stairs.

It was weird — he didn’t do anything drastic today. Why was he so tired?

“I’ve got to call —” Stiles muttered, but didn’t finish, which was, honestly, for the best. He knew he should call Derek since the big guy would worry. But then he would have to explain to Dad who Derek was, and he wasn’t in the mood to announce that he had actually met the love of his life.

“It’ll wait until tomorrow,” Dad cut him off. “Sleep.”

He brought Stiles to his bed and even helped him get his feet on it since he somehow lost the ability to move. It was impossible to keep his eyes open when his head hit the pillow. Stiles closed them, mumbling something incoherent.

Halfway into the dreamland, he heard the shudder of the door and some metal clicking. And nothing after.

***

There wasn’t enough air in his lungs — they were burning, vicious and hard. His legs were screaming from pain, but he still wasn’t fast enough.

“You have to run fast, little one.”

Stiles coughed up the bile and swallowed what seemed to be if not the contents of his stomach then his heart.

“Run and don’t look back, my love. I’ll distract him, but you have to get away, do you hear me?”

A thunderous roar boomed behind him, but Stiles didn’t dare to turn around despite everything in him begging to do so.

He promised Derek. He had to get away, had to escape.

Stiles kept stumbling, unable to see much, but got up every time and ran even faster. Thin branches sliced through his skin; rough bark scratched his palms, but nothing would compare to the pain of potentially losing his wolf.

A howl full of pain erupted through the forest, scaring the birds into a flight. Stiles sobbed, even though he didn’t have enough air to do so; bitter salty tears ran down his flushed cheeks and neck.

“No matter what you hear you just have to run. I will find you, wherever you are. Promise me, Stiles. I love you more than life itself. Run, my treasure.”

The howling stopped abruptly. Stiles fought down a scream when he thought about what it could mean.

Suddenly there was no ground underneath his feet. With a startled gasp Stiles fell down a ravine. His head collided with something. The pain exploded —

***

Stiles startled violently out of his sleep. He was cold. It wasn’t supposed to be cold when he woke up.

He shivered; he was covered, if not absolutely drenched, in sweat.

Stiles cringed his nose and moaned, slamming a hand on his forehead.

What the fuck were his dreams lately? Sometimes there was violence, the others were heavenly. And Derek was in a single one of his dreams. All of them were painfully vivid and real as if Stiles had lived through them.

The sheets were gross, cold, and a bit moist from the sweat. Not a chance of lying on them again tonight, ugh.

Stiles squinted at the window. It was still dark outside. Shit, what time was it?

He got up on unsteady feet and swayed to the side, suddenly light-headed but managed to grab onto a nightstand. Fuck, his head was a mess. Not a single coherent thought.

Perhaps he was coming down with something. But even then he would rather be with Derek.

Shower. Then call Derek.

Stiles groaned, straightened, and stumbled to the bedroom door, blindly reaching out with a hand for the door knob. His hand slid down the wood instead.

Stiles pressed his forehead to the door and forced his eyes open. After a few seconds, the fog cleared.

At first, Stiles thought he was still asleep. He reached out again.

The doorknob was gone.

Stiles felt around the place where it usually was. There were some light scratches in the shape of a circle and a tiny hole through the door. Stiles peeked through it, but it was obstructed by some metal parts.

… What?

Stiles sat down on the floor in utter confusion. He had to close his eyes and wait as the wave of dizziness passed through him. When he was finally able to breathe normally, he slid his fingers under the door, folded them to have at least some grip, and tugged the door towards himself. It rattled but stayed closed.

What the fuck?

He rose on his knees, peeked through the side, and felt his insides turn to ice. His door was locked.

Someone locked his door and removed the door handle on his side.

He was trapped.

Stiles sat back down, leaned his weight on the door, and closed his burning, stinging eyes.

Of course. Dad’s reaction was too simple, too easy.

How could he think that after all these years, after so much arguing, screaming, and especially after Stiles’ stunt with disappearance Dad would suddenly be okay with it? He was so fucking stupid.

The ounces of trust he felt for his father were ripped from his heart with a merciless force. There was nothing there anymore and the void was painful. There would be no mending, no truce, and no trust.

Just as he felt his heart being sucked into a black hole his chest had turned into, the sound of steps reached his ears. Stiles sniffed and pressed his ear to the door, struggling to breathe in.

“Dad?”

The steps stopped.

“Let me out,” Stiles croaked, his voice trembling from betrayal.

“It’s better for you this way.”

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, breathing carefully through his nose; his father’s voice, full of annoyance, raked through his heart without mercy.

For what appeared to be a thousand’s time in his life, Stiles asked, “Why?”

“Why, why,” his father mocked, huffing in disgust. “I’m not gonna waste my time since you’ll just forget it anyway.”

Stiles smashed his fist against the door, making it rattle again. His breathing was noisy and haggard; his throat was so tight that it made his voice higher than it usually was.

“You can’t do this to me,” Stiles whispered, shaking his head. “I will never forgive you.”

“I don’t need your forgiveness,” his father dismissed. “I need you to stay here. Is that so fucking hard to understand?”

He didn’t sound drunk and, somehow, that just made everything worse. Stiles hit the door once again, feeling weaker and weaker until his hands slid down the door and onto his knees. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks.

All his hopes shattered, just like that. He felt like an utter fool for believing something could change between them.

His thoughts turned to one thing that had the ability to calm him — Derek.

The wolf was probably going back and forth in his living room, glaring holes in his phone and waiting for Stiles to call. A wrinkle would appear on his forehead — the one Stiles would have liked to kiss away, which he was allowed to do now. Derek would wait and wait until eventually he’d think Stiles didn’t want him anymore, which wasn’t true at all. The wolf would go feral without his pack — without Stiles.

All of a sudden, a rage fogged Stiles’ vision, hot and red, like Derek’s Alpha eyes.

Derek needed him, well and truly; not in the manipulative and fucked up way his father did, but like Stiles was something precious to him, integral to his life.

“Let me GO!” Stiles shouted, banging fists on the door. “Open the fucking door!”

“Stop screaming,” his father muttered, sounding utterly bored now, like Stiles was a toddler having a tantrum.

Stiles’ chest was heaving with breaths as if he was running a marathon. He slowly picked himself up, hands on the door in front of him, and stood there for a minute.

His eyes quickly found his bag filled with clothes; he strode over to it, picked it up, and pushed the window open, shivering from the cold night wind on his sweaty skin. He chucked the bag out, hearing it land with a heavy plop on the ground. Stiles put a hand on the windowsill to get out but froze just in time.

The tree, by which he had always climbed down, was cut. There was just a small stump near the place where his bag had landed.

Fucker.

Stiles pushed himself back into the room. He walked the entire perimeter, hands shaking and clenching, then stopped and kicked at the table, cursing.

He wasn’t left with any choice.

Stiles went to the door and bit out quietly but clearly, “Get away from the door.”

He heard his father sigh.

“Fine,” Stiles snapped. “You’ve been warned.”

He took a couple of steps back, shook his shoulders, and put his hands in front of himself. Fueled by the rage, tiny sparks started running down his arms, arching and falling into his skin, tickling it and making his hair stand up. Heat scorched through his palms and fingers.

Stiles looked at the door straight on and willed it to open.

And it did. With an explosion that ripped it out of its hinges and swept through the entire hallway, landing on the other side.

Stiles coughed, waving a hand in front of himself to clear away some of the dust, and took a tentative step forward, uncaring of debris.

The scene in front of him made him freeze. It took his brain a full minute to comprehend the sight.

“Dad?”

A body lay underneath the ripped-out door, unmoving and silent. Was he?.. Did Stiles?..

The rage left as suddenly as it appeared, leaving a dizzying panic instead. He felt cold and hot at the same time, his breaths coming and going without any conscious input.

He couldn’t look, he couldn’t.

Keeping in terrified sobs that tried to escape his constrained throat, Stiles moved forward, past the door and the body, to the stairs, stumbled down on unsteady legs, desperately grabbing walls for support. He raced through the living room, crashed into a chair, and picked up the phone handle with violently shaking hands. He punched in the familiar number and put the phone against his ear, closing his eyes with another hand.

There was nothing, however, no usual click or beeping. Stiles took it away from his ear to look at it and only then noticed the cord, dangling from the handle.

It was cut halfway.

Stiles whimpered, dropping the useless phone back onto the table, and ran to the front door. This time he lucked out and the door opened on the first try.

Stiles lost his breath once met with cold air. He gulped down icy breaths, trying to orient himself in the darkness.

There was a payphone not far from here, he remembered that from his walks.

He didn’t know how he got to the payphone, just that he was incredibly cold, dressed in a thin T-shirt, pants, and sneakers, and also his face was wet.

Stiles didn’t even close the door of the phone booth behind him. He grabbed the silver handle and ripped it out of the machine.

“Insert one dollar,” the emotionless mechanical voice announced right in his ear.

“Wha —” Stiles patted himself, but of course, he had no money. “I don’t —”

“Insert one dollar.”

“FUCK YOU.” Stiles smashed the phone into its holder place; the phone fell, dangling pitifully and begging for a dollar.

The streets were empty; it seemed like he was the only one left alive in this fucking town. Stiles turned on his heels, looking for something, anything. But there was just darkness, cold and biting.

He had to get to Derek. There was nowhere else to go.

He would have to cut through the preserve.

Stiles turned to look at the top of the trees in the distance swaying slightly in the wind. He remembered how loud the crash of the branches was under Kanima’s feet; remembered the blood painting the trees and the grass.

But Derek was there.

And he had his magic.

Stiles broke into a run, ignoring the overwhelming fear and freezing wind. His thoughts were filled with Derek. He couldn’t allow himself to think of anything else.

“No matter what you hear, you just have to run.”

I will, Stiles thought. Maybe, his dream was prophetic.

All kinds of noises surrounded him: trees creaking ominously, sticks breaking, owls hooting. He was lucky the sky was clear and the moon was bright since it allowed him to see a little bit.

He tried not to think that he didn’t know where he was going, apart from a vague sense of direction where Derek’s house was. He could be running the opposite way for all he knew.

His lungs were burning, his mouth dry as sandpaper. His head hurt from the pressure and all the blood flooding into it. Tiny lacerations stung his legs and naked arms; he had run through a set of nettle bushes and hissed from the vicious stinging.

In the end, it was his human body that betrayed him. Stiles felt like someone had driven a knife through his right calf; he shouted from the pain and fell on the leafy ground. With heaving breaths he took his leg in both hands and tried to massage the cramp away, but no luck. He twisted like a snake on the ground, whimpering with a closed mouth.

The pain subsided gradually, but when Stiles tried to stand up and apply pressure to it, his knees gave out and he tumbled back down. The adrenaline that kept him going despite the pain dissolved the minute he stopped. His legs were burning like fire, his throat tight and dry. He tried to lick the tears that were running down, but the salt only made him thirstier.

Stiles was alone. There was probably nothing for miles and miles. It was dark and cold.

Stiles lifted his head and screamed. “DEREK!”

His voice echoed through the forest once, twice, three times. There was no answer.

A sob came up his throat. He screamed again and again, then closed his mouth with his hands, listening in, but there was nothing and no one.

In a last insane attempt to call for Derek, he threw his head back, shut his eyes, and howled for as loud and long as he could.

Stiles didn’t have high hopes for this since he didn’t have the necessary vocal cords, just weak human ones. After the air ran out of his lungs, Stiles slammed his hands on the ground and heaved a stuttering breath, coughing his lungs up.

That was all he had in him. As soon as he tried to speak again, breathy rasps ripped out of his throat instead of his usual voice.

Suddenly, somewhere far, far away, a tiny sound, barely audible, reached his human ears. Stiles froze on the spot and held his breath.

Silence.

Then there it was again.

A wolf’s howl.

“Derek,” Stiles croaked and started coughing, clutching at his throat.

Despite the pain and the cold, he managed to smile a little. Derek was coming. It was him, Stiles was sure, even though he had never heard him howl like that.

He lay down on the cold ground, wrapping his hands around himself. He was exhausted physically and emotionally. Again.

He was tired of being tired. Felt like he got his mini-vacation from pain during his stay at Derek’s and then it was misery all over again.

He wanted to be happy and not worry about anything, wanted comfort and love; he needed Derek, like air.

As Stiles lay there, shivering and sniffing, tears ran down his temples. His eyes hurt from crying; Stiles thought he didn’t have any moisture left in him to be able to cry, yet here he was.

Another howl echoed through the forest, still very far away, but at the same time closer. A reminder from Derek that he was coming.

Stiles let out a sigh, closing his eyes. He lay there struggling to hear anything before remembering that Derek was a wolf — you hear them only when they want to be heard.

Derek howled from time to time as he closed the distance. Stiles didn’t know how much time had passed; his nose was completely cold and probably red, and his jaw hurt from being so tense. His toes and fingers were frozen with barely any feeling left in them.

Eventually, he realized Derek was somewhere near since he could hear him running now. Stiles forced himself to sit up due to sheer excitement and anticipation and groaned when the pain of multiple tiny lacerations made itself known.

The sounds grew louder and louder, but Stiles didn’t understand where they were coming from, so he swerved his head around.

All at once, the sounds stopped.

Stiles held his breath.

“Derek?” he rasped.

Something rustled, and then suddenly Derek leaped out of nowhere, running to Stiles.

He was half-naked for some reason, wearing only his pair of baggy shorts. His hair was tousled in all directions with leaves stuck in them. Derek was panting like a madman, staring at Stiles with wide eyes as if he couldn’t believe he was really there.

“Derek,” Stiles barely managed to wheeze the name before was swept in a deliciously hot embrace in the next moment.

“Jesus, you’re freezing,” Derek breathed harshly and leaned away. He started rubbing Stiles’ back and arms to bring warmth to them. His frantic eyes kept running over Stiles’ entire body as if he was looking for and getting a count of all the injuries. Stiles saw him notice the nettle sting, the cuts from the branches, and other bruises.

“What happened? Why aren’t you walking? What the fuck are you doing here, alone? And why the hell didn’t you call me?” Derek started rumbling, scowling.

Stiles’ fragile mental state couldn’t take it anymore. His rational brain told him that Derek was deeply concerned and worried to death, but right now Stiles couldn’t handle any kind of negativity, especially from Derek.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles burst into hysterics. His voice didn’t return so he was croaking just above his breath. “The phone cord was cut, and he locked me inside, and I had to get to you, and it hurts…”

Derek hugged him, folded arms and all, pressed Stiles to himself, and whispered gently in his ear, warming it up with his breath.

“Shh, you did good. You just had to get to me in the end, and I’m here. Don’t be scared of anything, my sun, I’m here.”

Stiles slid his frozen hands around Derek’s back and listened to his soothing words but despite everything was still inconsolable. He wept, hiding his face in Derek’s neck.

“Love, please, you’re breaking my heart,” Derek begged, sounding strained. “Tell me.”

This was the end. Stiles would tell him because he couldn’t imagine lying to him, and Derek would run away in disgust, leaving him here all alone…

“I killed him,” Stiles breathed out against his skin, “my father. I killed him, killed him, ki—” he choked, unable to continue anymore.

Derek’s body froze against his. Stiles grasped onto him, deathly afraid to let go. He didn’t want to look into Derek’s eyes, because there would be disgust there and Stiles couldn’t bear to see it.

“That’s not true.”

Stiles sniffed, swallowing a sob, and pressed himself closer to Derek. “I— It’s… my magic —”

“Listen to me,” Derek took his face in his big hands and made Stiles meet his determined and unwavering gaze. “You are not capable of killing anybody. Not you and definitely not your magic. I need you to trust me one more time, sweetheart, okay?”

Stiles nodded, unable to speak from shock.

“Your father is alive. You did not kill him.”

He said it as if he believed it with all his heart. Like it was the truth, like he saw what happened with his own eyes.

Stiles stayed silent, seeking truth in his eyes and shivering. He didn’t know what was right and what was wrong, there was just an overwhelming feeling of despair and horror at what he’d done.

But deep in his heart, he knew he could trust Derek. He could say anything and Stiles would believe him.

Stiles was tired. Right now it was easier to let the trust win and not deal with… what happened.

Derek knew he got his point across by hearing Stiles’ sharp sigh. He kissed Stiles’ brow, since that was the closest thing he could reach, and told him in a strong and promising voice, “We need to get you home. I am the fastest in my full form, so you will have to ride on my back, understand?”

Stiles frowned. Full form?

Derek put him back on the ground and stood up abruptly. Stiles whined immediately, looking up at him with fear. If Derek left him…

“I need to transform, baby,” Derek shushed him quickly. “Just try to remember that I’m still me.”

What was he talking about? Stiles frowned in confusion and watched as Derek sneaked behind a thick group of trees. He heard a disgusting ripping sound and bone cracking, then soft pats on the dry leaves.

Stiles gasped.

A giant black wolf with glistening red eyes walked up right in front of him. When Stiles said “giant” he meant “ginormous”, like the size of a grown horse. The wolf would most certainly be taller than him if he stood up.

The wolf ducked his head and whined, staring at Stiles. He kept stomping on one place, as if not daring to come closer.

He must have been waiting for Stiles’ reaction or permission to approach him. Stiles picked his jaw from the ground and reached out with one hand, palm up.

The wolf — Derek, it was Derek — immediately nuzzled against it, huffing a hot breath down Stiles’ body.

Even without touching, Stiles felt the heat emanating from his body. Naturally, his mind conjured a scene where they would laze around together with Derek in his wolf form. He shivered in anticipation and scratched through Derek’s thick coarse hair.

Derek seemed to get that Stiles wasn’t freaking out and pounced on him at once. Stiles fell on his back with a silent huff and let out a pitiful imitation of a shriek when Derek put his paws on either side of him, leaned down, and started licking his face, neck, and hands. Derek didn’t seem to mind the traces of sweat, blood, or dirt on his body; his tongue was long, pink, and smooth, bathing him, which was gross, but also kind of hilarious. It even helped to warm him up a little bit.

Finally, Derek stopped his shenanigans and nudged Stiles with his nose. It was time for them to go.

Derek lay flat on the ground, so Stiles wouldn’t have to get up. In the end, he just swung his leg around Derek’s back, wincing a little bit, climbed on top, and pressed himself tightly to his very hot body. The black hair on his back was scratchy, but it allowed Stiles something to grip onto. He was reluctant to do so until Derek huffed at him and turned around to lick his naked ankle.

“Okay, I will hold onto you,” Stiles whispered and tightened the hold. It actually helped him stay on top, when Derek suddenly rose to his feet.

It was kind of scary to find himself this high off the ground, and Stiles lost his breath for a bit. Derek turned to glance at him one more time before shutting his eyes. He threw his head back and let out an ear-piercing howl, letting everybody know not to get in his way. The sound left Stiles’ ears ringing and body shivering, though not from cold.

At last, Derek broke into a run.

Stiles forgot that he might hurt Derek (though it was doubtful the wolf would feel anything through such thick hair and skin) and held onto his flank for dear life. Human instincts took over any thought he might have had and forced him to press himself to Derek so tightly they became one.

Derek ran fast. Like, crazy fast. The Camaro at its full speed was nothing compared to the beastly body of an Alpha Werewolf. Trees blurred into one mess of a background and Stiles was afraid to lift his head — he didn’t want to become a Headless Knight because of some random branch.

Stiles felt Derek’s muscles move under his body — an exemplar of grace and strength. He knew the Alpha was strong — he’d seen his form — but this was on another level. It seemed like nothing would ever bring him down; he could win over anyone.

Stiles realized then, that Derek would have easily killed the Kanima with one swipe of his enormous paws the size of a dinner plate but stayed in a partial shift in order to not scare Stiles. He would have never questioned Derek’s ability to overpower the venom, had he seen the full wolf form before.

He was magnificent. Magical.

Stiles closed his eyes and buried his face in Derek’s fur, enjoying the warmth.

He knew: no matter how fast Derek was, it would be a long ride.

***

After feeding and warming Stiles up, Derek wrapped him in a cocoon of the fluffiest blankets he could scrounge and plopped him on the living room couch with a mug of hot chocolate.

Stiles waited for him to join because he was in desperate need of comfort and reassurance. His head was still reeling from the night’s events. He made the most pitiful puppy eyes, but Derek wasn’t swayed.

He shoved the TV remote into Stiles’ hands, shrugged on one of his Henleys, and moved to the door. At Stiles’ confused hum, he turned with a tight expression that made everything in Stiles stiffen.

“I’m going to check on your father.”

Stiles nearly dropped his mug.

“He won’t see me, I promise. Don’t worry about anything.”

And just like that, he was gone. In a literal blink.

Stiles absently drank his hot chocolate, turned on the TV, and lay down on his side pulling the blankets tighter around himself. He stared at one spot, not even listening to whatever show was on.

He hurt someone tonight. Another human being. Stiles never had to deal with physical violence in any way; the only fights he saw were in movies and the fighting between him and his father was only verbal.

Huh, only. As if that wasn’t enough.

He didn’t want to hurt his dad. Never like this. His mind rejected the gnawing realization of what he’d done, of what harm he caused. Even if he forced himself to trust Derek’s belief that he didn’t actually kill anyone… Dad could still be very injured. What if he was in a hospital?

Stiles’ lungs constricted against the fresh wave of rotting guilt.

No, no, don’t think about it, don’t.

Instead, his thoughts turned to the fact that Derek was going to meet his father. That was, like, the whole point of him going to Stiles’ house. Oh, shit.

Stiles couldn’t imagine those two men in the same room, staring at each other possibly with murderous glares and silent judgment. Although Derek never voiced it, his displeasure with Stiles’ father was rather obvious. Whenever Stiles would mention him in one way or another, Derek would go silent and gloomy, his gaze far away and jaw clenching. Yeah, he hated Stiles’ father.

And Dad… Oh, Dad would kill Derek on the spot if he only knew.

Stiles could already picture Dad saying that Derek manipulated and lied to him and he was the reason for the fight between them. But that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Derek was the one to open his eyes and make him see what was out there. Not just magic and, dare he say it, love, but also the freedom.

Derek would never lock him away “for his own safety”. No, Derek would stand right beside him to face the danger, real or not. Or, well, run away with him.

He missed Derek. Stiles was in his house, in his clothes, surrounded by his scent; Derek was gone for all of twenty minutes and Stiles was pining already.

And the award for the leech of the year goes to…

The door opened abruptly, then closed shut. Stiles pushed himself to sit up and waited for Derek to come in, feeling his heart stuck in his throat. Something heavy dropped in the hallway, then he heard hurried steps.

Derek came straight for Stiles, diving in to lie between his legs and wrapping his arms around his torso. Was it to soothe or prepare him for the worst? That could mean anything!

Feeling Stiles’ shaking hands on his back, Derek turned his head and looked into Stiles’ wide eyes with a small smile. “He’s okay, just a head bump.”

Stiles’ whole body relaxed and sunk into the sofa. He breathed out heavily, throwing his head on the pillows and shutting his eyes. He felt so giddy from relief he wanted to laugh. Derek, feeling his sudden ease, purred and burrowed his whole face in Stiles’ neck.

After a few minutes, Stiles gently raked fingers through Derek’s hair, pressed the cheek against his temple, and whispered into his ear, “Thank you.”

Derek hummed and kissed his neck. Stiles shivered.

“I meant it, by the way. You did really good today by calling out for me,” Derek mumbled, scratching his neck with the beard.

“You’ve heard —”

“You, shouting my name? Yes. I’ve heard you long before you howled — since your first scream.” Derek pulled himself up a bit, so he was now lying on the same pillow beside Stiles. His weight was the most comforting thing in the world. “You are my pack, you’re mine,” he growled in Stiles’ face, brushing their noses together. “I will always hear your call, no matter how far away it is. And I will always answer it.”

The conviction in his voice was like another safety blanket for Stiles’ soul. He believed Derek with everything in him, with every single piece of his teared-down soul.

Stiles kissed him softly on the lips and felt the same tenderness being returned to him. Derek was like a balm on his heart, his missing piece, his friend, his first love, and his freedom.

Stiles buried his nose between the pillow and Derek’s stubble-covered cheek and sighed in contentment. Tomorrow he would have to explain to Derek what exactly happened in his house and… He’d have to talk about his magic. It was getting out of hand and Stiles worried he would accidentally do something to Derek. He wouldn’t be able to survive that.

He fell asleep in Derek’s arms to the lullaby that was Derek’s barely audible rumbling and his strong embrace.

***

“We’ve got to talk about your magic.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“Stiles.”

“Derek.”

The Werewolf snarled playfully, unsheathing his fangs, but Stiles just turned on the other side of the bed, so his back was facing Derek. Just because he knew they had to talk about it, it didn’t mean he wanted to, even if several days had passed since the incident.

Strong arms curled around Stiles’ torso, pushing him back against the muscled chest. Derek put his head on Stiles’ neck, which made Stiles feel his every vibration and move. Stiles huffed but didn’t acknowledge him, which was pointless, really — Derek had probably heard his heart palpitations already and felt them under his palms.

“Why are you so scared of it?” Derek murmured in his neck, stroking his stomach with his fingers.

“Why do you care?”

Stiles regretted those words the minute they left his mouth. He couldn’t take them back, so he just stared at the cloudy sky through the window and swallowed from guilt and nervousness.

“Because it’s important to you. And I care about you,” Derek answered simply and laid a small kiss right beneath his ear.

Why did he have to be so perfect?

Sighing, Stiles put his hand on Derek’s and intertwined their fingers, hoping it conveyed his silent apology.

“I’ve witnessed magic before,” Derek continued lightly. “And I can help you figure it out.”

“I’ve seen people driving a car, doesn’t mean I know how to do it.”

Derek rubbed his scruff against him. “You’re right. I can’t feel it like you do, and I can’t control magic. What I can teach you is control.”

Stiles didn’t want to get his hopes up, but the confidence in Derek’s voice was infectious.

“There’s just so much of it,” Stiles complained, stroking Derek’s hands, like they were antistress toys. “It does what I will it to do, but like… on a maximum level.”

“Let’s see it,” Derek announced cheerfully and lifted himself.

Stiles immediately missed his warmth and whined.

“No, why are you doing this? Come back,” he flopped around and stretched his hand, catching Derek’s shirt.

Derek chuckled at Stiles’ disgruntled look and leaned down to smack a kiss on his lips. And just when Stiles melted into the kiss and put his arms around the wolf’s shoulders, Derek sneaked his arms under his knees and back and lifted him from the bed.

Stiles let out an irate shout, tightening his grip on Derek, then glared at him for laughing. Ignoring his complaints, Derek kissed him once again on his flushed cheek and carried him to the front door.

Fuck, Stiles loved this newfound habit of Derek’s to manhandle him; he got all hot, buzzed, and short-breathed the second he felt Derek’s firm grip. Worst of all, the wolf knew he liked it and enjoyed it, the dick.

The Alpha made him put on boots and wrapped Stiles in the red hoodie (because he actually remembered to take Stiles’ bag of clothes from under his window), then led him out with a hand on his lower back.

Stiles glared at him suspiciously, still flushed in the face.

“Why are you so cheerful?” he grumbled, folding his hands and shuffling a bit.

Derek jumped up to him with a sly smile and kissed him so hot and hard, that Stiles got lightheaded.

“Don’t know, take a guess,” Derek teased him, still smirking.

Ugh, he was insufferable! Stiles grit his teeth, but couldn’t stop the corners of his lips from lifting. Derek’s eyes slid down to them, then up again; he smiled sunny and bright. Stiles’ breath hitched.

“There you go,” Derek said, sliding a finger down his red cheek. “Now show me what you can do.”

Stiles huffed and looked up at the sky, begging his libido to cool the fuck down. Once he stopped feeling so bothered, he looked around wondering how to demonstrate his magic without hurting Derek.

They were standing on the front yard’s lawn, alive with wildflowers and weeds. The edge of the forest started just several meters further.

His gaze fell onto the sturdy tree in the first row of the ones that were closest to him. Stiles figured it was big enough and firmly interweaved into the ground below, so it would withstand the force of his magic.

Stiles closed his eyes, concentrating on the warm feeling inside him; as per usual the white noise filled his arms sliding down like water to the tips of his fingers, before turning into ticklish tingling.

Opening his eyes, Stiles looked at the tree and extended his right hand, which was now almost glowing from the sparks and golden electric curves. He willed for the tree to rock slightly as if from a light wind.

A second later an awful cracking sound burst through the natural silence.

Stiles watched with a sinking and, frankly, horrified feeling as the tree separated from the earth and fell with the loudest crash he had ever heard. He and Derek stared at the exposed roots covered in rich black and brown earth, and the ditch it created. The fall somehow didn’t affect the trees standing close to it, which, unfortunately, couldn’t be said about the bushes and the ground itself.

Stiles put his hands down, turned around, and started walking to the house.

“Stiles,” Derek called after him, but he didn’t react.

Useless. Stupid magic. Was he cursed to harm everything and everyone with it?

A couple of seconds later Stiles was suddenly picked up from behind. Derek held him with arms around his waist, grip strong and unrelenting.

“Put me down —”

Derek growled right in his ear, making him flinch, but even then Stiles didn’t stop squirming. “Let me —”

“Your magic is amazing,” Derek growled again, pressing his forehead to the back of Stiles’ neck. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his throat tighten. “You are amazing.”

Stiles couldn’t take it anymore.

“How is that amazing?” he exclaimed with a trembling voice. “I told it to sway the branches, not fucking destroy itself.”

Derek put him on the ground and walked around to face him, gripping his shoulders, but Stiles wasn’t done yet.

“It was growing for probably fifty years and I killed it in one second,” Stiles sniffed, feeling Derek’s gaze on himself but not meeting it, as he struggled to breathe. “This is not normal. I hate it so much.” Stiles looked at his own trembling hands, which were still sparkling a little, and put them into fists.

Derek slid his arms around Stiles and hugged him, stroking his back softly. It was truly wonderful how reassuring the wolf’s touch became to him.

Stiles closed his stinging eyes and leaned into Derek.

“Listen to me,” Derek said firmly. “Your magic is a wonderful thing. You just have too much of it. It lay dormant within you for a very long time, but it didn’t stop generating. So it kept building and building in you, and now as soon as you give it a chance to release itself, it does so in abundance.”

“So there’s nothing that could be done?” Stiles whispered helplessly.

Derek got silent for a while, then said tentatively, “There’s one thing we can try.”

“What is it?”

“This is a bad example, but just… hear me out. Imagine you’re bleeding. You can’t really stop the blood flow with the power of thought, no matter how much you try, right? What you can do is apply a tourniquet to cut off the source.”

“But… what’s a tourniquet equivalent for magic?”

“Restrictive runes. We’ll draw them on your wrists and see what happens. What do you say?”

Judging by the amount of magic he expelled, Stiles doubted a couple of drawings could hold it in. However, he had to start somewhere.

“I should have told you sooner,” Stiles muttered, his face mushed into Derek’s shoulder. “So much could have been avoided. I’m sorry.”

Derek purred into his neck. “Don’t apologize. I’m glad you feel comfortable with trusting me now. We’re going to figure it out. Together.”

“Where have you been all my life?” Stiles whined. The anxiety was slowly webbing away, allowing his constricted lungs to expand at last.

Derek didn’t say anything, just sighed, kissed him lightly on the cheekbone, and moved them back to the house.

***

“Here,” Derek dropped a book on the coffee table and sat down next to Stiles on the couch.

Stiles leaned forward to look at the pages Derek was showing him, but they were filled with unfamiliar language and ornate signs that meant nothing to him.

“I don’t know any of these,” he said, looking up at Derek, lifting his eyebrow.

“Luckily for you, I do,” Derek answered simply and pointed at the string of runes on top of the page. “These are meant for blocking off the magic completely. If you draw the whole set, the caster wouldn’t be able to use the magic at all; similarly, the fewer runes you apply, the more magic is available. Let’s settle for three out of ten right now.”

“Okay,” said Stiles and held out his hands wrists up. Derek took hold of them, gently stroking the insides of the wrists with thumbs; his earnest gaze dug into Stiles’ soul, making him shiver.

“I’m going to use a pen,” he explained, “so you can wash it off any time. I won’t leave you without your magic —”

“Derek, it’s okay,” Stiles interrupted him, feeling warmth and fondness swell in his chest. “I trust you.”

As Derek’s eyes filled with something deep and fierce, Stiles felt himself let go for the last time. He stepped off the edge, and fell into the abyss with his eyes tightly shut, knowing with all his heart that Derek would be there to catch him.

Stiles’ magic was something unfathomable and big, bigger than him. It was significant and overwhelming. Stiles was fully aware that, if Derek wanted to, he could cut off his magic completely, leaving him pathetic and useless in his defenselessness. Stiles was entrusting him with a huge power he himself didn’t know the full scope of. The thing that made this decision easy was Stiles’ absolute certainty that Derek wished the best for him.

Even after getting Stiles’ full permission, Derek didn’t take the pen lying on the table.

“I want to see something before we do this,” he said, frowning a little.

Why was he so hesitant all of a sudden?

“Can you show me your magic?”

“But… I already did?” Stiles reminded him carefully. “With the tree —”

“That was you showing me what your magic can do,” Derek corrected, which… yeah, Stiles still didn’t understand. “I’d like to see the magic itself.”

“How?”

Derek squeezed his wrists a little. “Concentrate on the feeling of magic. You know when it’s close, right? You feel it coming.”

Stiles closed his eyes and did just that. He remembered the white noise, the buzzing, and the lights.

“Call it to the surface. Remember how you howled for me and I answered? It’s just like that.”

Stiles’ breathing quickened. He thought about the hopelessness he felt, the desperation to have Derek near him. He remembered how he screamed, praying for his Alpha to hear him.

Come to me, he thought. Show yourself.

Familiar sensations slid down his arms. Even before opening his eyes, Stiles knew that he got it.

Stiles looked down at his hands and couldn’t help but gasp.

The magic manifested rather differently this time, which was unsettling, but interesting. His hands were very warm to the touch, like he just held his palms against a hot cup. Instead of lightning strips, his arms were surrounded by thousands of tiny white and gold sparkles; they clumped together to create cloud-like formations that weaved themselves around his arms like a puffy cloth.

Stiles wiggled his fingers experimentally and some of the fog lifted dissipating into the air, but was quickly replaced by more clouds.

It looked beautiful. There was no way around it.

“Hi, precious,” Derek whispered. Stiles looked at him, but Derek was staring at his hands with the utmost awe. “Hello, my dear.”

He was mesmerized.

The light from Stiles’ magic reflected in Derek’s eyes that lit with bloody red as if his own Werewolf magic yearned to answer. Derek’s hold on his hands was the most tender touch Stiles had ever experienced as if the wolf was holding a feather in his paws, afraid that one single breath would destroy it.

“Why are you talking to my hands?” Stiles asked, afraid to ruin the experience for Derek, which, he suspected, held more significance to the wolf, for whatever reason.

Derek chuckled breathily. “Not your hands, I’m greeting your magic.”

Like that was a given, or something.

“It’s not a living thing,” Stiles argued softly, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, it is,” Derek returned, not looking away from his hands; he kept touching and stroking his fingers as if playing with them, his touch careful and reverent. “You didn’t think twice about talking to my wolf, did you?”

Stiles opened his mouth but quickly closed it. He didn’t think about his magic that way, but he could see where Derek was coming from. The wolf form was the manifestation of Derek’s Werewolf magic — an indiscerptible part of him; it was simply who he was, and of course ,Stiles didn’t even hesitate to talk or interact with the wolf because… it was Derek. He loved Derek, therefore, he loved the wolf.

Maybe Derek felt the same about him.

Stiles’ magic responded to Derek’s gentle touch by extending the golden fog and wrapping itself around Derek’s arms too. If Derek’s magic was a gigantic wolf, then Stiles’ was behaving like a domestic cat, poking and knocking insistently at Derek’s hands for more affectionate attention.

As if to prove Stiles’ theory, Derek laughed a little at the magic’s demands and brought Stiles’ hands to his face. He leaned right into the clouds that surrounded the hands and laid a series of kisses on his wrists, palms, and fingers.

It was obvious Derek adored his magic and didn’t hesitate to make his affections known. It was probably easier for him, being a creature of magic himself, to accept it like that. And Stiles’ magic let its reciprocation known, too.

It was one thing to know his magic had a crush on Derek, making his hands buzz when near him, but it was different to see it with his own eyes. The clouds reached Derek’s face, stroking his cheekbones, cupping his cheeks, and weaving through his hair. Stiles felt their phantom touch as if he had another set of ghostly hands.

It was a long time before the magic sated itself with Derek’s affection. It dissipated slowly, as if not wanting to go, but at the end absorbed itself back into Stiles’ hands, still unusually warm to the touch.

Derek looked positively drunk and satisfied, purring with his eyes half-closed. Stiles managed to stifle a giggle because that was certainly a sight to behold. Throughout all this, Stiles felt a low-grade arousal simmering under his skin; he was aware of his own undoubtedly red face and a soft smile that hurt his cheeks and quickly beating heart.

Derek made a deep inhale and opened his eyes, pinning Stiles to the place with it.

A moment later Stiles found himself on his back with wrists pinned to the sides just above his head. Derek was lying between his spread thighs, hot and heavy, just like the kiss he was giving Stiles. His lips were soft, but demanding at the same time, his tongue licking its way between Stiles’ lips to explore further.

As the pressure on his wrists disappeared, Stiles put his hands around Derek’s shoulders. The wolf slid his hands under Stiles’ shirt, making him lose whatever breath he had left. Rough fingers traced down his sides, his quivering stomach, and up to his hard nipples.

Stiles whined, but the noise was muffled by Derek’s lips. He bunched up Derek’s shirt in his fists, feeling the graceful movements of the muscle beneath the skin.

Stiles felt impossibly warm, safe, and anchored down with the wolf’s weight and heat. Their chests were pressed together and Stiles felt Derek’s heart echo the symphony of his own.

Derek put the weight of his lower body down, grinding into Stiles so hard it made him see stars. He repeated Derek’s moves, lifting his thighs to meet Derek’s. After feeling Derek thrust into him, he went further and put his legs around Derek, now trapping the wolf between his knees.

Derek liked his enthusiasm if his satisfied rumble was any indication. He ground his hard length into Stiles, making him moan right into Derek’s mouth. There was less and less air and Stiles wouldn’t have minded or noticed at all, if not for the spinning of his head.

He tore himself away from Derek’s sweet lips to suck a desperate breath, but the wolf wasn’t perturbed at all. Hot lips moved down his throat, licking and biting. Stiles moaned once more, still heaving for breath, and threw his head back, giving all of himself to Derek to do what he pleased. This show of submission made Derek snarl from hunger and pride; Stiles felt wolf’s extended fangs on his bare vulnerable neck, felt him bite and suck a possessive mark at the base of it.

Every breath filled his lungs with the heady scent of Derek. Stiles’ body was tense with need and want, he trembled underneath Derek’s touch and weight of him. Stiles was prey, a trophy, trapped under a strong predator; both of them knew the wolf had no intention of letting him go.

And Stiles surrendered. As Derek thrust in him hard one more time, Stiles let go completely. The rush of ecstasy filled every corner of his body and left him panting with his mouth open and eyes closed.

Derek stopped abusing his neck and peppered kisses on Stiles’ red wet lips, biting them when the need became too much. The wolf was holding him so tightly, that Stiles was sure there would be bruises later, but that was just a bonus.

Derek’s thrusts lost their rhythm all of a sudden as he groaned in Stiles’ open mouth, chasing his orgasm. He sagged onto Stiles’ body, trapping him under himself, and buried his head in Stiles’ neck, breathing deeply. He moved one of his hands to the back of Stiles’ thigh, stroking it back and forth.

“I love you.”

Stiles opened his eyes, one hand still buried in Derek’s sweaty hair and the other lying on Derek’s back. His heart was beating so loud, that he felt the muscles expand and contract without touching his chest.

He would have soared if Derek wasn’t holding him.

Stiles put his lips against Derek’s ear. “I love you, too.”

The words were quiet, told like they were the deepest secret he ever had.

They say, once you’re in love, you want to shout about it from the rooftops, but Stiles found that he didn’t. Derek was the only one allowed to hear these words, for they belonged to Derek and no one else. His love was for Derek only and Stiles couldn’t imagine saying those words to someone who wasn’t him.

He just couldn’t fathom what would have to happen for him to stop loving Derek.

“I never want to let you go.” Derek’s voice was quiet but firm. “Don’t care if it sounds creepy or what, but —”

“No, I get it,” Stiles answered quickly, raking his fingers through Derek’s hair. “I don’t want you to let me go, either.”

Derek huffed a hot breath into Stiles’ neck; Stiles felt him smile against his skin.

“I love you,” Derek repeated, this one less serious, but still genuine and soft. Stiles closed his eyes, melting in Derek’s hard embrace like an ice cream in the sun.

“Love you, too,” Stiles said, smiling. He just couldn’t let Derek’s words go without a clear answer. It was physically impossible not to say the same thing in return.

“Love you.”

This time Stiles couldn’t hold the laughter. “I got it the first time,” he bit his lower lip, still grinning. “I love you, too. If we go on like this, we’re going to be here for eternity.”

“Eternity, huh?” Derek grumbled and squeezed Stiles a bit harder, making him squeak. “Too bad. Get comfortable.”

Stiles was overfilled with lightness and love. For some reason it just made him laugh harder.

He was still giggling when Derek silenced him with kisses. Then he forgot about everything but Derek’s hands, his lips and tongue, and just Derek, Derek, Derek…

***

“Ready?”

Stiles nodded, shaking his hands to the sides before pulling them up in front of himself.

“Just stay… close,” he pleaded, glancing briefly at Derek, who immediately walked up behind him.

“Wouldn’t dream of being anywhere but,” Derek breathed into his ear and lay his hands on Stiles’ waist.

A chilly wind blew into Stiles’ face, but he made himself concentrate on the heated body behind him — his constant sturdy wall of support.

He breathed out slowly and glanced at the dark blue runes encircling his thin wrists. He could do this.

Stiles shifted his gaze to the tree lying in the grass — the same one he destroyed.

Lift, he thought.

The sparks that usually surrounded his arms moved towards his fingers. This time, however, they smashed into an invisible wall around his wrists, making some sort of electric cuffs. His palms and fingers grew hot but stayed electric-less.

The hands on his waist flexed; a tentative hope burned its way to his heart.

The tree lifted itself from the ground — rather fast and still high, hovering above the tree line, and then stayed there. It hadn’t crashed itself into other trees like the pencil did when he experimented in his old room, and it hadn’t flown to the fuck-knows-where.

No.

It lifted, just like Stiles ordered; not without the certain drama, but still.

A smile bloomed on his lips. He laughed, quick and breathless.

“Down,” he said aloud. The tree followed the natural gravity this time and fell to the ground with an astounding crash.

This time Stiles didn’t let it bother him. He laughed, feeling light, turned around to smug-looking Derek and jumped into his arms, wrapping his legs around the man’s torso.

“It worked!” he exclaimed. “I did it!”

Derek put his hands under Stiles’ butt and thighs to help him stay up and watched him with love and pride.

“There was no doubt in my mind,” Derek confessed. His eyes were shining with warmth, and Stiles felt the wide smile tugging up his own lips.

The elation filled Stiles to the point when he couldn’t even say anything; he just laughed again and squeezed Derek in his arms.

As long as Derek was with him, he could do anything.

***

Time flew fast when he was with Derek. Most of the time Stiles didn’t even know what day of the week it was. He was happy hiding in Derek’s embrace, in their little paradise in the middle of the forest. Derek made it easy to do so — he took care of food and other stuff, only taking Stiles on trips with him when Stiles himself was feeling up to it.

They went on a date one time, not in Beacon Hills, of course, but even then Stiles got so anxious that his father would find them that Derek just drove them back, shutting his apologies up with tender kisses.

Instead, they walked around the preserve in daylight only since Stiles couldn’t stand the thought of being in the forest at night again. Stiles busied himself with the research, nagging Derek with questions and being delightfully surprised each time he got a patient answer.

Stiles wasn’t used to this, because throughout his life his questioning and general attempts at starting a conversation were met with annoyance and a dismissive wave of a hand. Anxiety got him quiet sometimes, especially when he clearly wanted to talk to Derek but was afraid of being rejected.

But Derek was wonderful. Stiles didn’t know how, but the wolf always noticed when he was in one of those moods and instead started talking to him first, quelling his nervousness with gentle touches and attentive words. Derek always seemed to know what Stiles needed.

Living with Derek was easy and comfortable. Stiles often caught himself smiling randomly because of how domestic they’d become and how light he felt.

With Derek’s insistence, he started experimenting and learning his magic. Stiles was still somewhat afraid of it, apprehensive even; he usually tried to push his magic to do small stuff, like pick up a branch from the ground or grow a flower — something innocent that wouldn’t result in potential fire or destruction of Derek’s house. He would gladly forget all about his magic, but Derek was so happy and proud when he did something with it, that he couldn’t take that away from him.

All in all, he was getting better.

That may or may not have been because he kept the thoughts of his father locked tight somewhere deep and dark inside his mind.

Sometimes, though, he was forcefully reminded of their situation, like on this particular evening.

“Do you want to go somewhere?” Derek asked, stirring the milk for the hot chocolate in a small pot.

Stiles was sitting next to him on a counter with his legs dangling, and watched Derek — he would never understand the wolf’s confidence to cook without a shirt on, but, again, he was a Werewolf, so any oil burns were likely to not even register for him.

“Hmm?” Stiles forced himself to lift his gaze from the muscled chest up to his smirking face and blushed. “Oh, umm… Can we go see the fae? I miss their little fuzzy butts.”

“Sure,” Derek said easily, smiling. “But I meant other places. Like cities or even states.”

Stiles’ body froze on the spot; his throat constricted so much it was hard to breathe all of a sudden.

He couldn’t leave. He wasn’t allowed to. He couldn’t leave his father here, alone. What kind of son would he be?

Something metal clinked on the hard surface of a kitchen counter; a hand, big and warm landed on Stiles’ naked thigh, right on the edge of his ridden-up shorts, and pushed up and down, up and down. It calmed Stiles a bit, anchoring him to the reality, to the present — to this low-lit kitchen and Derek in front of him.

Stiles put his palm on Derek’s naked chest, just to feel him and his heartbeat.

“You don’t have to stay for him,” said Derek. “You don’t owe him anything.”

“I can’t just leave him!” Stiles bit out harshly; the hand on his thigh stopped and he immediately felt bad and a tiny bit afraid that he ruined everything. “No, please, I’m sorry, I —”

Derek shushed him, coming in between his spread legs and hugging Stiles tightly to himself. “No, I should apologize. Just because I hate how he’s treating you doesn’t mean you stopped loving him. He’s your father, even after… I’m sorry. I would never ask you to leave him, you know that.”

Stiles hugged Derek back, nodding into his shoulder. He closed his stinging eyes and swallowed.

“I hate him for what he did to us,” Stiles confessed, heart churning with guilt and at the same time relief at finally saying this dark thought aloud. “I hate that I still care about him.”

“You are a good person, Stiles,” Derek said, stroking his back. “Better than me, better than him.”

Stiles found it hard to believe that because Derek was far stronger than him. He wouldn’t have hesitated to leave a bad situation, wouldn’t linger and second-guess himself.

Stiles just prayed that by the time Derek decided to leave, Stiles would become strong enough to stop clinging to the false memories and not follow him.

At the same time, the thought of Derek leaving him here alone made him choke from dread.

“Where would you go?” Stiles asked Derek, desperate to drop the feared subject.

Derek hummed, slipping small kisses up and down Stiles’ neck. It was obvious he was trying to distract Stiles by pushing his hand further and further up his inner thigh. It stupidly worked.

“Anywhere. Don’t know, I don’t care,” Derek purred, “as long as you’re with me.”

Stiles hid a relieved smile in Derek’s hair.

“I don’t remember if I’ve ever been to the beach,” he complained, frowning a little. “I’d go there. Somewhere warm and sunny.”

“Okay, then we’ll go where it’s warm and sunny,” Derek agreed like it was that easy and simple. “You’ll probably complain after a week or two about being sunburnt and then I’ll take you to spend holidays and winter in New York.”

“So you’ve got it all planned?” Stiles huffed a disbelieving laugh.

“Let the guy dream,” Derek grinned cheekily.

Stiles imagined them lying on warm sand on a beach, breathing in salty air; he would definitely complain about sunburn and Derek would pick him up and dunk him in the ocean, but would never let go, and then he would bully Derek into buying ice cream. Then, yeah, he would probably whine enough for Derek to haul him to some Winterland, like New York. There would be a giant Christmas tree and Stiles would stare at it for hours until his fingers froze and then Derek would buy him hot chocolate and they would skate and kiss under the snow.

Yeah, those were nice dreams.

“Can’t wait,” Stiles sighed, afraid to tease fate.

Derek hummed in agreement and leaned in to kiss him.

A sudden harsh sound made both of them jump; Derek immediately went on high alert, but Stiles was the first to notice the source — it was the violently boiling milk, that had risen and spilled itself all over the stove, hissing and bubbling.

Before Derek could react, Stiles had a genius idea: he pointed his finger at the pot and scrunched his nose in thought. Next thing he knew both the milk and the pot froze into one solid ice cube.

Stiles glanced at the smudged pen ink at his wrists.

“Oops?” he winced.

Derek stared at the pot and his stove that had sparkling ice on it, then barked a hearty laugh. He smacked a hot and hard kiss on Stiles’ lips and went on to put a new pot with fresh milk.

***

“ —and he’s like ‘the pill just keeps getting out!’ which is kinda a weird thing to say, but okay. I tell him to hide the pill in a piece of cheese or meat,” Scott rolled his eyes theatrically. “The dude goes all quiet, then — you wouldn’t believe it — goes ‘I thought it had to be put up his butt’!”

“Eww,” Allison cringed but still chuckled at her boyfriend’s snorts.

“Gross, dude,” Stiles whined. “Some of us are eating.”

They were all sitting in a diner, enjoying greasy food; just a normal friends’ meeting, which Stiles realized he needed quite a bit. Not that living with Derek wasn’t great — it was absolutely fantastic and wonderful, and Stiles had never been happier, but he kind of missed Scott.

At first, he was worried that Derek wouldn’t want to let him go because of all his protectiveness, but the Alpha was quick to reassure him by saying that Stiles was free to go wherever he wanted and that Derek would gladly drive him anywhere.

Stiles was so excited that he called Scott right away and here they were. There was an addition to their group this evening, however, because Scott had also invited Lydia and her boyfriend Jackson, whom he hadn’t met until this point.

Throughout the dinner, Stiles decided he would be glad to never meet him again. While Lydia was intimidating to the point where Stiles was uncomfortable meeting her judging glare, Jackson was just creepy. Ever since he plopped down on a diner couch and threw an arm around his girlfriend, his eyes hadn’t left Stiles.

Stiles didn’t know why he was staring at him like that, but he felt very judged like he was a bug under a microscope. Nevertheless, he was determined to have a good time out with his friends and ignored him as best as he could.

Thankfully, the food was good and Scott’s stories were hilarious.

“How’s your search going?” Stiles asked, picking up a fry but stopping mid-way. “Or should I not —” he glanced around the table.

“No, s’fine, they know.” Scott shook his head, his smile suddenly tired. “It’s just been tough, dude.”

Next to him, Allison put a gentle hand on Scott’s hand and squeezed, smiling tightly.

“We have a feeling our target had moved somewhere,” she explained. “We know they hadn’t left BH, so maybe they’re just that good at hiding.”

“No, it’s just our sniffer dog can’t do his job.”

Lydia immediately smacked Jackson’s chest with the back of her hand, which indeed made him shut up. He frowned at the side of Lydia’s displeased face and grit his teeth, returning to glare at Stiles as if it was all his fault.

Allison opened her mouth to retort, but Scott was faster.

“Leave it,” he grunted, turning his hand and intertwining his and Allison’s fingers before turning to Stiles. “We’re all frustrated, but it’ll be fine. Tell me what have you been up to?”

His immediate thought was “Derek”, and Stiles smiled at his own goofiness.

“Oh, is it that dude?” Scott picked up quickly, his lips widening in a cheeky grin. “Did you bang him?”

“Scott!”

“Fucking gross,” Jackson muttered under his breath. This time he certainly deserved Lydia’s glare.

“It’s perfect, actually,” said Stiles, feeling smug when Jackson rolled his eyes. “I moved in with him.”

Scott’s eyes became the size of dinner plates. “Whoa!”

“That’s a bit fast,” Allison mumbled, scrunching her forehead in thought.

“Maybe, but…” Stiles took his glass of soda, twisting it around. “Feels like I’ve known him forever. He’s like… it, you know?”

He felt Scott’s warm gaze on the side of his quickly reddening face.

“Yeah, dude,” he chuckled, nudging him with an elbow, then looked pointedly at Allison.

Now both Lydia and Jackson rolled their eyes. Maybe judging people was their thing.

Allison cooed, kissed Scott lightly on the cheek, and leaned into him, putting her chin on his shoulder.

While Scott and Allison were busy making heart-eyes at each other, Jackson took out his phone, typed something, and showed it to Lydia. Not a moment later her face tightened and she suddenly looked at Stiles.

If they thought they were subtle, Stiles had bad news for them.

He was kind of frustrated by being stared at; he lifted one defiant eyebrow and looked at both of them questioningly.

Lydia squinted, cleared her throat, and put a dainty hand on Jackson’s phone, lowering it down on his thigh out of Stiles’ view. She lifted her chin and sniffed as if she didn’t care that she got caught and asked Allison about her archery tournament.

Jackson, on the other hand, had no intentions of being cowered and readily met Stiles’ gaze. It took one more nudge from Lydia to drop whatever was bothering him.

Whatever, fuck both of them.

Better to ignore them for the rest of the evening.

All in all, he had an amazing time chatting with Scott and Allison. He doubted he would meet with Jackson and Lydia in the future, especially if he surrendered to Derek’s desire to travel.

The idea of leaving this place was exhilarating. And this excitement, in turn, filled him with guilt and terror.

He had a feeling the day when he would have to make his decision would come soon. Even though in the deepest parts of his heart he already knew what and who he would choose.

***

The tips of the fingers tapped out a rhythm on the wooden surface. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. And again.

Stiles stared unseeingly in the direction of a brightly lit fireplace, deep in thought. For some reason Jackson’s stare wouldn’t leave his mind — his eyes were too focused for a normal person. It was a calculating stare like he knew something about Stiles and waited for him to fuck up and reveal himself.

And Lydia. Her puzzled gaze, as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing despite all the obvious evidence.

What if Stiles knew them, like in a childhood, but forgot? Or they’ve met in some other town?

A warm hand laid over his, stopping all movements.

“Baby.”

Stiles blinked and took a deep breath, only now noticing Derek, who was sitting beside him for god knows how long. Derek’s eyes shone with amusement, but there was also a slight tension to his face.

“Hmm?” Stiles sighed, instantly distracted.

“I thought you had a good time with your friends,” Derek tilted his head a little, watching him carefully.

“I did,” Stiles answered.

Derek glanced at his hand above Stiles’. “Then what’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Stiles answered automatically.

He heard a tiny exasperated sigh; Derek brought Stiles’ hand up to his face and kissed it once, twice, three times, all while looking him directly in the eyes. He placed Stiles’ hand on his own cheek and stared at him with an arched eyebrow.

Ugh.

“Scott brought his friends. They were weird,” Stiles explained, meeting Derek’s eyes. “Nothing happened.”

“Want me to rip their throats out?”

The question was so casual, that Stiles froze to stare at Derek just to figure out whether he was joking or not.

Derek’s face remained neutral.

“… you can’t just maim people when they look at me wrong.”

“Watch me,” Derek showed him his suddenly sharp teeth.

Stiles rolled his eyes, relaxing. Apparently, Derek was in one of those protective moods again.

“They were weird, that’s all.” He took the opportunity and caressed Derek’s stubbly cheek. “Guess, it triggered some anxiety in me, it happens.”

It did happen, though it often involved his father being absolutely wasted and Stiles not sleeping because he was afraid his dad wouldn’t wake up in the morning.

This time it was mostly unfounded. A guy stared at him. So what? It wasn’t something to be on edge about several hours later, yet here he was.

“Want me to distract you?” Derek offered.

Stiles must have been fucked up in the head because one intense unwavering stare of a predator made him all hot, hard, and tingly.

Stiles licked his lips, delighted to see how easily Derek was distracted by this.

“Please,” he murmured, grinning from ear to ear.

His giggling was then muffled by a heated and hungry kiss. He nearly bit through Derek’s lower lip when the Alpha lifted him but got sidetracked by his growl.

He didn’t remember how they got to the bedroom, too distracted by Derek’s tongue.

***

The beast was huge, with black fur glistening in the moonlight, standing up at its neck. The fangs were pearly white and stood out in the darkness as a reminder of the giant wolf’s vicious hunger.

A low growl akin to a thunder rumbled out of the beast’s chest; Stiles felt it shake him to his core.

“Good wolfie…” Stiles whispered, his voice shaking from fear. He was trapped with his back pressed to the rough bark of a tree behind him, wishing desperately to dissolve into it to escape the predator.

The wolf huffed a breath as if laughing at his pathetic whimpers. It stepped closer. Stiles could see its sharp claws against the soft ground. They would slice through him like a knife through parchment.

He should’ve listened to his Papa and stayed home. Now he’s going to get killed.

The wolf stepped closer, growling and sniffing the air. A terrified sob broke out of Stiles’ chest; he was trembling like a leaf on the wind.

“Stiles!”

“Papa!” Stiles cried out, not taking his eyes from the wolf who snarled in anger at hearing his father’s voice. “I’m here!”

The wolf looked ready to leap at him and snap its deadly fangs around his throat. Stiles shut his eyes, sobbing his heart out in terror, and prayed for a quick death.

Suddenly, he heard a hollow sound of impact and a rage-filled deafening howl after that.

As soon as Stiles opened his eyes, heaving breaths, he recoiled and screamed at the figure in front of him. A familiar pair of hands settled on his shoulders, shaking him violently.

“Stupid child,” his father shouted in his face, red from rage, making Stiles flinch and the wolf in front of them to growl. “I ordered you to stay inside the house!”

“Papa, I’m —”

All of Stiles’ apologies were abruptly interrupted when his father slapped him hard across his face. Stiles’ breath caught in his lungs, tears streaming down his red and stinging cheek. He didn’t dare to look into his father’s eyes again, clutching his dirtied tunic closer to himself.

The wolf, who was pinned to the ground with two of his father’s arrows snarled at the sound of the slap; the beast clawed its way towards the two of them, but the arrows were strong, withstanding the beast’s force.

His father grabbed Stiles roughly by the arm above his elbow and dragged him away from the beast. Stiles couldn’t help but hiss in pain at his father’s handling.

The wolf let out a thunderous howl full of fury. Stiles turned around, even as they walked farther and farther, to look at the predator; the huge beast was staring at him with an unwavering gaze of bright red.

The wolf was still trying to tear its body free from arrows, dragging itself towards Stiles, even as the two men disappeared from view.

***

“— iles.”

Someone shook him lightly.

“Stiles, wake up.”

Huh?

Someone took him roughly under the armpits and lifted into a seated position.

Stiles got lightheaded from the sudden movement. He opened his eyes, but the only source of light was the moon outside; he saw Derek’s dark silhouette — he was picking something up from the floor.

“Der?” Stiles smacked his lips and rubbed his face with both hands.

A hand touched his ankle gently but quickly, then another one; something slid up his legs. Pants. Derek was dressing him because Stiles was still half-asleep and not really present.

“Someone’s coming towards the house. I need you to get ready, baby.”

The tense urgency in his voice woke Stiles up. Then the words reached his sluggish brain and he felt like somebody doused him in ice water.

Was it his dad? Had he found out where Stiles was hiding and came to shoot Derek? Or was it Kanima, hungry for revenge?

If Derek hoped to make Stiles react and do something, he was about to be disappointed because instead of moving Stiles froze like a deer in headlights.

Fuck, what a time to freeze instead of flee.

Derek picked up his hands and carefully put a T-shirt on him; the wolf himself was in thin sweatpants. His usual joy was nowhere to be found; he was tense and precise in the way he moved, his jaw set and eyes violently red.

“Baby, hey.” Derek cupped Stiles’ face, forcing him to lift his head and meet his gaze, always gentle, despite its blood-red color. “You’re safe with me, remember?” his voice was strong and reassuring. Stiles found his wrists in the dark and gripped them tight. “If it all goes to shit —”

“What do you mean goes to shit?” Stiles rasped.

“— I need you to run. As fast as you can. I will find you, okay? All I need from you is getting the hell out of here.”

“Who’s coming? Do you know them?” Stiles whispered frantically, even though there was no point in keeping quiet.

Derek ignored his questions. He tugged socks up Stiles’ feet and it would have been ridiculous and kind of embarrassing to watch himself being fucking dressed, if not for the paralyzing panic brewing inside.

“I can survive anything,” Derek told him matter-of-factly. “Any injury you can think of, I’ll live through, so don’t worry about me, just run.”

If Derek thought Stiles would leave him when there was a possibility of him being fucking injured he was so fucking wrong.

“I’m not leaving you,” Stiles bit out, digging his nails into Derek’s shoulders, which he used for stability.

“They only came because of you.”

It wasn’t an accusation, just a fact.

…A fact that didn’t seem to surprise Derek.

“Why?” Stiles whispered watching two red pinpricks moving in the dark, feeling dread and guilt building up in him.

“Because you’re mine.”

Derek took him by the hand and led him through the dark corridor to the front door. A leather jacket abruptly fell on his shoulders; Derek dropped to his knees with a thud and helped him into his sneakers, even though Stiles was fully coherent and capable of doing it himself now.

“I have a bad feeling about it, why do I have it?” Stiles was very close to hysterics now. Derek was acting strange; someone was coming to harm them. The sinking feeling in his stomach grew heavier and heavier with each passing second.

Derek stood to his full height; his bare chest was bathed in moonlight, rising and falling so steadily, that Stiles couldn’t help but put a palm on it. He soaked in Derek’s heat, strength, and confidence; he wanted to melt into him, so if something happened to Derek, Stiles would always be with him.

Suddenly Derek swept him into an embrace; Stiles felt his palms on the bare skin on his lower back, sensed his scent, spicy and overwhelming. Derek leaned down and kissed him like he never kissed him before — deep and claiming, desperate and so full of love, that it felt like his heart was going to burst. Derek kissed him like Stiles was the last breath of air he would ever get, his last sight before going blind forever.

Stiles wanted to live in this kiss, but for some reason, it felt like a goodbye. And that strangled Stiles with fear, more than any enemy ever would.

“I love you,” Derek muttered quietly against his lips.

“I —”

A howl cut through the night, loud and sudden.

Derek snarled and opened the door, storming outside, wild in anger.

It was a second before Stiles broke out of a stupor and ran after him.

The lawn in front of the house was lit with bright moonlight. Derek was already standing in the middle of it, looking around in a half-circle. Stiles didn’t understand why he was looking at the trees at first, but then his eyes caught some movement — several figures emerged from the line of the forest.

Stiles and Derek were surrounded.

“You are on a private property,” Derek growled. His speech was slurred somewhat, so he must have been in a half-shift.

Stiles didn’t expect a familiar voice to answer him.

“This land belongs to the McCall pack.”

Stiles almost didn’t believe it, but, after squinting, he managed to see the familiar flop of hair and the uneven jaw. Oh, no.

Slowly, Stiles stepped down the stairs, his gaze not moving away from his friend.

“You have no idea how to claim a land or rule a pack, pup,” Derek bit out as if Scott’s entire existence offended him. “I have mine claimed. Leave.”

“You’ve taken something that wasn’t yours,” Scott argued, frowning.

This was all a misunderstanding, it must have been.

Stiles reached the last step and moved onto the slippery grass.

“Scott, what are you doing here?” he asked and glanced at Derek’s tense back. “This is my friend Scott, the one I was talking about earlier. What is —”

“You need to come with us.” Scott squared his shoulders and moved his eyes to Stiles. “He is not who he says he is. He’s lying to you.”

Stiles could hear Derek’s threatening snarl; the wolf’s stare was unwavering — it was clear he wouldn’t let the enemy out of his sight, especially not when Derek’s own pack was behind him.

Stiles let out an awkward laugh, glancing at Derek once more.

“What are you talking about?” he asked incredulously.

This entire situation was so ridiculous and out of nowhere, that the anxious laugh just kept bubbling up by itself.

Stiles came to a stop just two steps behind Derek.

“I know it must hurt,” Scott continued; he seemed genuine.

“We’re sorry.” That was… that was Allison. Holy, shit, Stiles didn’t even notice she was behind Scott.

Now that he noticed, he saw the whole gang behind Scott. What the fuck?

“The fuck are you —”

“Oh, for god’s sake,” Lydia’s voice interrupted. “He lured you in to take your magic.”

Coldness swept over him. Stiles didn’t know what they were, but, apparently, these people knew about his powers. How long have they known this?

Stiles licked his lips and locked eyes with her. “How do you know about my magic?”

Scott shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“You have to come with us,” Allison pressed, stepping carefully around Scott. She was holding something — a stick? No, the pose was too specific for it. A bow with an arrow? “You’ll be safe with us.”

If Stiles wasn’t so fucking frustrated and confused he would have snorted.

Derek reacted by letting out a menacing growl. From the side, Stiles could see the pronounced ridge of his forehead and fangs, gleaming in the moonlight. Stiles closed the distance between them and put his hand in the middle of Derek’s back.

He carefully observed hopeful-looking Scott, whose eyes were screaming blatantly “Don’t be afraid, come with us”, then Allison who was glancing between him and Derek and clutching her bow periodically; Lydia stood to Scott’s left, her head high, but posture rigid — she was holding Jackson’s hand, who stood behind her with the same unnerving gaze directed at Stiles.

“Do as my Alpha says and leave,” Stiles said finally, his eyes returning to Scott, who looked more confused with each second.

Scott and Allison glanced at each other briefly.

“He’s lying to you,” Scott talked slowly, as if was explaining something to a child. “Look, he doesn’t even deny it!” he thrust his hands out to point at Derek.

Derek lifted his chin in a challenge. “Why bother arguing with an ignorant pup, who’s already made up his mind? I can stand here for hours explaining myself to you with foam around my mouth and for what? For you to twist my words to your liking? My words don’t matter, Stiles can judge my actions for himself.”

One of the things Stiles loved about Derek is that he always allowed Stiles to make a choice and let him take the lead where it mattered. Derek was beyond patient waiting for Stiles to come to him with his magic and other troubles, even though he saw through all the pretense from the beginning. He gave Stiles time when needed and stayed with him through the fear and pain. Derek protected him from danger and provided a home.

“Stiles, we know about your Spark,” Scott continued, looking at Stiles with desperate eyes, trying to convey something. “He is the Werewolf who’s been chasing you. You must run. We’ll help you…”

Stiles stared at his so-called friend, genuinely concerned for his sanity, because the nonsense he was sputtering was really fucking confusing.

“You are a moron,” Lydia hissed suddenly, squinting and crinkling her nose. “He manipulated, brainwashed you. He knew about your magic from the beginning. It’s all he ever wanted from you. He made you trust him, so you give him all your power. And you’re fucking blind.”

Did Derek know from the beginning?

Stiles glanced at Derek, who breathed out in fury and disgust, arguing with them again.

Yeah, he probably did. With him being a magical creature himself. Duh.

The thing is, he spent so much time alone with Derek that he could have been kidnapped and killed a million times already, yet all he got was kisses and hot chocolate. Not once did Derek indicate wanting to harm him in any way. For fuck’s sake, they were sleeping in the same bed.

Besides, Derek was the one to show him how corporeal magic was. The magic that was sparked to life in him by a Nemeton. How could you even take something like that? It’s as if Stiles tried to steal Derek’s wolf — just absurd nonsense.

“But you knew I had magic, too,” Stiles interrupted them, sliding his hand from Derek’s back to his shoulder and stepping to the side. He stopped when he felt Derek’s hand touch his thigh just slightly — he didn’t know how but he understood Derek’s silent order to stay behind him.

“Not from the beginning,” Scott tried to reassure him.

“Then it’s even worse.” Stiles tilted his head. “You find out about my powers, come here — even though you shouldn’t know where I live — and beg me to come with you? Sure, bud.”

“I— I—” Scott stuttered, staring at Stiles with wide eyes.

“It’s not like that,” Allison said gently, stroking the grip of her bow with a finger.

“Don’t bother.” Stiles quickly stopped their flimsy attempts. “Leave.”

Scott, Allison, and Jackson all looked at each other, however Lydia’s glare didn’t move from her target.

She pursed her lips, lifted one thin eyebrow, and folded her arms. “Leave? Like you left your father?”

Derek started growling again, which made Jackson slither in front of Lydia and hiss at him. His eyes glinted yellow-green, irises lengthened into slits.

Then Stiles got it.

“You’re the Kanima,” he gasped, looking at Jackson. “You recognized me from that time in the forest. And then caught my scent once again in the diner, right?” then he turned to Scott. “Have you been looking for me all this time?”

To give Scott credit, he did look guilty as hell. The guy looked to the side with a pinched look on his face.

“And yeah,” Stiles turned to Lydia and pointed a finger at her smug face, “fuck off.”

She only lifted her annoying eyebrow higher.

“He made you abandon your father, your only family,” she nodded at Derek, “yet I’m the villain. Sure, bud.”

“Stop pretending to know everything,” Derek snarled at her, flexing his naked shoulders. “You don’t know anything about your friends, you have no idea what to do with your homicidal boyfriend and you’re terrified of your own powers. You’re grasping at straws.”

Lydia looked so furious that she developed a nervous tick in her gloss-covered lip, making her look like a lap dog who was about to snap someone’s finger off.

Derek continued, completely unfazed. “I’ve never forced him into anything. I never would. Now fuck off from my property and take this circus away with you.”

Stiles turned away to hide a smirk behind Derek’s shoulder.

Then some things happened in rapid succession.

“You, again,” someone said in a raspy bored voice.

Derek’s body tensed so hard Stiles could have sworn he turned to stone.

In the next moment, Stiles flew to the side, pushed roughly by Derek. Two loud shots were fired through the stunned silence of the night and then Derek screamed.

No, he howled from pain.

Hearing it was torture, akin to shards of glass piercing through a tender heart.

Stiles landed on the soft, wet ground, rolling over from the force of the push, and gouged his nails painfully into the grass to stop himself. He almost cracked his neck to look up at where Derek was standing just a second ago — now the Alpha was standing on his knees, blood pouring down his thighs from two bullet holes in each leg.

Derek was leaning on his clawed hands, his eyes scrunched shut; his whole face was wrinkled and sweaty from pain.

Memories flashed in front of Stiles’ mind from the night of the fight between Derek and Jackson; Derek was covered in blood, yet not a single wound adorned his body — the Alpha was unbothered and victorious. Now, however, someone made him fall too hard.

Stiles swiveled his head; his brown eyes grew large from shock, his hands shook from disbelief.

“No!” Stiles screamed, as his father raised his gun once again.

Another shot. Derek roared, his chest rounding from the agony of the wound in his shoulder.

“Stop it, stop!” Stiles shrieked, his breath going out of his lungs, but not in. He scrambled to stand up, but then his father’s voice rang one more time.

“Get him.” Dad moved his head towards Stiles. He didn’t look away from Derek, seemingly unbothered by his screams and the blood.

There was so much of it.

Stiles couldn’t manage a single step forward, because he was intercepted almost immediately. Jackson gripped his right wrist, and Scott caught the left — no matter how hard Stiles writhed and pushed, he was no match to a Werewolf and a Kanima.

He could only watch, helpless and useless, as the two most important people in his life stared at each other — one with calculated boredom and indifference, the other with pure hatred and disgust.

Blood gathered at the corners of Derek’s lips, bubbling between his glistening fangs, down his chin and neck.

“He’s mine,” the Alpha rasped and coughed, spitting blood everywhere; his gleaming chest was rising with a lot of difficulty to keep breathing.

Stiles wanted to give all air in his own lungs to him.

His father didn’t acknowledge Derek’s words nor Stiles’ pleas; he glanced up and down Derek’s body, forehead scrunching in some thought.

“Let me go,” Stiles begged, turning to Scott. “Why are you doing this? Let me go.”

Scott, however, stayed silent, his eyes filled with horror: he froze from such a violent sight.

“Stiles.”

Stiles turned his head back to Derek; the moment their eyes met, Stiles started sobbing.

He wanted to go to Derek, to gather him into his arms, to throw his body over Derek’s so nobody would hurt him anymore. Stiles’ wrists were black and blue from the grip Scott and Jackson had to keep on him.

“Listen to me…”

“You know it’s pointless, you stupid —” his dad sputtered at Derek.

The wolf, though, stopped paying him any attention. His eyes were gleaming like rubies, focused on one person.

“… you’re my treasure,” he rasped. “And I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Stiles sobbed, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from veiling his eyes. If those were the last words… Stiles wanted to drink every bit of Derek he could still get.

Derek smiled. His teeth were red, his lips and chin all bloody — he looked like a nightmare incarnated, yet Stiles would have given anything to kiss him.

“I will find you,” Derek promised him. He fell onto his elbows, grunted, and breathed heavily for a couple of seconds, listening to Stiles’ chants of his name. It seemed to grant him some strength because, in the next moment, he started pushing and dragging himself towards Stiles with a pain-filled howl.

“You.” Stiles’ father turned to shaking Allison, who looked at him with wide eyes and stepped back. “Shoot him to the ground.”

“No, please, please,” Stiles wailed, pushing against the grip with doubled strength.

Allison’s eyes glided from him to Derek, to Stiles’ father. She opened and closed her mouth, speechless from the scene in front of her, but didn’t lift her bow.

“Oh, for —” Dad wrestled the bow and the arrow out of her slack hands, expertly tightened the bowstring, and fired a shot.

The arrow pierced through the center of Derek’s spine at the forty-five-degree angle, but it was enough to make sure he wouldn’t move.

Stiles echoed Derek’s roar this time.

“Stop it, stop, why are you… No, no, please, stop!” Stiles screamed, lungs and throat burning from the pain.

But then Derek spoke again, making Stiles’ sobs quiet down to whimpers.

“My love, my sun, listen to me,” Derek breathed out, one hand outstretched to him. His glassy half-lidded red eyes were the only thing Stiles could focus on. “It will be okay.”

A fresh set of hot tears slid down Stiles’ cheeks. It was horrible and unfair that Derek was the one calming him down, but the Alpha did it so expertly and easily as if he was born to do it.

“I will find you again… We will be together, do you hear me?” he asked hoarsely and Stiles nodded, chin wobbling. “Yes.” Derek closed his eyes for two seconds too long but opened them again at Stiles’ desperate whine. “Just… just wait for me. Don’t give up, wait for me, love.”

Stiles nodded again, even though he didn’t understand what Derek meant. He was soaking up his words, one by one, just to hear them.

Dad appeared on the edge of his vision, walking calmly to Derek’s prone form. Terror and apprehension filled Stiles with each of his father’s steps, threatening to drown his lungs and mind.

“No, Dad, please,” Stiles begged, his gaze running from him to Derek and back. He pushed forward, knees digging into the ground. He heard his bones creaking under his “friends’” grasp.

“Don’t be scared,” Derek whispered, unable to keep his head up. Despite the approaching enemy, his eyes were still on Stiles, loving and reassuring.

His father reached Derek, pointed his gun at him, and fired.

Derek didn’t open his eyes anymore.

Stiles screamed and screamed until all air ran out of his lungs, and even then he rasped and coughed and screamed again.

He remembered them letting him go and his weak body falling on the ground. He remembered wet grass under his hands, his nails breaking from the force of digging, and dull pain in his wrists. Stiles remembered the overwhelming smell of blood.

Before he could get to Derek’s body, however, his father walked up to him, grabbed him by the hair, and pushed his head backward. Stiles choked and coughed and looked into the eyes of… a stranger.

This stranger put a palm on his forehead.

“Forget.”

Suddenly, it was hot and red, and then…

Nothing.

***

The pain was hellish. His entire head was an eggshell between the Nutcracker’s teeth — a single move could shatter him to pieces.

Stiles whimpered and swallowed a bile the sound caused.

He moved a finger, feeling some scratchy fabric underneath his palm.

He knew it was dark and smelled like dust.

Stiles kept breathing, trying and failing to keep it slow and controlled.

“Dad…” he breathed out. “Da-a-ad.”

His mind was in a blank state. He didn’t know where he was, what had happened, and how he ended up here. Nothing, but excruciating pain.

He heard a noise from somewhere, but his brain was too tired to figure out what it was. Dull and monotone.

Something metallic screeched so loud, that Stiles whimpered and wrinkled his nose. It sounded like a door opening.

“Dad?”

He didn’t have the energy to open his eyes. Not sure, if his brain could survive it.

It was quiet for half a minute. Then another ear-splitting screech, followed by a dull thud, like in reverse.

“Dad.”

***

Next time Stiles was strong enough to fall from the bed, groan, and eventually get up. He was shaky and sweaty by the time he got downstairs, holding onto a wall for support. He had to stop constantly to get air into his lungs and swallow his heart down into his chest.

“Da—” Stiles choked on his dry tongue, then smacked his lips closed.

He found his father sitting in the living room. No TV, an uncomfortable-looking couch ugly yellow in color with a matching set of armchairs on either side. An old and dusty fireplace was empty and unlit; the only source of light was the vintage lamp above the couch and the coffee table.

Dad was cleaning his gun with all the supplies lying neatly on the table in front of him. He did it sometimes, Stiles remembered.

Dad didn’t turn to him, so Stiles wobbled his way to the couch and sank to his knees right next to him. He sighed and laid his heavy and pain-filled head on the couch, right beside his dad’s knee, closing his eyes.

They spent several minutes in silence.

“ ‘t hurts, Dad,” Stiles mumbled, sniffing because he didn’t want to cry from pain.

Dad was quiet for some time, then grunted, “You’ve had an episode.”

“ ‘nother one?”

Dad didn’t answer.

Stiles and his stupid brain, disappointing his father since… who knows how long, honestly.

The episodes… They always left him with little memories. What happened during those? What triggered them? Dad always hummed, grunted, and scrunched his nose in annoyance. Stiles left it alone, too tired from the headache.

He dragged his dry tongue on the roof of his mouth, feeling sandpaper. Water would be nice.

But Dad was busy, so he forced himself to get up, swaying from the pain, and moved slowly step by step towards the kitchen. He didn’t bother turning up a light, because there was enough of it from the evening road lights from the outside. Neither the street, nor the front yard were recognizable to Stiles, and he swallowed the bitter disappointment.

Seemed, his entire life would go like this — dusty, quiet, and unfamiliar.

Staring out of the window, Stiles groped for the handles on the sink, when suddenly the metal electrocuted him. Just a tiny shock.

He gasped and snatched his hand back, but it was too late.

Images flashed in front of his eyes.

A dark forest, a giant tree, electrocution. Warm strong arms and green-grey-blue eyes. A cheeky smirk, a wrinkle on the forehead, sharp teeth. Magic, books, blankets, and hot chocolate.

Hugs, kisses, love.

Blood, pain, and arrows.

Derek.

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, his hands clenching into fists. He was shaking, trying to keep his buzzing magic inside. Sparks and lines of lightning kept sliding out of his veins and catching themselves on the metal sink.

Stiles bit his lip so hard it bled. It didn’t stop the tears from sliding down his cheek, but helped to keep his breathing normal. He slapped his hands over his mouth to keep himself from whimpering.

He couldn’t think, couldn’t gather himself enough to slap himself and snap out.

Something heavy and metal clinked on the wooden surface, making Stiles jump.

He turned his head, blinking tears out of his eyes.

Dad put a metal probe down on the table and took a bottle of gun oil along with some old dirty rug.

As it dawned on him, Stiles quickly turned back towards the window, shutting his eyes.

“I will find you again”.

Again.

Were they running from Derek all this time? Was he the one Dad was so paranoid about?

Every time he found his dad cleaning his gun, it meant…

It meant that somewhere out there Derek was lying in the pool of his own blood and the only thread keeping him in this world was his Werewolf magic.

“Oh, god,” Stiles mouthed soundlessly, opened his eyes and swallowed.

He had to get out. Had to get to Derek, even if all that was left was his cold body, he couldn’t leave him all alone in the dark forest with the same people who betrayed them.

Stiles forgot about the dryness of his mouth, his headache, and his stumbling steps. He got back to the living room and stood over his father, who still hadn’t acknowledged him.

Was he even his father?

The shadow from Stiles’ body fell onto his father’s hands and that — this annoyance caused by Stiles — was the reason the man lifted his head with a frown.

“Get ou—”

Stiles put his hand in front of him, sparks falling to the floor like fireworks.

“Sleep,” Stiles ordered. Dad opened his eyes wide in fear and surprise but didn’t manage to get anything out of it before falling back on the couch unconscious.

Stiles’ gaze fell onto the gun, on etched runes on its surface. He recognized them. They meant power and deadly force.

Stiles raised his hand once more.

The gun melted itself through the table, dripping on the floor.

He looked away, stepped over his dad’s outstretched feet, and went out of the unfamiliar house.

The streets were blessedly empty — a blessing for them because Stiles didn’t give a single fuck if he ended up being seen. Fury and desperation fought inside of him, making him numb; only tears kept sliding and sliding, down his face, quickly getting cold and bitter in the night wind.

Stiles stopped, took a shuddering breath, and looked down at his glowing shaking hands.

“If he loves you so much,” Stiles bit out, glaring at the sparks angrily moving between his fingers, “you’ve got to be useful somehow. Bring me to him, or him to me, I don’t care.”

A pillar of bright light and golden dust shot out of his hands right to the starry skies. Heat fired through Stiles’ body, burning red, powered by his anger, grief, but more so, by his love.

His magic howled. It wasn’t his own pitiful parody of a howl in the woods, it wasn’t even Derek’s powerful and assertive one, no. It was the essence of a howl, of what it represented, cutting through the night, the stars, and the shine of the moon. Eventually, it cut off dissolving into the darkness.

But if Derek wasn’t moving, wasn’t breathing when Stiles last saw him, how could —

A strange sensation went through Stiles like a soundwave without a sound; vibrations drummed through his chest; it felt like somewhere near him there should have been a sound so loud it ought to burst his eardrums, but he heard nothing.

Stiles waited for one breath, another.

As he blinked and opened his eyes, he saw a majestic wolf, a giant, just like Derek, appear right in front of him. It looked like him, moved like him, but was golden and almost translucent.

Stiles had summoned Derek’s magic.

He took a step forward, lifting his hand to the wolf.

“Take me to him.” The sentence almost ended up being a question.

The golden wolf huffed; it reminded him so much of Derek, that Stiles breathed out a sob and bit his lip to stifle it.

He had to get to Derek.

The wolf lay down and huffed. Stiles decided not to waste time anymore and climbed onto the wolf, seeing his legs through the ethereal body.

Suddenly, they were running, flying through the streets, the woods, and the roads. Stiles gripped the wolf’s sparkly fur and leaned forward.

Derek told him, swore to him that he would survive any wound. There was no one else to trust. Because if Derek… If Derek died, he would break his promise and give up.

***

Stiles was one breath away from breaking down because those cowardly bastards just left him there.

Derek was still lying, with the arrows and all, in the pool of his own blood in front of the house.

“Derek,” Stiles whispered and ran to him.

He fell onto his knees, uncaring of the blood, but froze with raised trembling hands, afraid to touch him. He could do more damage, he could touch Derek and find him cold, then what would he do…

Something warm and slick touched his cheek. It was the wolf’s snout.

They stared at each other until the wolf huffed slightly, nodded at Derek, and dissipated into thin air.

Right. Derek would heal. If he wouldn’t, Stiles would fucking make him.

Stiles froze once again, but this time because of an idea. Glancing at his hands, he leaned down and gripped the arrow. A moment later it disappeared.

Stiles huffed a relieved breath.

“I’m here,” he whispered to Derek, sniffing. “I’m with you.”

With the help of his suddenly helpful and subdued magic, he managed to levitate Derek’s body to the house. For fuck’s sake, even the door was left open.

Stiles moved Derek to their couch, which was quickly soaked with fresh blood. None of it mattered or even registered in Stiles’ mind.

The bullet pierced clean through his shoulder, but the ones in his thighs stayed inside. Stiles summoned them into his palm and quickly threw them away, afraid to even look at them.

Of course, once the barrier disappeared, the blood began to flow even faster. Derek was deathly pale, unresponsive, and not breathing.

But the blood. The blood kept Stiles from ending it all.

It kept flowing. Derek was alive.

His father’s final shot went clean through, and it was on Derek’s chest — a large, open, and nasty wound right near his heart.

It was too much for Derek’s body to heal. The healing power spread too deep through his body because every wound was considered life-threatening. It would take him a very long time to heal if his body didn’t give up first.

But Stiles won’t let him. There was no life without Derek. He was a part of Stiles’ soul, his entire being. His love.

He put both of his hands on Derek’s unmoving chest, pecked a kiss on his blood-smeared stubble-covered cheek, and ordered, “Heal.”

If there was time for his magic to get to its usual hundred’s level, it was now. Heat flowed from Stiles’ body, from his heart, down his arms, and into Derek. It didn’t hurt, though he felt himself getting weaker and weaker with each wave.

He didn’t care. He would give all his magic to Derek, all of himself, down to the last drop.

Stiles felt himself let go. No barriers, doubts, or cautiousness stopped him this time. Magic flowed, powered by an unending source inside him, pushing itself into Derek, and repairing each of his cells.

He didn’t comprehend time or space; he was aware of a body slowly warming underneath his, of the chest rising and falling, of puffs of breath in his hair. A dream-like trance covered his mind, numbing him to the outside world.

There was only him, Derek, and light — his magic.

***

Something touched his cheek, as lightly as the wind; it was so tender it couldn’t break through the darkness of Stiles’ sleep, not at first. It took a long time for him to gain consciousness; he was lying bone tired on something soft and familiar, surrounded by welcoming warmth and spicy scent.

A finger ran down his cheek again, slowly and reverently. Stiles wrinkled his nose, let out a small sleepy noise, and forced his eyes open.

His favorite mix of blue-green-grey was the first thing he saw. Stiles’ heart leaped and raced so fast, that his head spun and lungs forgot how to function.

“Hello, Sleeping Beauty,” Derek murmured, gazing at him.

Stiles choked on the air and dove right into his open arms, relishing in his hot skin and soft touch.

“Derek,” he gasped barely above his breath. “Derek.”

Big arms circled his back and waist. Stiles melted into Derek’s body, fitting himself into it like in a mold. He inhaled Derek’s scent, so lovely and amazing, scrubbed his face on Derek’s heavy stubble, then just buried his face into the wolf’s neck, gulping heavy breaths.

Derek’s chest vibrated because of the rumbling. Stiles shivered from the sensation. His eyes were stinging, but he refused to cry, he’d done it so much already. He was tired.

“It’s alright, I’m here,” Derek muttered into the mop of Stiles’ hair. “You saved me.”

Stiles sniffled, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You were so brave and strong,” Derek continued, caressing his back painfully slow. “I love you so much. Thank you.”

“I love you, too,” Stiles breathed into his neck, knowing the wolf would hear him.

He almost couldn’t believe Derek was lying next to him, that he was allowed to keep this. He wasn’t ready to face everything that happened. Not now. Questions were brewing somewhere in the back of his mind, but he shied away.

“You remember me,” Derek whispered in quiet awe, threading his fingers through Stiles’ messy hair. It sounded like he hardly believed it. Like he had just witnessed a miracle.

Flashes of bloodied grass, the echo of his father’s shots, his merciless eyes, and the burning heat of his palm against Stiles’ forehead — all of it bombarded his mind at once.

Stiles hugged Derek tighter and begged, “Please, don’t.”

Derek froze.

“Not… now,” Stiles rasped, and Derek exhaled.

“Of course. I’ll do anything you ask.”

They lay on the bed, bodies intertwined in a loving embrace, basking in life and each other’s presence. Tender whispers caressed their ears, healing their souls. They fell asleep knowing nothing was strong enough to separate them now.

***

Stiles closed his eyes against the bright sun shining through the kitchen window; he was standing right behind Derek, clinging to him with his head on Derek’s shoulder. Derek was chopping vegetables for the soup. His muscles moved underneath Stiles’ cheek with each wolf’s motion. An amazing smell of rich broth filled the small space around them, warming their bones.

A knife clinked on the countertop; Stiles felt Derek’s abs twist a bit under his palms — it was Derek dumping the potatoes in a pot. He turned the gas to a minimum, closed the lid, and carefully turned around in Stiles’ arms.

For several moments, they’ve just held gazes.

“We have to talk,” Derek started, tilting his head.

Stiles pursed his nose and lowered his eyes to the wrinkled collar of Derek’s T-shirt.

Derek was right, of course. He had to face the problem that hung over him like a dark stormy cloud getting more gloomy and heavy with each passing day. There was no way he could ignore it this time.

That didn’t mean he wanted to face it. But Derek wouldn’t let him hide in his arms forever.

Speaking of Derek — he pulled Stiles closer by the elbows, laid a soft kiss on Stiles’ cheekbone, and stayed there.

“You can’t go on like this,” he insisted softly, “and neither can I. There’s just too much you don’t know.”

Stiles swallowed the rising anxiety like a bile.

“And what if this “too much” breaks me?” he asked, scrunching Derek’s shirt in his sweaty palms.

What if the knowledge changes him? Irreversibly? What if he won’t be able to come back from this? Stiles wasn’t naïve enough to think this wouldn’t affect his life, because it already did.

“It won’t,” Derek countered. “You’re strong — stronger than you realize.” He put his palm on the back of Stiles’ head and stroked the short hair there. “Even if it does, I will be right here to help you put yourself back together.”

They stayed there holding each other for a while until finally Derek took his hand and led him to the couch.

However, it was Stiles who started the conversation, clutching at Derek’s hand.

“I don’t understand what’s going on,” he confessed, even though both of them already knew it. “And I'm tired of it.”

“I know.”

Stiles glanced at Derek, noticing the lines under his eyes, the downturned corners of his mouth, and the clenched jaw. It was obvious the man was gathering his thoughts and finding words to say.

Then, he started talking. And the very first sentence hit Stiles like a sucker punch.

“I’ve known you for far longer than you remember.”

Stiles clenched his teeth together, swallowed, and nodded for Derek to continue. The questions were already multiplying, but he forced himself to listen first.

“There are two curses, one on you, one on me. They are different but connected, because we are.”

“How?”

Derek stared into his eyes for a couple of impossibly long seconds, cleared his throat, and said, “We are mates.”

Stiles read about mates as they were an inherent part of Werewolf culture and life cycle, and he was eager to learn all about Derek. He would’ve lied if he said he hadn’t thought about the possibility of him and Derek being mates, because, frankly, a lot of signs were there — the feeling of safety, the comfort, the instant attraction (though, that may have been because Derek was smoking hot), not to mention Derek’s behavior.

He was extremely attentive and protective, he liked to provide Stiles with food and a house, and it almost felt like a part of a courting ritual. But that’s the thing — there weren’t any real rituals. If Derek wanted to mate with him, he would’ve courted Stiles, brought him freshly caught meat, clothes, and presents. There was an entire section about introducing the wolf’s chosen one to their pack and vice versa, yet Derek had never expressed any desire to meet with his… yeah.

And the way he said it — “mates”. Not an intended mate, but...

“You say ‘mates’,” Stiles questioned quietly. “You mean, like… established?”

Derek nodded. His face was impenetrable, all his focus on Stiles.

“But… I don’t have the —” Stiles briefly touched his lower neck, “the bite.”

Derek gazed at where Stiles’ shoulder met his neck — the same spot he was pointing at. His hand jerked as if he wanted to touch it but stayed on top of Stiles’ hand.

“You have. It’s hidden, or rather concealed because you don’t remember it. Part of the curse.”

“So it’s not the brain damage?” Stiles asked, feeling his chest constrict.

“No.”

Stiles wanted to jump from the couch and walk somewhere, no matter where, just away. From the knowledge, the implications, and the staggering weight of “this is only a beginning”. Derek’s grip was the only thing keeping him in place.

“So there’s an entire life with you, that’s been hidden from me?” His breaths were quickening. “And no one, including you, told me?”

Derek seemed to look older suddenly, with lines on his forehead pronounced from deep hurt and sadness. If Stiles were to jerk his hand out of his hold it may even break him.

“There’s a lot to our story,” Derek rasped. “And I'm bad at explaining as it is but this…” he chuckled darkly. “We’ll be here forever.”

“Derek,” Stiles begged.

“You know, I dreamt about this moment for so long,” Derek continued as if he hadn’t heard him. “A lot of the time it was the only thing that’s kept me going. This hope of you near me once again, knowing the full truth.” He shook his head. “But how do I explain all the pain they’ve put us through?”

Stiles didn’t remember it and it seemed like he lucked out, because Derek looked haunted by the memories. It’s almost like he didn’t want to subject Stiles to it, even though it would give him the truth.

Stiles looked down at their intertwined fingers and froze.

“If you can’t tell me, then show me.” He took one of Derek’s hands and lifted it to the level of their faces. Stiles let the tiniest bit of magic escape him and pushed it into Derek’s hand.

Claws thrust out of Derek’s nails with painful speed, but the wolf didn’t even flinch. He shifted his gaze from Stiles to his claws, then back. “You’re willing to —”

“Yeah.”

Derek was silent for a long time, contemplating.

“You fascinate me.” He stared at Stiles in awe, as if he was a secret Derek couldn’t solve. “Still, after all this time, together and apart,” he sighed. “Come here.”

Derek laid his hand on Stiles’ nape, gentle with his claws. Stiles moved closer to him so that his knees were resting on Derek’s.

“It won’t hurt,” Derek assured him. “On three?”

Stiles gave him the tiniest nod and put his hands on Derek’s thighs.

“One, two…”

It was very weird to feel something pierce through and into your flesh, but not feel even a flicker of pain.

Stiles saw the black veins going up Derek’s arms and shut his eyes, feeling oddly safe despite the claws in his neck.

The memories were forced upon him like an avalanche.

***

The spacious ballroom was filled with sounds: the live music, excited murmurs of the crowd, bouncy laughter, and a light touch of multiple pairs of feet on the dance floor. Lit candles echoed the joyous dancers in their wicked cheer, projecting their flickering light on stone walls. The room was stuffy, saved only by the constant flurry of winged creatures buzzing up, down, and around the room, dispersing the air.

But nothing — not the lack of air, nor whispers or presence of others — bothered the main pair and, consequently, the two hosts of the evening. Their eyes were only on each other, their bodies pressed close moving as one; their dance sang of as much passion as they could get away with in public, infecting everyone who accidentally brushed against them.

One of the dancers was Derek Hale — not a wolf, nor a man either, but rather a mix of both, — the heir of the infamous Hale pack, who were told to be the first of their kind. Adorned in furs and leather, his body spoke of strength and power; he was smiling, allowing the fangs to peek out of his lips.

His intense gleaming eyes focused their hunger on the creature he held in his arms — his love, his soul, and the sole master of his heart — the Great Spark Stiles Gajos.

The Spark was much more slender than his partner, though his body fit perfectly with the wolf’s like a puzzle piece. His laughter was the most loud and joyful of all, his smile the widest, and his big eyes full of happiness mirrored in Hale’s. His cheeks had been flushed since the beginning of the evening, which was entirely the wolf’s fault — as soon as the Spark entered the room, almost floating above the ground in his light nearly see-through golden-white clothes, the wolf caught him in his arms, pressing a claiming kiss upon his lips.

Even after all this time, they were unable to keep their hands off each other; Derek’s arm wrapped possessively around Stiles’ waist, and Stiles’ palm was the most welcome weight on the wolf’s chest.

Since Derek swept Stiles onto the dance floor, the Spark had been leaving a trail of golden glittering clouds on his way — the sign of his magic being overexcited and unable to stay hidden. It was even more intoxicating than the wine, leaving everyone around giggly and flirtatious.

As the music slowly came to an end, Hale pressed his lover against his heated body and sealed their lips in a deep hungry kiss, leaving both of them and some people around breathless. The crowd cheered and whooped, as the couple went to their table where their families were sitting.

“We must have danced for a long time,” Stiles breathed heavily, still smiling. “I feel like my feet are going to fall off.”

Derek hummed and grinned cheekily; in the next moment, he swept Stiles off his feet, making him yell in surprise and lose his breath from laughter.

“Do not worry, my sun,” Derek answered and kissed Stiles’ pink cheek, as his giggles died down. “I won’t let you feel an ounce of pain as long as I’m alive.”

“Ah, young love,” Stiles’ father Noah sighed cheerfully when Derek sat down with Stiles in his lap. “I remember when I courted my dear Claudia…” he hummed and stared into the distance with a bittersweet smile on his lips.

Stiles reached out and squeezed his shoulder.

“Mother told me you sang her serenades every night,” he smiled, making his father huff and smirk.

“Yeah, something your grandfather didn’t appreciate,” he confessed, making everyone chuckle. “So I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Too late,” Derek’s sister Laura quipped, lifting an eyebrow. “He sings, alright —”

“Laura,” Derek muttered glaring at her, but the girl was undeterred.

“— howls every night, so just be glad you can’t hear him.”

Derek growled at her, his eyes shining red. He was quickly calmed down by Stiles, who grabbed his chin and smacked a kiss on his lips, making the wolf melt immediately.

Talia — Derek’s mother and the current leader of the Hale pack — let out an amused laugh.

“Don’t growl at your sister, you know she’s right,” she teased, as joy and mirth danced in her eyes. “Wolves don’t do well with long distances with their chosen ones. Mates even more so — the bond stretches thin like a thread, making it feel like your heart is being pulled out.” Talia turned to Stiles next and arched a thin eyebrow in a perfect mirror image of her daughter. “So next time you decide to leave to visit your relatives, please take my son with you. For the sake of our collective hearing.”

Everyone at the table burst into laughter, including Stiles, who’s gone completely red, and Derek, who couldn’t hide a smile.

Their eyes met; a silent question, followed by a soundless answer. Stiles smiled encouragingly and gave Derek a tiny nod, making wolves glance curiously at them.

“Guess, it’s time, indeed,” Derek sighed and stood up abruptly, pushing Stiles on his feet, too.

Under the quizzical eyes of their families and guests, some of whom were already quieting down, the wolf let out a howl, announcing his wish to speak.

All talk came to an end, all eyes turned to them.

Stiles took Derek’s hand, trying and failing not to smile.

“It’s been a year since I’ve met the most wonderful creature of this world.” Derek’s voice boomed across the room. “The second my eyes fell upon him, I was captured. Not under the spell, but under the beauty of this man. As my eyes feasted, as my lungs filled with the ambrosia of his scent, I knew he was my fate. And I cannot thank you enough,” he turned his meaningful gaze on the Spark, “for allowing me to exist in your presence. My soul is filled to brim with you. I could rip my heart out and lay it in your arms if I could.

“The time I spent away from you was torture. More than that, it made me realize I never want to part with you again.” Derek fell silent, as they gazed at one another. Talia sat with her hands on her mouth as if she’d just realized something; Noah was smiling quietly, knowing his son was in good hands. “Thus, I would like to announce to all of you,” Derek looked around and gestured at their table, “and to… our family: Stiles and I have sealed our bond.”

Multiple gasps spread like fire around the room. The handsome wolf — the most eligible bachelor had claimed one of the greatest and most gifted Sparks of their time. This union would enrich their families, both in money and power. It was the bond made for legends.

“It is my honor to present to you my mate Stiles Gajos.” Derek took Stiles’ hand, kissed the back of it, and lifted it in the air.

The applause exploded and deafened everyone; the Hale sisters howled with joy, as Talia clasped her hands on her chest with her eyes on the ceiling, whispering quiet thanks to the gods and Mother Moon. Stiles’ father was weeping quietly, repeating “well done, son, well done” over and over again.

Derek, drunk on the happiness he felt from Stiles and fueled by the euphoria of the newly sealed bond, continued to talk and open his heart like he had never done before in front of so many people.

“I cannot imagine my life without you, because you are my life. You are my sun and my moon, all in one, for I will chase you forever; a single lifetime with you will never be enough.”

And, even though the wolf’s words were making Stiles’ heart lodge in his throat, he forced himself to open his mouth, because he couldn’t imagine leaving that without an answer.

“I —”

“Be it so,” said a distorted feminine voice.

All heads turned towards a newcomer — a woman in dark clothes with long light hair and piercing blue eyes; she would have shined with beauty if not for the hatred and fury in her gaze.

Derek roared, putting himself in front of Stiles and their family. All his senses went overboard; the joy he felt not a second ago disappeared like smoke.

He knew this woman, for she was his unwanted shadow and a dark cloud. It was a witch named Katherine Argent whose advances he rejected long before he even met Stiles. The smell of her lust and greed repulsed him.

It offended her. The famous Derek Hale was the first and only one to reject her, making her a laughing stock. Her resentment grew over the years, turning into a burning hate. Eventually, it became an inferno with the news of the Hale heir courting the Great Spark.

She had to get her revenge. Katherine knew she was no match in power to the Spark, but she had a few spells in her pocket. Small but devastating when done right.

And Derek Hale just sealed his fate.

She raised her hand and fired a spell.

Her appearance was so sudden and unexpected that Stiles who stood behind Derek didn’t have time to raise a shield around his mate.

The light hit Derek right in the chest, making him roar.

“Derek!” Stiles shouted, grabbing him by the arm.

Katherine cackled and threw her arms out, sending everything into chaos.

Flames burst out of nowhere, licking up the walls and sending everyone away. People screamed in fear and agony, stepping over each other to get out and away. The witch stayed in place, smiling and unconcerned about the mayhem she created.

Stiles threw spells at the members of their family, his magic capturing and sending them to a safe location immediately. Once everyone was safe and far, far away, he turned to his mate but froze, unsure of what spell was cast on him. Until he found out exactly what curse laid upon Derek, Stiles couldn’t apply magic on him for fear of interfering with the spell and making everything worse.

“Derek, we have to go,” Stiles begged, tugging at Derek’s arm, but he was no match to Derek’s strength.

“I will kill you,” Derek snarled, staring at Katherine.

“Derek, please,” Stiles cried out, afraid of his determined gaze. “Come with me.”

“She’s a threat to us, to you,” Derek bit out, not looking away from the witch. “She must not take another breath. Go, I’ll find you.”

“No!”

“John,” Derek called his trusted guard who was assigned to Stiles; the man came immediately despite the danger of fire around them. “Take him away.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“No!” Stiles screamed, as he was forcefully pushed away from Derek. “Put me down! Derek, don’t make me leave! We can’t be separated, we can’t!”

His pleas went unanswered, even though every word of his mate’s put stakes into Derek’s heart. He had to force himself not to turn around and gather his mate in his arms, to protect and soothe him. But enough was enough, and Katherine had to die.

Derek rose from his knees, his ears ringing with his mate’s screams as he was carried away. His wolf was howling in agony to return to his Stiles.

Derek didn’t listen. He jumped over the table in one giant leap and landed right on the witch, but Katherine was expecting it. She threw a shield spell, making him slide right off of her to the ground.

However, Derek was a skilled fighter and a faster wolf while Katherine had never really battled in her life. The joy in her eyes quickly turned to fear as she realized she wasn’t fast enough to block all of Derek’s hits.

One, then two swipes, and she went crumbling on the floor, blood gushing out of her open stomach.

The roar of victory split through the flames. But, as it turned out, the last blow wasn’t his at all.

“You know what?” Katherine gasped, as blood poured out of her mouth, wide with a grin. “I won.”

“You’re crazy,” Derek bit out, watching her choke with a strange mix of disgust and satisfaction. “You’ll die soon in agony.”

“Yet you will live in agony,” she croaked clutching at the intestines falling out of the large gash in her torso. “He will forget you. And you will remember… me. Forever.”

And with it, went her last breath. As Derek stared at her glassy unseeing eyes, he felt an overwhelming sense of unease settle over him. What did she mean? Who will forget?

All air left his lungs in one second.

He was a fool.

Derek started to move towards the exit, getting burned by the scorching flames, coughing, and drowning in black smoke.

The fire. It made everyone leave, uncaring of others around them, led by the most basic instinct of survival. None of his other guards stayed, though he didn’t blame them, not when Stiles had sent everyone home.

So why was John still there?

Badly burned, with his skin sizzling and falling off in pieces, Derek burst out of the building and into the darkness. The cold air somehow made it worse on his lungs. All he felt was pain. He managed to take a couple of steps and fall on his knees, unable to move further.

Stiles. He had to get to him. His mate was still somewhere near, he knew it, felt it.

Despite the immense pain and disorientation, Derek gulped down a breath and let out the most raspy and pitiful howl in his life, calling for Stiles. His mate and his only salvation.

Out of nowhere a giant burst of white light that nearly blinded him hit Derek right in the chest. It was something very familiar, calm, and soothing despite being ticklish. Stiles’ magic.

It healed him from the burns that would have disfigured him even with his Werewolf powers and take months to heal. The coolness spread over his body, light, fresh, and healing. In a matter of seconds, he was able to take a breath. Then another.

Once Derek had enough strength, he lifted his head and froze on the spot.

His darling Stiles, the love of his life, was trying his hardest to squirm out of the guard’s hold on the other side of the field.

As his and Derek’s eyes met, both of them realized one thing: Stiles wouldn’t be able to get out. Sparks couldn’t apply offensive magic, and even if they could, Stiles was running low on it already. He transported multiple people far from this place — it would have put a regular Spark in a coma from magic depletion, but Stiles somehow managed to apply healing magic — one of the most difficult and demanding magics to exist — to heal Derek.

Stiles simply wasn’t strong enough anymore to fight a highly-trained guard.

Derek could hear him screaming his name. It dawned on him that the spell had already started working. All he felt while listening to his mate’s screams while he, with all of Stiles’ healing, was unable to get on his feet and run to him, was agony.

Gritting his teeth and grunting from pain, Derek lifted himself on his elbows and dragged his body towards Stiles. He couldn’t look away.

“Stiles,” he whispered. “Stiles.”

He watched, helpless, as John, who looked annoyed at Stiles’ screams, put a hand on his forehead. His lips moved, forming a word that would haunt Derek his entire life.

“Forget.”

His hand lit with a bright red glow.

“Stiles!”

Stiles’ eyes went vacant. In the next second, he went unconscious and pliant in John’s arms.

Derek howled again and again, as loud as he could with the amount of air in his healing lungs. He howled for his mate, for him to wake up and answer the call. To come back.

John looked at him almost pityingly, gathered Stiles’ body in his arms, and disappeared into the dark forest.

It was said that the wolf’s howls were heard many, many miles away from the cursed place that night, filled with pain and loss.

***

“There you go, breathe for me.”

Stiles regained consciousness, heaving short breaths into the crook of Derek’s neck. He felt warm large hands stroking his back, trying to calm him down. Stiles gripped the first thing he found under his fingers, which was Derek’s shirt.

He didn’t expect it to be so brutal — the memories. Stiles still didn’t remember much, if anything, but the experience woke something in him, bringing the scene that Derek showed him to the forefront of his mind, like a long-forgotten dream. Or, rather, a nightmare.

He recalled trying his hardest to stay conscious after sending their family to a safe place, exhausted from the power drain and struggling to escape from the guard’s hold. Stiles remembered feeling Derek’s pain and burns through their bond, raw and scalding, and how he sent every last bit of his magic to Derek with one single order for it to just keep him alive.

“John was her accomplice, he vowed to serve her in exchange for money,” Derek said quietly, just above a whisper, answering the questions burning in Stiles’ mind. “That’s how she got inside that day.”

“Money?..” Stiles rasped, his heart clenching. That’s what it was all about?

“Yes. Not that she gave him any, not really. She granted him the ability to always find a job wherever he went. It is infinite money, technically. She also gifted him with the power of oblivion and made sure that every weapon he took in his hands turned lethal to me.”

“But how?..”

“…I survived?” Derek chuckled darkly. “Because of you.”

Stiles didn’t understand it at first, but then it dawned on him. “When I healed you —”

“Yeah,” Derek sighed and pecked a kiss on the top of the head. “Your last gift to me was keeping me alive. Weres are generally very strong and heal quickly, but you… you made me invincible. I heal instantly from any wound, apart from what John does. The injuries he inflicts on me heal for ages, but the point is that they shouldn’t heal at all.”

Stiles lifted his gaze on Derek’s shoulder — the same spot that several days earlier was open and bleeding. He lifted his finger and traced the hard lines of the muscle, reveling in their wholeness.

To think that there was a time when he was so strong that his one wish granted someone a lifetime of absolute healing power… Unimaginable. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t picture himself being as strong as he was back then.

“What happened after?” Stiles asked carefully. It was obvious from the setting and the clothes they were wearing in the memory that it happened a very long time ago. More than Stiles’ mind could accept.

Derek was silent for some time, then started talking, grim, tired, and almost hopeless.

“I searched for you everywhere and eventually, found you. That’s part of being mates for wolves — I always knew at least vaguely where you were, like some sort of sense.” He breathed deeply, struggling to remember the early days. “When I saw you you didn’t recognize me.”

Stiles’ heart broke from the grief in his voice. He heard the things that Derek wasn’t telling him, like how he probably had to leave their family and pack behind, how the fresh and new bond stretched so painfully thin that he howled every night on the brink of going feral.

“I scared you a lot in the beginning,” Derek confessed, swallowing shame. “I was so desperate to get to you, to take you away from that bastard that I didn’t think how I looked from your perspective. I will never forget the fear in your eyes.” Derek sounded haunted, eyes somewhere far away. Stiles let out a whine and huffed a breath down his neck, calling for his wolf’s instincts in order to calm him. “It became a cycle. Find you, try to persuade you to go with me, get caught by John. He always made you forget, then took you away.”

“Why…” Stiles swallowed a lump down his throat. “Why didn’t you just… get rid of him?”

He still couldn’t comprehend that the man he considered his only family, his blood, his father was not only not that, but also his captor. Stiles knew it now, but what his heart felt was very different.

“Oh, baby,” Derek put his arms firmly around him and pressed Stiles impossibly close. “You think I didn’t try?”

Yeah, he probably did.

“But he made you think he was your father, so trying to kill him wasn’t going to put me in your favor,” Derek explained further, sounding sour. “I know how strong and unfaltering your love is, how loyal you are to the ones you deem yours. In the end, all he needed to protect himself was keeping you close. And no matter how much I wanted to wring his neck, I couldn’t bring you such pain.”

“But what about you?” Stiles’ voice wobbled. He pushed up to look at Derek and immediately hated the grief-stricken somber look on his face.

“What about me?” Derek repeated, frowning slightly.

Staring into his eyes, Stiles was struck by the realization that not once did this impossible man think about himself and just what he had been put through. A mere thought of waking up one day, looking into Derek’s eyes, and finding no recognition there made Stiles choke on his breath. And the wolf had lived through it if not a hundred, then thousands of times.

Stiles’ heart broke. Slow and painful, as if the pieces were being chipped away in torture.

“You were… all alone, for so many years,” Stiles sniffed, tracing the slope of Derek’s bushy eyebrow.

“That’s not true,” the man retorted softly, somehow giving Stiles an encouraging smile. “I’ve had you. If not close to me, then in my heart and always on my mind.”

But that only broke Stiles even more. He remembered his “father’s” words, the coldness of his gaze. “Aren’t you tired?”

“Tired?”

“Of me?” Stiles clarified, his voice thin and hurt. “Of always having to chase after me?”

Derek was silent for a minute, deep in thought as if these things had never even crossed his mind. His eyes traced Stiles’ face, stopping at every mole, even though he probably had their pattern fucking memorized.

“You’ve got to understand that everything I told you that night is still true,” he spoke eventually. “You are my mate; my life is not complete without you. Telling me not to search for you in every corner of this world is like telling me not to breathe.”

Stiles closed his eyes and pressed his cheek to Derek’s just to breathe.

It was so unfair. All of it. To him, to Derek, and both of them as a unit. All they did was love one another and some people didn’t like it, sentencing such a wonderful, devoted, and selfless man to an eternity of pain and loneliness.

“I will never get tired of you, my sun. How could I?” Derek huffed like the mere thought was something extremely ridiculous.

“But I’m not the same person you’ve mated,” Stiles challenged. “I can’t be. I don’t remember anything from our previous life or every other time we’ve met.”

“Just because you don’t share the same memories as me doesn’t mean you’re not the same person. You’re still loyal to the bone, strong, and caring. You’re still you. I just… want to be with you.”

“Me, too,” Stiles murmured. “You know that, right? I know I’m not your Stiles —” Derek opened his mouth to interrupt but Stiles didn’t let him, “but that doesn’t mean I love you any less than he did.”

Suddenly Derek flipped them over, so Stiles was now lying on his back, staring up at him. Derek wore a half-amused, half-exasperated grin, tracing Stiles’ cheekbones with his big fingers.

“First of all, get the thought of some “other Stiles” out of your big head,” he smiled. “With or without your memories, you’re still you. That’s it. You think I haven’t been falling in love with you more and more each time I’ve met you?”

Stiles couldn’t take it anymore. Putting his hands around Derek, Stiles made him lay on him, taking his weight, and kissed him.

He tried his hardest to put everything he felt in that kiss, all his anguish and hurt on Derek’s part, all the love he felt for the wolf, the overwhelming gratitude for not abandoning him and seeking him every time.

Derek made him breathe, fully and freely.

It was a wonder, a miracle that Derek still felt the same, if not more, love for him like in the beginning. Derek’s kisses were tender, but lustful, touches reverent, but possessive. After knowing the full story Stiles felt even more blessed that he was allowed to breathe the same air as him.

“You know what, though?” Derek huffed a laugh after long minutes of making out.

Stiles hummed, trying to concentrate on his words, rather than on the feeling of his lips and tongue.

“It’s so fucking gratifying having you fall in love with me every time, too.”

Stiles couldn’t help but huff at the smug pride in his voice and his self-satisfied cheeky grin. He was still chuckling when Derek decided to speak again.

“There’s the smile,” he murmured gently, tracing Stiles’ lower lip with his finger. Stiles’ cheeks heated from the awe in Derek’s voice. “How can I not fall in love with it over and over again, hmm?”

Fuck, Derek was gone on him. Like, he was truly insane, staring at Stiles as he did now.

“Come here.” Stiles pulled him in by the collar of his shirt and let Derek distract him from dark thoughts still swirling in his mind.

After all, the wolf was very good at making Stiles forget about everything, except for his hands, mouth, and body against his.

***

Stiles’ full proper freak-out happened not long after the revelation, just a couple of days later. It was for the stupidest of reasons, too, which didn’t help with the embarrassment Stiles felt over the whole thing.

They were running low on groceries, having been eating frozen pizzas from Derek’s fridge. It was when Stiles was mindlessly turning pages of the (honestly, very boring) herbology book that Derek announced he was going to go to the store to grab a few things.

Everything in Stiles turned into ice. The pages of the book crinkled from the force of his grip.

No. Derek was going to go out of that door and something bad would happen and how would Stiles know? He would never return and Stiles would lose him again, this time to death. Or somebody will come and make Stiles forget all these things and Derek would be all alone and…

“Stiles.”

Stiles felt something warm press softly to his cheek and immediately grabbed this thing. It appeared to be Derek’s hand. When his eyes finally focused on the real world, Stiles saw Derek kneeling in front of him with the most concerned look on his face.

Stiles didn’t even think when he reached out with his hand and pressed on the wrinkle on Derek’s forehead. The situation would have been funny, except Stiles had big trouble with getting air into his lungs.

Derek wasn’t laughing, either. He instantaneously caught Stiles’ hand in his and put it on his chest, right over his heart.

It was warm. Grounding.

“Love, take a deep breath for me, okay? One, two…”

He continued to guide Stiles on how to breathe for a solid twenty minutes, as he later found out. At the time, all he could concentrate on were the two points of contact from Derek — on his cheek and his hand pressed against the muscled chest.

Derek was incredibly patient, as always. In the end, when it was clear the worst of it was over and Stiles could breathe on his own, he gathered him in his arms. Stiles gripped onto him like a lifeline.

“What happened? What were you thinking about?” Derek asked with a cracked voice.

“Don’t go.”

Derek stilled his hands on his back and sighed deeply. He put his entire face in Stiles’ neck and just breathed.

“I’m so sorry,” he sounded crestfallen, making Stiles’ heart lurch again. “Baby, I’m here. I won’t leave you, of course not.”

“What if they take you? Or take me? What if I forget again, Derek, I don’t want to —”

“No one can take me,” Derek stated firmly; he leaned away from Stiles and took his red face in his hands. “And I will fight for you until my last breath, do you hear me?”

Stiles frowned because something wasn’t right here. He stared into Derek’s eyes, not liking the acceptance there, hidden beneath the bravado.

“You think it will happen, don’t you?”

Derek clenched his jaw but didn’t lower his eyes.

No. It can’t be true. After everything, with Stiles finally learning the truth and having his heart broken, they couldn’t let it happen again. They couldn’t be separated.

“The curse is active, still,” Derek muttered somberly. “It can’t be broken because she used my own words in her curse. She made me a caster of the spell, as well. And as long as the caster lives... It’s an eternity for me, Stiles. Hope left me long ago. It’s living in the moment when I’m with you and remembering the past when you’re gone,” he sighed, forcing a smile. “Don’t worry. Whatever happens, I’ll find you again.”

This was awful. Derek’s absolute acceptance and resignation were soul-wrenching.

But that’s all he knew, wasn’t it? Losing Stiles.

Never in his life, not even in the beginning did he get to keep him. So while John got tired of Stiles, Derek would never do so because he loved him. Instead, he got tired of hoping. It was a circle: Derek enjoyed what little time he got with his mate, then fought tooth and claw to keep him and almost died trying, kept alive by Stiles’ sheer force of will.

But this time was different. This time, Stiles had his magic back.

“Can we not talk about it?” Derek asked suddenly, hiding centuries' worth of pain behind his eyes. He stood up and held a hand towards Stiles, helping him up. “Let’s go together. If we don’t go shopping, I’m going to have to resort to hunting.”

“Bunnies?” Stiles gasped lightly. Derek chuckled.

Both of them knew the conversation wasn’t over despite Derek taking a page out of Stiles’ book and ignoring the problem. Admittedly, it was a sore subject for him, and Stiles was in no condition to push it.

He, however, couldn’t let the worst happen again. Stiles saw that night what losing him did to Derek.

Unfortunately, he already knew what had to be done. And, by the cruel twist of fate, he would have to be the one serving the justice.

***

“You want me to let you go to him?” Derek growled, walking back and forth in the living room in front of Stiles who was leaning on the wall near the bookshelf.

The wolf acted like a caged animal, keeping a mix of panic and fury at bay. He was rubbing a hand through his black hair, barely avoiding ripping it out.

Safe to say, Derek was understandably upset at Stiles’ plan.

“He doesn’t even need to see me, I can do it from a distance,” Stiles insisted.

“I want you as far away from him as possible,” Derek flashed his red eyes. “It always happens, when he’s close to you — that’s how it fucking works!”

“But you’ll be with me!”

“As if that ever made a difference!” Derek bellowed. Stiles pressed himself against the wall, watching fangs spurt out of Derek’s mouth. “He always wins, always takes you away.” He kicked the table so hard it slid on the floor and slammed into the opposite wall.

Both of them stayed silent as Derek fumed with his back turned to Stiles.

Finally, after a few long minutes, Stiles couldn’t see him torturing himself like that anymore. Step by step he closed the distance, walked up to Derek, and hugged him.

Derek looked awful and devastated. Stiles hated himself for being the one to put this expression on such a handsome face.

“I’m asking you to trust me,” Stiles murmured in his shoulder and felt hard muscles relax under his caress. Derek returned his hug, pressing Stiles so close to himself that it was hard to breathe.

“You are the only one I trust, Stiles,” he croaked like his throat was full of glass shards. “It’s the fate that always fucks shit up.”

“It’s an easy spell,” Stiles assured him, smiling hesitantly. “I was the one to write it down, after all.” He glanced at the bookshelf. It was quite a shock to learn that he was the famous author of most of the magic books Derek owned. Apparently, he was some sort of a scholar-wizard back in the day, traveling all over the world and collecting information about magical creatures, spells, and other cool things. Derek just kept translating all his work in hopes that someone (Stiles was sure it was for him) ever needed it.

“Let me have one night,” Derek begged him, grabbing Stiles’ face in his hands and kissing it desperately. “Just one more night with you, please.”

Stiles guided Derek’s lips to his own, accepting the possessive and desperate hunger. Derek clutched at him hard, as if he was afraid Stiles was going to disappear into thin air the moment he let Stiles go.

He probably didn’t believe they were going to be successful, and that he would lose Stiles tomorrow. All because he couldn’t for his life say “no” to him.

Derek wouldn’t listen to any words of reassurance right now, too used to failure and not allowing himself to hope.

Instead, Stiles went pliant and soft, letting Derek gather him up in his arms and put him on the bed. He allowed Derek to take comfort in worshipping his body and do whatever he wanted. He was going to have bruises and hickeys all over his skin as markings of love and lust, but he didn’t care. He intended to wear them with pride.

Stiles would let Derek hide in his arms tonight, but tomorrow their life would change once more. This time, for the better.

***

He looked good. A little bit tired but unbothered, at least at this moment.

Stiles watched his f— John from outside the window of their latest house, with Derek hovering beside him, growling under his breath. Honestly, one wrong move and they would be discovered, mainly because of how unusually fidgety Derek was.

It was a late Wednesday evening, so late that only the youth or dog walkers would think of venturing outside. The neighbors’ houses were unlit and silent, which gave them more chance to remain unseen.

There was still no TV in the living room, so John was sitting in an armchair under the yellow lights reading the newspaper.

Now that Stiles knew everything, a lot of his behavior got a lot clearer; how he didn’t trust or interact with technology, apart from his fascination with the TV; how he always liked to read newspapers because he was used to them from the old ages.

Despite this, a lot of questions were still left unanswered. Like, sure, Katherine’s spell made him find a job in every place but how on earth did he manage to keep it? Where did he get the money for the houses when he spent all his spare time drinking himself to death or stalking Stiles?

Stalking, though, was probably Stiles’ wishful thinking. He saw for himself that this man didn’t give two shits about him. Never did.

There was a time when Stiles thought that they must’ve been happy in his childhood and his father loved him then and that it was just the death of his mother that caused Dad to spiral into drinking and closing off. If Stiles was truly honest, he had never stopped dreaming about his father suddenly coming to his senses and just… showing how much he really cared.

But Dad didn’t. Because this man wasn’t his father.

“I hated him, you know.”

Stiles turned his head to look at Derek who was watching John with undisguised hatred, his brows furrowed and jaw set.

“I figured,” Stiles answered quietly, turning back to the window.

“No, I mean —” Derek let out a frustrated growl. “I despise him for betraying our trust, sure, but… I hate him for making you so fucking sad.”

Stiles had nothing to say to that, even though his heart clenched at hearing those words.

“Every time he was neglecting you,” Derek continued with anger brewing in his voice. “Leaving you to fend for yourself, when you were nearly delirious from memory loss. Each time I met you, you just got more miserable, even though you tried to hide it. You went through thousands of those spells, Stiles. It couldn’t not leave a trace.”

Stiles felt Derek’s gaze on the side of his face but continued to watch the man in the house.

John turned the page and cleared his throat. Like an old man.

“I hate him for making me love him,” Stiles whispered a confession he was so ashamed of. “I hate that I still do.”

“Baby —”

“This is so unfair to you. Just how many times did he hurt you? I know I shouldn’t love him, and he’s a piece of shit and —”

“And he’s the only father you’ve known for a long time,” Derek interrupted quietly. He walked up behind Stiles and wrapped hands around his stomach, pressing his front to Stiles’ back and kissing the back of his head. “You still think of him as your dad. He lied to you, but your feelings… they are real, they can’t be faked. You still love him despite the pain he caused you.”

Stiles stayed silent because Derek already knew what he thought of the matter.

“There is no shame in loving,” said Derek. “And your love is a priceless treasure he doesn’t deserve.”

John turned two more pages before the bitter lump in Stiles’ throat got small enough for him to talk through it.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked in a small voice.

The arms around him grew tighter.

“What can I possibly be mad at you for?” Derek huffed incredulously.

“For doing this? Instead of, you know… Letting you deal with him like you want to.”

There was no secret in Derek’s desire to rip John to shreds. It was a centuries-long wish the wolf was willingly giving up because Stiles said “please”.

“You can take a knife right now and gouge my heart out if it makes you happy,” Derek said simply. “Your wish is my command, you know that. Besides, it is your right to unleash justice upon him.”

It was getting late. They didn’t have much time. Any minute now John would fold his newspaper, turn off the lights, and go into the bedroom where they wouldn’t be able to see him.

Stiles thought about every time he called for his dad and never got the answer; of times when he cleaned up his father’s vomit off the floor just to be ignored in the morning. He remembered the coldness of his eyes, the steadiness of his posture as he fired at Derek, not even listening to Stiles’ begging.

Stiles lifted his hand, put it against the glass, and whispered one word.

His palm lit with an unusual red color. In the next moment, John’s head fell on the headrest with a soft sound. His vacant eyes stared at the ceiling for about five seconds before closing.

There was no John Stilinski anymore.

Stiles didn’t feel any lighter. Or better, or happier.

He slipped out of Derek’s hold without a word and went to the front door. Derek didn’t say anything, nor did he follow him, allowing Stiles to say his final goodbyes as he wanted to. After all, the man in an armchair didn’t pose a threat to them. Not anymore.

Stiles was silent in his approach. He picked up his dad’s newspaper, which had fallen from his slack fingers, and put it carefully on the table. Taking an old threadbare blanket from the back of the couch, Stiles gently put it around the man, tucking in the corners.

His eyes slid over the peaceful features of his father’s face: the deep wrinkles on his forehead, the dark circles, and his short-cropped sandy hair. As usual, the man started to wheeze and sniffle in his sleep. Stiles knew by heart that he would start snoring soon.

He told the old man multiple times to get an orthopedic pillow to cure the snoring. His concerns were ignored, unneeded, and unwanted.

“You’re free,” Stiles said to him, swallowing the bitterness. “Free from me.”

He turned around and walked out of the door.

Derek was already waiting for him right on the porch. Stiles didn’t know what his face looked like but whatever Derek saw there concerned him enough to open his arms in a silent invitation. Stiles pressed his body to Derek, sagging against him, knowing the wolf wouldn’t let him fall.

“Home?” Stiles muttered into Derek’s shoulder, not opening his eyes.

“Anything you want,” Derek replied, lifted his mate up, and took him to the car.

***

In the following days, the news outlets would force headlines about the man with full amnesia waking up in his own home, having no idea who he was. Strangely, no traces of his identity were found, no medical, police, or dental records, and no forms of identification either.

The people of the small town welcomed the stranger with open arms, launching a campaign to find any possible relatives. Needless to say, conspiracy theorists had not just a field day but two months before moving on to another stupid thing.

Similarly enough, there was another curious case of a small group of young people from the tiny town of Beacon Hills, California who had a collective case of sporadic memory loss. They said some instances of the previous months were blurry or completely gone from their minds. The public blamed it on illegal substances and promptly moved on.

***

“What do you want to do?”

Derek pretended to think.

“Make love to you?” he said as casually as possible, making Stiles lose his footing on the tree trunk he had jumped on. Before he fell, however, Derek caught him, because, of course, he did.

“Oof,” Stiles gripped onto Derek’s shirt and looked up, cheeks flushing at his smug expression. “Come on, I’m serious!”

“Who says I’m not?” Derek asked innocently, lifting Stiles in his arms and biting at his neck.

In the months following the most mentally draining period of Stiles’ life (a least of the ones he remembered) they stayed in Beacon Hills. Despite Derek’s earlier wishes to move as soon as they could, neither of them wanted to deal with the stress of doing so, being painfully familiar with it. Instead, they stayed at Derek’s little house, comforting each other, being a gross domestic couple, and christening every surface they could get away with. Safe to say, with Derek’s strength and flexibility, it was a lot.

Stiles had taken to reading, as it soothed his mind and allowed him to disappear from the real world. He continued to work on his magic, though without enthusiasm, much to Derek’s dismay. Unlike Stiles, he remembered the glory of the Spark’s magic and his title of “The Great” and was sad to see the magic so unutilized.

While grateful for everything it’s done, Stiles was still wary of his powers. He didn’t want to cause accidental harm or destroy anything, which Derek attributed to his peaceful nature as a Spark.

Interestingly enough, Stiles found solace in gardening despite having never touched a shovel in his life; he used magic for it, focusing on creating, rather than destroying. The preserve flourished under his practice, which made Derek insanely proud and extremely horny, for some reason.

Though, everything about Stiles made him horny; one time the wolf just stared at him for too long and jumped him right there.

The paranoia was another matter entirely. Years, centuries of constant vigilance and stress would never leave without a trace. Sometimes, Stiles woke up alone in bed in the middle of the night because Derek heard some crunching coming from the preserve and immediately went outside to circle his property like a true wolf.

Stiles decided to just leave him to it since this ritual calmed his protective instincts. Besides, Stiles knew no one would come for them. Strangely he was the one who was absolutely sure of it. Maybe, because he was the one who got to “get rid of” John and others, and Derek never got to do his vengeance.

It would just take time. Time will eventually calm Derek down, and it will heal Stiles’ heart.

All in all, as Stiles found out, they got all the time in the world. Literally.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t part of the curse, despite the witch’s words. It was entirely Stiles’ doing and partially, the bond’s fault.

When Stiles sent his magic to heal Derek that fateful night of the ball, he ordered it to keep Derek alive. What it meant, essentially, was that Derek now couldn’t die and, by the rule of the mating bond, neither could Stiles.

They were stuck in a loop.

Derek assured him that it was something you just get used to, simply because it was human nature to get used to their circumstances. Besides, there was no one to run from or hide. They didn’t have any relatives they would grieve for.

It was just the two of them. All they had was each other. They could travel wherever and whenever they wanted. Partly, because Derek literally had an endless supply of money from investments and savings for hundreds of years. Stiles even got to joking that he landed himself the greatest sugar daddy that ever existed, which often got him into fun sorts of trouble.

The point was that the world was at their feet. Thus, Stiles’ question.

“Derek… mmmhm… not here, there are bugs,” Stiles moaned, closing his eyes at the feel of Derek’s hungry lips and biting teeth at his throat.

“I’ll fight every bug that bothers you,” Derek hummed, leaning away from him with lustful eyes and disheveled hair.

Stiles laughed, leaning against him. “I’d pay to see that.”

They continued walking through the forest, holding their hands just because they felt like it. What a freeing feeling. Well, Stiles was half-sure Derek held his hand because he was afraid of Stiles falling and breaking something, but oh, well.

“So?” Stiles asked again eventually. “Now that you’ve got me, what do you want to do?”

Derek’s answer was surprisingly quick. “Want to court you.”

Stiles couldn’t help but drop his jaw.

It seemed, Derek had thought about it a lot, given how fast he answered.

“But,” Stiles frowned, watching him, “isn’t it what wolves do with their intended? I thought we were already mated?”

Derek pursed his lips.

“Do you remember our mating?” he asked simply.

That shut Stiles up quickly.

“Courting and mating is a huge thing for wolves,” Derek said gently, gripping his hand in reassurance and letting him know it wasn’t something to feel guilty about. “Magical and sacred. I want you to experience it. From your side.”

“But what about you?”

Derek smiled suddenly.

“Oh, I would court you every season if I could,” he smirked as if remembering the last time he did it. “I must say, I know you like the back of my hand, so courting this time…” he chuckled and grinned so wide, that Stiles forgot how to breathe. “Oh, it’s going to be perfect.”

“You don’t need much to knock me off my feet, you know,” Stiles smiled in return at Derek’s enthusiasm. “Just take off your shirt and I’m yours.”

“That easy, huh?”

“Mhm.”

Derek’s grin turned almost feral. His gaze was unfocused, somewhere far away, as if he was already in the midst of planning the courting.

“I want to have a pack,” Stiles blurted out suddenly.

Derek stopped walking. Their intertwined hands were left hanging between them.

Stiles was afraid to look at Derek, or at least very anxious. It was something he thought about at nights, when sleep just wouldn’t come. He would lie on his back, his fingers threading through Derek’s mussed hair with the wolf sleeping on his chest, holding onto Stiles like a giant octopus.

He was absolutely sure that if he started this conversation, Derek would assure him to the best of his abilities that all he needed was Stiles. And for a while, that would definitely be the case. For Stiles, too. They both needed to just live together — long enough for their fears to settle.

“You’re an Alpha,” Stiles murmured cautiously. “You need a pack.”

“You’re my pack,” Derek argued, going tense in the face.

Yep, there it was. The mere idea of letting other people in their lives made him alert, tense, and all sorts of strung up.

Stiles sighed, walking up close to him and leaning the entire weight of his body on Derek, knowing it would calm him like nothing else would.

“I know.”

“I don’t need anyone else,” Derek insisted, glaring at him. He even took Stiles’ chin in his hand, making him meet his eyes as if he wasthat desperate to get his point across. “I don’t want anyone else. I have you.”

And, while it was incredibly nice and heart-warming to hear one more time that he was practically the center of Derek’s universe, that was not the point.

“I know,” Stiles repeated, meeting his desperate gaze. He stood on his toes and kissed Derek softly on his downturned lips. “I would gladly spend an eternity with just you for the company. But I think we both need a pack.”

Derek stayed silent and frowning. Stiles sighed deeply.

“I’m not saying to go recruit someone right now. But sometime in the future. It will be healthy for you as a wolf and for me as someone who was shielded from society and having friends. You, as an Alpha, as a Werewolf, need that clear hierarchy, a support that only exists in numbers. It will calm us down.”

Right now Derek wasn’t going feral for the sole reason of Stiles being there for him. Not that Stiles hurried to die or something, but the pack would definitely reduce the stress on Derek’s magic and make both of them feel secure.

“I can’t,” Derek growled, though not at Stiles. “Not right now.”

“Of course not,” Stiles shushed him, pressing himself to Derek and rubbing his entire face on Derek’s neck.

They stayed like this, scenting each other so that by the end of it Stiles’ entire face and neck were red from Derek’s stubble.

“I know we have to renew our bond,” said Derek, as they started walking again. “But I already know you will be a phenomenal Alpha mate.”

Stiles smiled at the praise, his heart leaping from the warmth and pride in Derek’s voice.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Derek smirked at him. “One thing I’ve yet to witness is you ruling a pack beside me,” he shook his head. “Damn, baby, now that I’m picturing it…” he bit his lip and stared at Stiles with a familiar lustful hunger. Stiles blushed even harder and met his gaze confidently, biting down his smile.

“I recall someone talking about love-making, or am I forgetting something?” Stiles purred, looking up at Derek through his lashes, knowing it would send his Alpha into overdrive real quick.

And, yep, there were those sparkling red eyes.

“No, my sun.” Derek lifted him in his arms lightning quick. Stiles barely managed to grab Derek’s shoulders before falling into breathless laughter against the side of the wolf’s head. “You remember everything right.”