What I Did On My Summer Vacation

by grimm

Chapter 4

Thursday passed quickly; when Stiles came into the library, Laura handed him a stack of flyers to hang around town. When he glanced down at them, he was surprised to see they advertised the town barbecue: noon on Sunday, down at the high school.

“So it’s happening?” Stiles asked Laura.

“Yes?” Laura gave him an exasperated look. “It was your suggestion, doofus.”

“I know,” Stiles said, a little hurt. “I was just surprised it came together so quickly.”

Laura smiled. “It shouldn’t,” she said. “Don’t forget how we all came running to your aid.”

“Oh yeah,” Stiles said quietly, remembering that rush of movement the night Jennifer Blake had taken him, everyone in town running through the trees. Laura’s face softened in sympathy, her hand rising to rest on his shoulder. “Derek called you, right?” Stiles asked her. “That night? He howled.”

Laura nodded. “That’s right.”

“But it was a different kind of howl,” Stiles pressed. “I mean, I’d heard him before, howling out in the woods, but that wasn’t an emergency. No one came running then — as far as I know, I mean.”

“No,” Laura agreed. “There are different kinds of howls. The one he used that night — it’s only for when shit’s going down.”

“Like Susan’s horn in Chronicles of Narnia,” Stiles said.

“Right,” Laura said with a wry smile. “Though I doubt C. S. Lewis would describe her horn that way, but you get it.”

“So how is it that everyone knew to come?” Stiles asked. “Not everyone in town’s a werewolf.”

Laura shrugged. “It’s just one of those things everyone knows about,” she told him. “Like what to do when an air raid siren goes off.”

Stiles stared at her. “So, what, do they have drills in school?”

Laura laughed. “Could be. It’s been a long time since I was in school, sweetheart.” She patted him on the shoulder again and said, “People say they can feel it. I don’t know how true that is because as a wolf I sense it differently, but the pack’s been living on this land for so long that — I don’t know. Maybe we’re more than just protectors by now.” She waved her hand around vaguely. “Maybe it’s - what do you call it? A symbiotic relationship. We help the land and the land helps us.”

“Maybe,” Stiles said thoughtfully. “I wonder if my dad felt it. I’ll have to ask him.” He eyed Laura. “Hey, I’m glad things went well last night.”

Laura smiled almost shyly, looking pleased. “I am too,” she admitted. “It was — a relief.”

“I bet.” Stiles gave her an encouraging smile. “I think he really missed you.”

“I missed him too,” Laura said, her eyes going a little watery. She turned away quickly, waving a hand behind her. “Go hang those up, will you?”

“Sure thing,” Stiles said softly, slipping out of the library before he saw her cry again.

-

As Friday evening rolled around, and another party at Scott’s loomed, Stiles carefully broached the subject to Derek as they stood in the kitchen, washing the dishes from that night’s dinner. Stiles had had the day off work and they’d slept in late, then gone swimming before coming home to make out on the couch like a couple of teenagers for a while. After, they’d collapsed together for a nap until Stiles’ dad got home and made a lot of loud throat-clearing noises as he came through the front door.

“So,” Stiles said slowly, accepting a wet plate Derek handed him, wiping it dry. “It’s Friday.”

“Correct,” Derek replied, sounding amused. “And?”

“I’m going to Scott’s tonight.”

Derek shrugged. “Okay.”

“You don’t have to lurk around in the woods,” Stiles told him, wiping down a cup.

Derek shrugged again. “I won’t. I found some board games in your closet. I think your dad will play with me.”

“Well you can — wait,” Stiles frowned. “What were you doing in my closet?”

“Looking for clothes last week,” Derek replied, bumping their hips together. “Sorry.”

Stiles shook his head. “It’s fine, I — look, no, I didn’t mean you had to come back here tonight. You should come to Scott’s. I mean, if you’re ready.”

Derek stilled, his pale eyes falling on Stiles.

“You don’t have to,” Stiles said hurriedly. “Obviously. I just thought, since seeing Laura went so well the other night, that maybe you’d like to see the rest of the pack. Think about it,” he added hurriedly. “You’ve got a couple of hours to decide.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Stiles repeated.

Derek nodded. “I’ll think about it.”

“Oh!” Stiles said, a little surprised. “Awesome.”

Derek nodded again, leaning into Stiles’ space to absently brush his nose against Stiles’ cheek before moving back and returning his attention to the dishes in the sink.

After they’d finished in the kitchen, Derek disappeared upstairs to take a shower and Stiles collapsed onto the couch to watch television. His dad was outside, doing God knows what to the Jeep. Stiles could change the oil if pressed and that was about it, but his dad had been on an eternal quest to fix “that rattle” the Jeep had had since Stiles’ mom had owned it. He gave it another try every couple of months. Stiles had to give him an A for effort, especially since “that rattle” was a Tic-Tac box full of BB gun pellets Stiles had jammed beneath the floor panel shortly after he’d turned sixteen and his dad had fixed the original rattle. His dad had looked so bummed about not having a reason to tinker with it that Stiles had to do something. He moved the box around a couple times a year, making it impossible to pin the rattle down to one part of the car. Stiles could hear his dad outside, cursing happily as he dug around in his toolbox.

As Stiles shifted around on the couch, rearranging himself for the hundredth time, he managed to kick the remote off the arm of the couch, sending it skittering onto the floor. Stiles groaned, forcing himself upright to bend over the arm and pick it back up. As he straightened, about to fall back onto the couch, Stiles glanced out the window into the backyard and paused. There was an all-too familiar figure standing in the shadow of the trees by the garden, staring toward the house — Peter Hale.

Stiles swallowed, sinking back onto the couch slowly. He was safe inside the house, he was almost certain, but his dad was outside, armed only with a toolbox full of various-sized wrenches. Derek was upstairs, but he was still in the shower; Stiles wouldn’t be able to call to him — or his dad — without Peter hearing. If he moved, he risked the chance of losing sight of Peter and there was no telling where he’d disappear to next. If he was willing to go after Derek or Stiles, he might go after Stiles’ dad, too.

Stiles’ eyes flickered around the room. He didn’t think he could go after Peter himself. He had no idea what was needed to take down a werewolf — he was belatedly realizing he probably should have asked by now. He remembered Scott saying wolfsbane was poisonous, but the only wolfsbane he had was out in the garden next to Peter and what was he supposed to do, anyway? Shove it down his throat? Stiles was not a fighter, he was a strategist.

His eyes landed on his little book of spells and a light bulb went off inside his head. There was something he could do. Stiles peered cautiously over the back of the couch; Peter still stood at the edge of the yard, gazing at the house. He sunk back down and carefully drew a couple of runes in the air — magic pulsed from the end of his finger, trailing gold light where his finger moved, so when his hand fell back to his side, four shimmering runes hung in the air before him. Stiles hesitated; he hadn’t practiced this spell, but it’d caught his eye as something that might be useful someday. He hoped it’d work and shut his eyes, concentrating hard to ingrain his message in the spell. Dad, come inside. Peter Hale’s in the backyard. Stiles made an abrupt sweeping gesturing with his hand and he felt the magic take, zipping off toward the front of the house. A couple seconds later, he heard the clatter of a dropped wrench and his dad swearing, his voice growing louder as it approached the house.

Stiles grinned and shot a second message off to Derek: Peter’s in the backyard. There was a startled thump from upstairs and Stiles grinned again, sending one last message off as Derek came rocketing down the stairs, naked as the day he was born, eyes burning scarlet and his face in the full beta shift. This final message was to Peter and it said, You’re in for it now, you fucking creep.

His dad came through the front door just as Derek went slamming out the back, breaking it off its hinges for the third time that summer. Stiles peered over the back of the couch in time to see him sprinting across the backyard, long bare legs flashing over the grass. He couldn’t see Peter any longer, but he’d probably run away already; Stiles certainly wouldn’t have stuck around if there was a naked alpha werewolf stampeding toward him.

“Was that Derek?” his dad asked from the doorway, looking a little dazed.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, still staring out the window at the now-empty backyard. “Are you gonna call your cavalry?”

“No,” his father said, coming to stand by the couch, peering out the window. “Hasn’t worked so far. My guys aren’t quick enough.” They both jumped as a howl rose from the trees, low and furious. “What was that you did? I heard you in my head.”

Stiles shrugged, watching the woods worriedly. He wondered if he should call Laura, but then he remembered what she’d said about the different types of howls; if Derek needed help, he’d call for it. “It was just a spell.”

“Quick thinking,” his dad said, ruffling his hair.

Darkness had partially fallen before Derek returned. Stiles and his dad were in the kitchen, attempting to fix the back door, when his dad nodded and said, “Heads up.” Stiles, who was leaning his weight against the door while his dad drilled the hinges back into place, looked through the window panel to see Derek coming up the backyard fast. His face was still shifted, bare body smeared with dirt like he’d fallen. He looked pissed.

“You might want to step back,” Stiles said to his dad, who raised his eyebrows.

“I’m the one with conflict-resolution training,” his father said, but he backed away into the living room as Derek hopped up onto the porch. Stiles opened the door before Derek could knock it off its hinges again, though he himself was almost knocked off his feet as Derek bowled into him, pressing him up against the wall. Stiles’ dad, looming in the doorway to the living room, stepped forward, a hand going to his belt like he’d forgotten he wasn’t wearing his gun, but Stiles held up a hand to stop him. He waited for his dad to step back before turning his attention to Derek, who’d shoved his face into the crook of Stiles’ neck, his breathing ragged. One of his hands cupped the back of Stiles’ head and Stiles could feel the tips of his claws pricking against his scalp.

“Hey, buddy,” Stiles said, carefully patting Derek on the back. His skin felt too warm, sticky with sweat. “You okay?”

Derek took a deep breath before exhaling, his breath hot against Stiles’ throat. After a moment, he nodded.

“Okay,” Stiles said, glancing over at his dad. “I’m guessing you didn’t catch Peter.”

“Lost him,” Derek said hoarsely. He lifted his head and Stiles was relieved to see his features had melted back to human, though his eyes still burned red. “Are you okay?”

“Right as rain,” Stiles assured him. “I don’t think he even knew I noticed him. Dad’s the one who was outside.”

“Oh,” Derek said, his eyes flickering over to Stiles’ dad, who nodded at him.

“We’re all okay here,” Stiles’ dad told Derek. “Now, maybe you’d like to go put some clothes on.”

Derek glanced down at himself; he didn’t seem all too concerned about his nakedness, but he nodded and brushed past the both of them, heading upstairs. Stiles’ dad gave Stiles a pointed look.

“What?” Stiles asked.

“He listens to you.”

Stiles shrugged. “I’m his emissary.”

His father gave him a long look before turning to grab a beer from the fridge. “You’re more than that.”

Stiles grinned. “I know.”

When Derek came back downstairs, freshly showered for the second time, and dressed in a t-shirt and basketball shorts, he plunked himself down on the couch half on top of Stiles, shifting around until he could press his face into Stiles’ neck again. Stiles didn’t mind in the slightest; he wrapped an arm around Derek’s shoulders and slouched down against the couch cushions, comfortable. He had a feeling that Derek’s behavior had something to do with the wolf’s instincts — a desire to keep his pack safe, maybe — and to be able to touch Stiles was reassuring. If it wasn’t and Derek just wanted to be close to him, then that was perfectly fine too. They had an hour or so to kill before heading to Scott’s house, and if that hour was spent with Derek curled around him like an octopus, Stiles could think of worse.

“Derek,” Stiles’ dad said, and Derek lifted his head. “We need to do something about Peter. We can’t have him showing up like this.”

“I know,” Derek said quietly. “I’ve been thinking about it.”

“Any ideas?” Derek shook his head and Stiles’ dad sighed. “Well, if you think of something, let me know. My deputies are at your disposal.”

“Thank you,” Derek said politely, dropping his head back to Stiles’ shoulder with a soft sigh. Stiles patted his shoulder.

Later when it was time to head to Scott’s, Stiles gently shook Derek, who’d fallen asleep with his head tucked under Stiles’ chin. “I’m going to Scott’s now,” Stiles told him. “You coming?”

“I’ll walk you,” Derek said sleepily, forcing himself upright.

“You guys be careful,” Stiles’ dad said from his recliner. “After this evening — ”

“We’ll be fine, Dad,” Stiles said, clapping his hand to Derek’s shoulder. “Derek’s got his scary alpha mojo.”

Derek gave him an injured look. “That’s not what it’s called.”

Stiles grinned as he pushed Derek toward the door. “Stop pouting; you look like an underwear model.”

The road was quiet; only one car passed them on the walk to Scott’s house — the old lady who grew cannabis on Ferne Lane, who waved cheerily. “She’s probably high right now,” Stiles said to Derek, who snorted and took Stiles’ hand. Stiles squeezed his fingers and hummed happily as they walked along. He should have been nervous, he supposed, since it’d only been a couple of hours since he’d seen Peter Hale lurking in the trees, but he felt safe with Derek — he always had.

“Hey,” Stiles said thoughtfully, the memory of Peter Hale stirring up another memory. “Question. How do you kill werewolves?”

Derek gave him was Stiles assumed was an exasperated look, though it was hard to tell in the dim light of the quarter moon. “Why? Are you planning on taking me out?”

“Oh, I want to take you out all right,” Stiles said cheerfully, swinging their hands. He sobered a little. “I was just wondering. In case I have to protect myself from one.”

“Peter,” Derek guessed gloomily, and Stiles nodded. “We’re not invincible, Stiles.”

“No,” Stiles agreed, because there’d been the fire, after all. “But you are superhuman.”

“I guess,” Derek sighed. His hand tightened around Stiles’. “Our healing abilities mean that something that would kill a human probably wouldn’t kill us — a stab wound, a gunshot wound pretty much anywhere other than the head.” He sighed again. “My dad told me once that back in college he’d been stabbed through the chest with a lead pipe, but I don’t know if he was lying or if he was just drunk.”

“So, what would kill you?” Stiles asked with a slight shudder.

Derek tilted his head, considering this. “Anything that occurs too quickly to recover from. A car crash, maybe. Drowning. Certain types of wolfsbane can be deadly in the right quantity. Hunters use wolfsbane bullets. It slows our healing abilities, so any major wound could kill us if we’ve already been poisoned.”

“Hunters,” Stiles said slowly. “Like Allison’s family?”

“Yeah,” Derek said slowly. “They’re most of the reason why we keep this town’s secrets so…”

“Secret?” Stiles offered.

Derek nodded. “Yeah.” They walked a couple hundred feet in silence before Derek said, “Allison’s family — they’re well known in Europe.”

“But Allison’s not a hunter, right?” Stiles asked. “I mean, that’d make things pretty awkward with Scott.”

“No.” Derek shook his head. “My mom made a deal with Allison’s father — our families would coexist in peace, and Chris acts as a lookout; if there are hunters in the area, he’ll hear about it and let us know.”

“So, Allison’s dad used to be one? But he’s retired.”

“You could say that,” Derek shrugged. “Though I’m sure he had a large part in helping drive Peter out of town after the fire.”

“And that bullet Allison gave you,” Stiles said slowly. “A token from him? For a continued alliance?”

Derek nodded again. “Oh,” Stiles said, squeezing his hand. “Good.”

“If Allison ever invites you over, you should go,” Derek told him. “I think you’d like their library.”

“Oh yeah?” Stiles hummed. “Maybe I should get us a dinner invite. That sounds like something an emissary would do, right? Arrange a meeting between the alpha and his ally?”

Derek probably rolled his eyes. “If that’s what you want.”

Stiles tugged him to a halt as they reached Scott’s house. Derek turned to look at him and Stiles said seriously, “All I want is for you — and, by extension, this town — to be happy again.”

Derek stood silent for a long moment before lifting a hand, cupping Stiles’ cheek. “I am happy,” he said quietly.

Stiles grinned and leaned forward to kiss Derek, a thrill running through him at the easy way Derek’s mouth opened for his, the way Derek bit at his lip before they pulled apart. “So, what do you say?” Stiles breathed. Derek was still close, their foreheads almost touching. “Are you going to come inside?”

Derek lifted his head to stare past him at Scott’s house, all the windows lit with welcoming golden light. Derek’s hand gripped harder at Stiles’.

“You don’t have to,” Stiles told him. “But the pack won’t be unhappy to see you, I promise.”

Derek pulled in a slow breath. “Okay,” he said.

“Yeah?” Stiles asked, brightening. “You sure?”

“Yes,” Derek said shortly, tugging him forward. “Let’s get inside.” Before I chicken out hung unspoken in the air between them, but Stiles had faith in Derek. They walked quickly down the driveway and up the porch steps, and Stiles pushed open the front door so they could step inside and kick off their shoes. He could hear his friends’ voices in the living room, loud and raucous, and he knew they were probably faking it because unless all the wolves were very drunk already, he was absolutely sure they knew Derek was in the house. It was kind of them, he thought, not to rush at Derek, but give Stiles time to lead Derek down the hall — Derek’s hand, now kind of clammy, still clenched around his. They paused in the doorway to the living room and Stiles knew the betas were all pretending not to see them; he caught the way Boyd’s eyes flickered over to them, and Scott, his arm around Allison, was way too stiff as he talked to Isaac.

“Hey, guys,” Stiles said casually, as Derek’s hand clamped down on his so hard it kind of hurt. “Look who I found out on the road.”

Everyone turned to look at him and Derek — at Derek, really, not Stiles, though Scott met his eyes and smiled faintly. Stiles nodded back and looked at everyone else’s faces — he saw nervousness, happiness, even tears shining in Erica’s eyes, but no hatred or disappointment. He hoped Derek noticed.

Scott, good host that he was, got to his feet slowly, eyes on Derek. “Hey, man,” he said cautiously. “Welcome back.”

“...Thank you,” Derek said after a short pause, taking a nervous half-step closer to Stiles.

“Can I get you something?” Scott gestured toward the kitchen.

“No, thank you,” Derek said politely.

Stiles cleared his throat. “I’ll take a beer, please.”

Scott grinned and headed toward the kitchen, but he paused in front of them, offering his hand out to Derek. Derek stared at it. Stiles wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it: all his friends, staring silently at Derek while he watched Scott’s hand like it was a viper about to strike. After a long moment, Derek reached out and clasped Scott’s hand firmly and Scott beamed so brightly it was like the sun had risen twice that day.

Derek shaking Scott’s hand seemed to break the floodgates open; the rest of the pack got to their feet, Isaac and Boyd approaching cautiously, while Erica marched right up to Derek. Stiles felt him tense — he himself wasn’t sure what Erica was about to do; she looked like she might slap him — but then she threw her arms around Derek’s torso with a happy cry of “You’re back!”

Derek looked at Stiles, absolutely bewildered. Stiles knew he couldn’t believe that he’d be welcomed back so easily — surely there must be another shoe about to drop — but then Isaac and Boyd crowded in as well and Lydia, laughing, pulled Allison off the couch to join in the group hug. Stiles could see the moment Derek gave in, his head dropping forward, all the lingering tension draining from his body.

“Here, man,” Scott said, appearing next to Stiles to hand him a beer. He nodded toward the huddle of bodies. “You gonna get in on that?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Stiles said, cheerfully accepting the beer and turning to worm his way in between Lydia and Boyd. He couldn’t have said how long they all stood there together, warm bodies pressed together on a too-hot summer evening, but it didn’t matter because when they finally all pulled apart, Isaac muttering about how much he needed to pee, Derek was different. He looked exactly the same, but there was something about him that just felt right, like before this evening something inside him had been missing and now it had been found. It had, Stiles thought fondly, Derek’s hand slipping back into his as they settled crosslegged on the floor. Derek had found his family.

It was a good evening. Conversation was a little awkward; no one wanted to ask Derek any questions about his five-year absence, and Derek didn’t seem to know what to say to anyone, but the pack happily filled him in on their lives and Derek listened intently, his eyes bright and interested. He relaxed more and more as the evening wore on, leaning heavily against Stiles, nodding when Scott offered again to grab him a drink. The most serious things got was when Boyd leaned over and said, “Did something happen earlier?”

“We heard you howl,” Erica added.

Derek shook his head, a dark look crossing his face. “Peter.”

That seemed to be explanation enough; Isaac made a face and Erica muttered, “That guy’s the worst.”

By the time Melissa came home from her late-night shift to break up the party, everyone was tipsy and happy and Derek didn’t even look confused when Melissa gave him a quick hug. Boyd, designated driver of the evening, offered them a ride back to Stiles’ house but as his car was already crammed with Erica and Lydia and Isaac, Stiles waved off his offer. He and Derek walked back to the house instead, hand-in-hand. They didn’t speak; Stiles wanted to give Derek the time to process the evening before he started asking nosy questions.

The house sat quiet when they got back; it was past two in the morning, Stiles’ dad long since gone to bed. They climbed the stairs quietly, but before Stiles could throw himself in bed, Derek caught him around the waist, reeling him in close.

“Hey,” Stiles said, a little surprised.

“Hey,” Derek echoed quietly. “Thank you.”

“How’s it feel?” Stiles asked him, lifting his arms to fold around Derek’s shoulders.

Derek leaned into him, pressing their mouths together for a long, slow kiss. When they pulled apart, he didn’t go far, pressing their foreheads together. “I feel,” he said slowly, “whole.”

“Good,” Stiles whispered.

“I’ll never be able to thank you enough,” Derek told him softly.

“You don’t need to,” Stiles said. “Just get this town healthy again. That’s all I need.”

Derek snorted softly, his hands slipping under Stiles’ shirt, thumbs pressing against the jut of his hipbones. “That’s all you need?” he asked, his voice dropping low.

“Derek Hale,” Stiles said, grinning widely. “Are you flirting with me?”

Derek laughed, a rich, happy sound Stiles could do with hearing a lot more of. “And if I am?”

“Then I’m going to ask you to continue,” Stiles told him, tilting his chin up to catch Derek’s mouth. He could feel Derek smiling, his hands warm and steady at Stiles’ hips.

“You don’t want to hear my bad pickup lines,” Derek murmured, biting at Stiles’ jaw.

“Don’t — don’t need to,” Stiles sighed. He tugged them away from the door until the backs of his calves hit the bed and he sat down, grinning up at Derek. “You already got me.”

Derek reached out a hand, fingers brushing Stiles’ cheek. His voice was much softer, almost a whisper, when he asked, “Are we something, then?”

Stiles blinked up at him. “Yeah. I mean, if you want to be.”

“Good,” Derek said softly. He dropped down onto the bed next to Stiles. “I do.”

Stiles grinned as he settled back against the bed, Derek shifting to kneel over him. “This has been a good day,” he said, lifting his hands to card them through Derek’s soft hair.

He saw Derek’s teeth glint white in the dim light of the room as he smiled. “Yeah,” Derek breathed, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Stiles’ temple. “It really has.”

-

Stiles woke to someone jabbing him repeatedly in the arm with what was either their finger or a penknife, and he cracked open his eyes to see Laura standing over him, her eyebrows raised so high they were in danger of disappearing into her hair. “Noooo,” Stiles groaned. “Not you.” He flipped onto his stomach and attempted to hide himself under Derek, who grunted irritably. Laura smacked him between the shoulder blades.

“Get up, asshats,” she said impatiently. “It’s eleven-thirty. The barbecue starts at noon. Half the town’s already at the school.”

Derek pried himself up onto one elbow, squinting blearily at Laura with his hair flattened on one side. “What barbecue?”

Laura rolled her eyes. “Jesus, Stiles, you didn’t tell him?”

“Forgot,” Stiles mumbled. His head hurt; he didn’t remember drinking that much the previous night.

Laura heaved a sigh. “The town’s hosting a barbecue so we can address everyone and try to find that stupid thing for the ritual.” She tilted her head, giving Derek a considering look. “That okay?”

“Fine,” Derek sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He looked up at Laura. “I saw the pack last night.”

“I heard,” Laura said, giving him an encouraging smile. “I’m proud of you.” She folded her arms over her chest and continued, “Well, I’ll be downstairs. You guys need to get a move on.”

Stiles listened to her tread down the stairs before looking sleepily at Derek. “Morning, I guess. Sorry that got sprung on you.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Derek mumbled, leaning in to rub his nose along Stiles’ cheek. “Gotta happen sometime.”

Stiles patted his hair absently, shifting around uncomfortably; he didn’t have a shirt on, but he was still wearing his jeans, and they’d left imprints on his hips. “Did I fall asleep on you?” He had a vague memory of Derek hovering over him, mouth hot on his neck, but not much further.

“Yes,” Derek said, looking as though he wanted to laugh. “You’re going to be pissed at me.”

“Why?” Stiles asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes at Derek as he pulled himself out of bed. Derek just lifted a hand and waved him out of the room. Stiles headed for the bathroom, pausing along the way to grab aspirin out of the hall closet, and froze when he stepped into the bathroom, eyes snapping to his reflection in the mirror, and the ring of dark bruises around his collarbone. He prodded at them angrily. Hickies. “You dick!” Stiles hollered. He could hear Derek laughing from his room, and climbed into the shower, grinning; he couldn’t be annoyed with Derek, not when he sounded so happy.

Once clean and dressed, he went downstairs to find Derek and Laura sitting on the front steps, drinking coffee. “Breakfast?” he asked hopefully.

Laura rolled her eyes at him. “We’re going to a barbecue, Stilinski. Your hunger can hold off another ten minutes.”

Still, as they headed for their respective cars, Derek quietly pushed a granola bar into Stiles’ hand. “Knew you’d be hungry.”

“Dude,” Stiles sighed gratefully, unwrapping the bar and shoving half of it into his mouth. “I love — ” He cut himself off, swallowing before floundering, “granola bars.” He’d almost said I love you, which was something he said to everyone with little care, but now that he and Derek were together, saying it took on a whole other meaning he didn’t quite mean. Not yet, anyway. Derek glanced at him and then away; if he noticed Stiles’ near slip-up, he didn’t say anything.

They followed Laura across town to the high school, where the parking lot was quickly filling with cars; Stiles’ dad was directing traffic, though when he spotted Stiles and Derek he waved them toward the front of the lot, where a couple of spaces had been marked as reserved. “Oh, look at that,” Stiles grinned. “VIP status, man.”

“Who’s the important one here?” Derek asked lightly, and looked like he was holding back a smile when Stiles sputtered angrily at him.

“Come on, losers,” Laura said, appearing suddenly at Stiles’ window and making him jump in surprise. “Everyone’s hungry.”

“Me too,” Stiles said fervently, clambering out of the car. The granola bar had been enough to tide him over, but he was a bottomless pit when it came to food.

It was a bright day, sky a brilliant blue, not a cloud in sight — hot, but a cool breeze blowing in from the north that made things bearable. Laura walked ahead of Stiles and Derek, waving and calling out to people she knew. Derek stuck close to Stiles’ side; he didn’t pull away when Stiles linked their fingers together. “You okay?” he murmured.

“I’m okay,” Derek breathed, his head turning from side to side to watch the crowd, all heading for the barbecue laid out on the lacrosse field. There were a lot of people staring at them, but most were smiling; Stiles saw parents leaning down to talk to their kids, pointing at Derek. Explaining who their alpha was, he figured.

“‘S okay to be nervous,” Stiles told Derek, squeezing his hand. “There’s a lot riding on this.”

“I’m not nervous,” Derek replied quietly. “I’ve got you.”

Stiles’ face flushed hot. In front of them, Laura glanced over her shoulder at him, casting him a wicked grin. Stiles flushed darker, knowing she’d heard.

Laura led them to the back of the bleachers, where Finstock and the town council were standing around, chatting. “Hale!” Finstock roared jovially, catching sight of them. He appeared to be a little drunk. “Beer?”

“No, thank you,” Derek said solemnly.

“Good man.” Finstock blinked, swaying a little. “Is it time?”

“It is noon,” Laura said reproachfully, glancing at her phone.

“All right, all right,” Finstock said. He squinted at Derek. “You want to address the masses?”

“No,” Derek said, looking alarmed.

“Fine, then you get to play governor's wife,” Finstock grunted, navigating his way around the bleachers.

“What the hell does that mean?” Derek hissed as they all followed Finstock into the middle of the lacrosse field. There were people all around, sitting on the bleachers and on the field itself; some people had brought blankets, and they all looked happy. Everyone shifted to watch as they stepped out onto the field and Stiles didn’t miss the way Derek’s cheeks went a little pink.

Laura leaned in. “I think it’s when politicians have those sex scandals, you know? Their wives are always standing in the background, looking angry.”

Derek groaned quietly as Finstock stopped dead in the middle of the field and passed his beer to the councilwoman May, then fished a microphone out of his pocket. “Afternoon!” he bawled into it, and the speakers around the edge of the field squealed. Derek and Laura both winced. “Thanks for coming out today, everyone. I want to thank Maurice’s Diner for providing us with our meal today.” There was a polite round of applause from around the field before Finstock continued. “As you may have gathered, you’ve all been brought here today for a reason — our alpha is back! Derek Hale, everyone!” Finstock clapped his hand against Derek’s shoulder and the field erupted into applause. Stiles caught sight of Scott and the rest of the pack, sitting up at the top of the bleachers, stamping their feet and howling. Derek didn’t seem to know what to do, his expression caught somewhere between a scowl and a hesitant smile. Stiles grinned.

As the applause died down, Finstock raised his microphone again and said, “Now, we need your help. Derek, you want to explain?” He shoved the mic into Derek’s hands, who stared down at it, bewildered, until Laura took pity on him and leaned in, jerking out of his hands again.

“Hey, everyone,” she said smoothly. “As most of you know, in order for the town to thrive, the alpha must perform a ritual each year. We’ve got our alpha and we know the ritual, but we’re missing something else, and we need your help finding it. The problem is, we don’t know what it is. All we know is that it’s something that was in our family for a long time. I need you all to think — did my mother ever give you anything, either as a gift or maybe for safekeeping? Did you ever find anything around town or in the woods, particularly near the nemeton? We can’t do the ritual until we find this thing, whatever it is, and if we don’t — ” Laura paused, clearly hesitant to drop the heavy news, but then she breathed in deep and continued, “If we don’t find it, the town’s just going to get worse and worse.”

There came a low murmuring from the crowd, concerned faces turning to look at one another. Laura sighed and raised the microphone once more. “Please, everyone, just think about it, and if you’ve got an ideas, let us know.”

She handed the microphone back to Finstock, who shouted, “All right, folks, you heard the woman! Queue up if you’ve got any leads! Now, feel free to help yourself to lunch!”

“Thank you,” Derek said quietly to Laura, who patted him on the shoulder.

“Come on, baby brother,” she said. “Let’s get some food.”

It took a while to reach the buffet line; pretty much everyone they passed wanted to talk to Derek, to shake his hand, or tell him how happy they were he was back, and Derek stopped to listen to every single person, his expression growing more relaxed with every greeting. Stiles smiled to himself as he watched Derek crouch to listen to a little girl, Laura chatting cheerfully with her parents.

“Hey, Stiles!” He turned to see Scott bounding up, a grin on his face.

“Hey!” Stiles greeted brightly. Derek and Laura moved on, but he remained where he was, watching the crowd part and swell around them.

“Any luck yet?”

“I don’t think so,” Stiles laughed. “It’s only been like five minutes.” He watched a thin man step up to Derek and shake his hand, pale blue eyes almost white in the sunlight. “Hey, that’s Allison’s dad, right?”

“Mmhmm,” Scott nodded. “And Allison’s mom. She ran for mayor against Finstock.”

Stiles watched a lithe woman with short red hair step up next to Allison’s dad, smiling icily at Derek. “She looks terrifying.”

“She is,” Scott agreed cheerfully.

“Future in-laws, you think?” Stiles asked carefully.

Scott beamed at him. “I hope so.”

Stiles laughed. “Good luck, man.”

“Thanks,” Scott grinned. “Hey, so, we were thinking that we might go to the beach tomorrow. You and Derek want to come?”

“What beach?” Stiles asked. “Isn’t it like four hours to the ocean?”

“Yeah,” Scott agreed, “but Lake Shastina’s only an hour and a half west.”

Stiles shrugged, looking back to find Derek, but he’d disappeared into the crowd. “Sure, man. I’ll ask Derek. I don’t know how busy this whole search is going to keep us, though.”

“Oh,” Scott said, his face falling a little. “That’s true. Do you think — is there anything we can do to help?”

“I dunno, Scotty,” Stiles sighed. “You wouldn’t know anything about this whole mess, would you?”

Scott frowned thoughtfully up at the clear blue sky. “I don’t think so,” he finally admitted. “Laura’s talked about all this stuff so much that I’m not sure my memory’s all that reliable. I mean, Talia never gave me anything, not even the bite.”

“Not exactly tangible any more,” Stiles said ruefully.

Scott bumped up against him, smiling encouragingly. “We’re gonna find it, dude. You’re on a roll.”

“A roll?” Stiles repeated. “What does that mean?”

Scott shrugged. “I don’t know. You brought Derek back, and you know what the ritual is — you have to find the object. Good things come in threes, right?”

“I think that’s bad things,” Stiles corrected quietly. He certainly hoped Scott had a point, but he also knew he couldn’t count on his good luck to keep coming.

“Don’t worry about it, man,” Scott said, unperturbed, and linked their arms together. “Let’s get some food.”

“Yes,” Stiles said fervently, his hunger momentarily forgotten in the excitement.

Scott pulled him toward the long tables of food, where they loaded their plates with hotdogs and hamburgers, corn on the cob and pasta salad. Stiles stood on the tips of his toes as they left the line, craning his neck over the crowd, trying to spot Derek.

“He’s over by the bleachers,” Scott said, then tapped his nose with a wink when Stiles looked at him curiously.

“Bless you and your keen senses,” Stiles simpered and Scott laughed, hip-checking him roughly. Derek and Laura sat on the lowest level of the bleachers, already accompanied by some of the pack; Boyd and Erica sat up behind them, Boyd grimacing as Erica tried to feed him veggies and dip. Lydia sat next to them, head resting on her hand while she scrolled through her phone.

“Quite the ragtag team of betas you’ve got yourself,” Stiles said to Derek, dropping down next to him. Scott sat down on his other side, digging into his food hungrily.

Derek rolled his eyes. “Can’t choose your family,” he said, and when Laura made a cooing noise, he glared at her and added, “Unfortunately.” Laura kicked him.

-

They hung around at the high school for almost three hours, watching the crowd slowly dwindle. Few people approached them; a couple had memories of a gift from Talia, and they promised to stop by the house later, but mostly it was just sitting around. Stiles didn’t mind. It was a nice day, and after they’d served barbecue, they laid out materials for ice cream sundaes and didn’t seem to care that he came back for seconds, and then thirds, and then fourths. Derek eyeballed him hard.

“Is that disgust I see?” Stiles asked, patting his stomach contentedly. “Gotta eat it when I can get it, big man. My dad’s not allowed to have this kind of stuff.”

Derek snorted. “Doesn’t seem to be stopping him,” he said, nodding across the field. Stiles squinted; his dad stood over by the scoreboard with a bunch of his deputies, and they were all holding ice cream sundaes.

“Oh, he’s gonna get it,” Stiles hissed. “That sneak.”

“He works hard,” Derek said, sounding amused. “Let him have a reward.”

“I guess,” Stiles grumbled, his eyes drifting to the middle of the field, where the pack had scrounged up lacrosse sticks and were playing a game. Apparently all the guys had been on the team when they were in high school, but it seemed they’d gotten rusty; the girls were kicking their asses, even though Lydia was in heels. Finstock, their old varsity coach, stood on the edge of the field, yelling advice to his former players. “Wanna play?” Stiles asked Derek. Stiles had never been much of a sports guy himself — he’d been a sit at home and play WoW type of guy — but he suspected Derek had played sports in high school.

Derek hesitated. “I don’t think I should.”

“Why?” Stiles cajoled, getting to his feet. “You’re not going to hurt anyone. It’ll be good for team-building.”

Derek looked unsure of that, but he still climbed to his feet, following Stiles out onto the field. They rearranged the teams, trying to make things as equal as possible: Stiles, Lydia, Boyd, and Derek, with Scott, Isaac, Erica, and Allison on the other, while Laura catcalled from the bleachers.

They had fun, running and shouting and laughing under the bright afternoon sun. The wolves were rougher with each other, not at all hesitant to bodyslam one another into the ground. Allison was fast; Stiles saw her do a couple of flips over the other players he was pretty sure even a gymnast couldn’t handle. Lydia wasn’t as physically fast, but she could calculate plays like lightning, calling out moves to the rest of them. They ended in a tie, collapsing onto the field in a sweaty mess, the grass warm under their backs. Stiles glanced over at Derek and found him looking utterly content, eye half-closed and tranquil. His expression was mirrored in the rest of the pack, and Stiles was glad he’d suggested they join in.

“That was fun,” Derek said as they drove home later.

“It was,” Stiles agreed. “Scott invited us to go the beach tomorrow, if you want.”

Derek thought about it for a long minute, his head turned to stare out the car window, hair shivering in the breeze. “Shouldn’t,” he said ruefully. “I need to be at the house in case people stop by. You can go, though,” he added, glancing over at Stiles.

“Nah,” Stiles said. “Summer’s not over. There will be other chances to go. Besides, I’m your emissary. I should look at everything people bring over too.”

That was how they spent their Sunday; the doorbell began ringing at eight in the morning, and Stiles’ dad had to come get them both out of bed so they could stumble downstairs and stare blearily at an old book Mrs. Martin held out to them. They both held it, Stiles running his hand down the spine thoughtfully, but it didn’t seem to hold any trace of magic. “‘S not natural, either,” he said to Derek, who nodded sleepily and handed the book back to Mrs. Martin with a “Thank you.”

“Any news on that vacation?” she asked hopefully.

Derek rubbed a hand over his face. “I’ll get on that soon.”

They had enough time to change into fresh clothes and have breakfast before the next visitor arrived, an old woman with a framed map of Beacon Hills. “Talia gave this to me when my husband passed,” she explained in a papery voice. Stiles shook his head; old and interesting, but not what they were looking for.

They had visitor after visitor. Stiles made four jugs of iced tea and pulled out the tin of shortbread Mr. Sanderson had brought them the previous week. They saw more books, a vase, a geode, an old globe, a necklace, even a potted plant Talia had given someone while they were in the hospital, but nothing struck Stiles as particularly magical.

“What if it’s not?” he asked Derek, watching their latest visitor, Pastor Thomas from the Protestant church across the road from town hall, totter back to his car with a ceramic lamb figurine Talia had given him during the celebration of his fortieth year as a clergyman. “I mean, what if it’s some totally innocuous thing and we pass over it because it doesn’t seem significant?”

“It will,” Derek said patiently, fishing the last piece of shortbread out of the tin. “If it’s been used in the ritual for a hundred years straight, there’s no way it hasn’t picked up some residual magic.”

“So how do we discount other magical items?” Stiles pressed. He dragged an absent finger through the condensation on the outside of his glass of iced tea. “I mean, that geode had a weird vibe to it, and it’s a natural object. Why’d you turn that down?”

Derek shrugged, his eyes turning to the woods and the dark green shadows the trees cast on the lawn. “I don’t know,” he said after a moment. “I just — I think I’ll know. It’ll smell like family or something.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, because he couldn’t argue with that, not when he couldn’t sniff things out himself. “You don’t think this is a waste of time, do you?”

Derek thought for a minute, turning to look down the driveway as another car pulled in. “No,” he decided.

And it wasn’t, Stiles realized, watching Derek as their next visitor laid an old hunting knife down on the table in front of them. Even if they didn’t find what they were looking for, this was a positive way for Derek to relive memories of his family; there was no distress on his face as the man in front of them talked about how he and Derek’s dad used to go hunting with some old high school friends every fall, just a faint, soft smile. Derek may have grown up in Beacon Hills, but he’d never experienced it as an adult. Stiles doubted he’d known half the people coming to see them in more than a cursory manner. Hearing all their tales about his family — it was kind of like keeping them alive, in a way.

-

The amount of visitors slowed after the first couple of days, but they kept trickling in for a while after that. Stiles went back to work on Monday, and it was a little disheartening, coming home to hear no news.

“What are we going to do if this doesn’t work?” he murmured Monday night as they lay in bed.

“Dunno,” Derek sighed, shifting around next to him until he was half on top of Stiles, nose shoved into his neck. “I can’t let this town die.”

“It won’t,” Stiles said firmly, with a lot more confidence than he felt. He stared up at the ceiling long after Derek fell asleep, trailing a hand up and down Derek’s back as he thought. It had to be something obvious, some clue they’d missed — but what?

-

Wednesday morning, Stiles opened the front door to find a dead deer on the porch. He gave a yell of surprise and went stumbling backward into Derek, who gently moved him aside and stepped outside, crouching down next to the limp body with a frown on his face.

“What is it?” Stiles asked, putting a hand over his nose. “Who did this?”

“Peter,” Derek said grimly.

“It’s not good, is it?” Stiles said. “I mean, I know cats leave stuff for their owners but — ”

“It’s a threat,” Derek said bluntly, pointing a clawed finger at the buck’s side, where the hide had been torn in a spiral pattern. He straightened, looking around at the trees. “He’s going to do something soon if we don’t find him.”

“You mean worse than this?” Stiles grimaced.

Derek nodded, his jaw tight. “Call Scott,” he said. “I need the pack.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows. “Why don’t you just howl for them?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “That’s for immediate emergencies. This isn’t an emergency. Yet.”

“Okay, so it’s like calling the police instead of 911,” Stiles said helpfully. Derek gave him an exasperated look but, after a moment, he nodded.

Stiles called Scott, who promised to round up the rest of the pack and head over. While they waited, Derek picked up the buck, shook off Stiles’ half-hearted offer to help, and disappeared into the woods. When he came back five minutes later, there was blood on his hands and smeared across his chest; it was an intimidating look.

“Did you eat it?” Stiles asked cheerfully. Derek shoved at him, smearing blood on his arms. “Ugh, gross!”

Derek rolled his eyes, heading inside to wash off his hands and change his shirt. Stiles following, grumbling under his breath about feral werewolves. By the time they’d both cleaned up, Scott was trotting down the driveway with Allison on her bike at his side; Stiles grinned at both of them and disappeared into the kitchen to make coffee. When he reemerged, Scott and Allison had been joined by Boyd and Erica — Isaac was just walking up the driveway, Laura right behind him.

“No Lydia?” Stiles asked her.

“Someone’s got to watch the library,” Laura replied, giving him the stink-eye.

“It’s not my fault your crazy uncle left a deer on my doorstep!” Stiles protested.

“Children,” Derek said impatiently, and smirked when both Stiles and Laura glared at him, though the look soon faded from his face as he glanced around at his gathered pack. “We need to deal with Peter before he becomes a major issue. I want to split you into groups and search the town.”

“Don’t forget my dad offered you his guys,” Stiles said, but Derek shook his head.

“They’re not of any use at this point. Once we’ve pinpointed the area he’s been hiding in, they may be helpful, but we’ll be tracking him with scent, not sight,” he told Stiles. Stiles nodded, stepping back as Derek instructed the pack, splitting them into groups of two and directing them to search areas. As the two teams of Boyd and Erica, and Laura and Isaac headed off into the trees, Derek turned to Stiles. “You might as well go to work,” he said. “It’s going to be a long day.” He nodded at Allison. “Maybe you can give her a ride.”

“Sure,” Stiles said, glancing over at Allison, who nodded cheerfully.

“He wants me to protect you,” Allison told him lightly, after Derek and Scott had disappeared into the trees.

Stiles huffed. “What, I can’t protect myself?”

“I’m sure you can,” Allison said. “But it’s always good to have backup. I’ve got a crossbow in my backpack.”

“Do you now,” Stiles said slowly, eyeing her bag with interest. “I hope the safety’s on. My Jeep doesn’t need any more holes in it.”

They headed into town, and Stiles dropped Allison and her bike (and her crossbow) off at the big Argent house in a neighborhood of similarly huge houses (“Most of our neighbors are lawyers,” Allison said brightly, as Stiles gaped). At the library, Lydia sat behind the desk, chewing on her lip. She gave Stiles a look as sharp as daggers when he came through the door.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “Laura told me to ‘hold down the fort’ and went flying out of here.”

Stiles sighed and sat down behind the circulation desk, launching into the tale of the dead deer and Peter. Lydia shuddered. “He was always a little weird,” she told him.

“What happened?” Stiles asked. “Dad said everyone basically ran him out of town.”

“They did,” Lydia said, her brow furrowing. “Keep in mind that Allison and I were in France when most of this happened, so I heard this all second-hand, but after the funeral and Derek was AWOL, Peter started trying to act like he was the alpha. That didn’t sit well with anyone, especially when he started talking about running for mayor, too.” Lydia paused, tapping her fingers against the desk. “He worried people. The fire broke him like it did Derek, but instead of running, Peter just went quiet and dangerous. Laura said looking into his eyes was like looking into those of a dead man’s — just empty. No one wanted him in charge of anything, let alone the entire town. The kicker was when he tried to get Laura to leave. He told her the town would heal faster without her around.” Lydia shrugged. “As you can probably imagine, people didn’t take too kindly to that, especially seeing as he wasn’t even alpha.”

“That’s a shitty thing to do when the rest of your family’s just been killed,” Stiles said quietly.

Lydia nodded her agreement. “The pack tried an intervention after that, but Peter wouldn’t back down. They had to bring in Allison’s dad to help because even though Peter was being awful, he was still pack and it went against every instinct they had to drive him away so soon after such a major loss.”

“That sucks,” Stiles said, his face wrinkling in sympathy. “So he got driven out?”

Lydia nodded again. “Yes. He tried coming back a couple months later and Laura let him stay, but he started stirring things up almost immediately, so he was forced out again.”

Stiles’ stomach twisted as a thought occurred to him. “Lydia, what if he’s got the thing we’re looking for?”

Lydia bit down on her lip, her brow furrowing with worry. “It’s possible,” she said very quietly.

Stiles sighed. “We better hope they catch him, then.”

-

When Stiles got home from work, however, he found the pack hanging out in the living room, looking discouraged. “No luck?”

Scott sighed. “No luck.”

“We found signs of him,” Laura added, frowning slightly. “But the problem is we all did. His scent’s all over town and the woods. It’s impossible to track.”

“Just the way he planned it, I’m sure,” Derek growled from where he sprawled across the couch.

“Well, you might not like this,” Stiles said, and told them about the idea he’d had at the library.

Derek looked sharply at Laura, who chewed on her lip for a moment before she said, “It’s entirely possible he’s got what we need.”

Derek swore. Scott, who was laying on the floor, pushed himself up on his elbows. “Isn’t there anything we can do?”

The room fell into thoughtful silence. Stiles stepped over Erica and plunked himself down on the couch next to Derek, who drew his legs back to give him room. Stiles curled his hand around Derek’s ankle and looked around the room absently. He didn’t have the physical strength or abilities that the werewolves did, but there must be some way he could help. His eyes landed on his book of spells, still laying on the coffee table, and he leaned forward to pick it up and leaf through the spells.

“Maybe there’s something I can do,” he mused aloud. “A missing persons finder.”

The werewolves all looked at him hopefully. “You think so?” Isaac asked.

“Maybe,” Stiles repeated. “And if I can’t find something here, Dr. Deaton might know something.”

It wasn’t an immediate solution, but it was the best they could come up with for the time being. Laura, who was the most familiar with the rare books at the library, promised she’d go through them and let Stiles know if anything promising popped up. The werewolves all headed home after a while, Erica complaining loudly about needing a shower after traipsing around in the woods all day.

Once the house fell silent, Stiles turned to look at Derek. He had his eyes closed, chest gently rising and falling, a faint furrow to his brow. “You tired?” Stiles asked, and Derek cracked one eye open to look at him.

“Frustrated,” Derek admitted after a moment. He sighed. “I feel like I don’t have a handle on anything.”

“Dude, that’s not true,” Stiles protested. “Your uncle’s just a dick.”

Derek sighed again and Stiles shifted around, leaning against Derek’s bent legs until he spread them and Stiles could stretch himself out over Derek’s torso. One of Derek’s hand came up to press between his shoulder blades, heavy and warm, fingers curling against Stiles’ shirt.

“We’re in a rut,” Stiles told him firmly, “but we’re going to get out of it. I swear.”

“Shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep,” Derek said softly, dragging his fingers along Stiles’ jawline.

Stiles turned his head to catch Derek’s hand, kissing the tips of his fingers. “It’s not a promise,” he replied quietly. “It’s a guarantee.”

-

Despite Stiles and Laura’s best efforts, neither of them were able to scrounge up a spell for finding missing persons, so on Saturday after work, Stiles drove to the hospital to see Dr. Deaton. Scott’s mom brought Stiles to his small office, which was crowded with bookshelves, and Stiles settled down in front of his desk, folding his hands in his lap as he explained the situation with Peter.

Dr. Deaton listened to him patiently, nodding every so often, and when Stiles was finished speaking, he took a moment to think before replying. “Unfortunately,” he said slowly, “I don’t have a spell for you off the top of my head. There are a myriad spells for missing objects — ”

“I know,” Stiles said dejectedly. “I found all of those.” Too bad he needed to know what he was looking for in order to cast them.

Dr. Deaton nodded. “A pity. If you knew of something he had on his person, you might use a spell like that to track down his location.”

“The only thing we think he might have is what we’ve been looking for this whole time,” Stiles sighed. “And since we don’t know what that is…”

Dr. Deaton nodded again. “Not a successful method, I’m afraid.”

“Do you know what it is?” Stiles asked hopefully. “We asked everyone in town and there’s been nothing. Something like that couldn’t just disappear, could it?”

The doctor shook his head. “It’s very unlikely. Such an object would be highly magical in its own right, and would keep itself somewhere safe.”

“It would know?” Stiles asked, his skin crawling.

“In a sense, yes,” Dr. Deaton said. “It’s not sentient, but it will have a certain awareness to it, to keep it away from harm. Something like that can’t be lost.”

“So why can’t we find it?” Stiles asked, frustrated.

“I can’t answer that,” Dr. Deaton said, giving him a sympathetic smile. “Sadly.”

Stiles sighed and got to his feet. “Well,” he said, “thanks anyway.”

“Stiles,” Dr. Deaton said patiently. “When you’re ready, we should begin your training. If you are unable to find the object necessary for the ritual, your magic may be able to stabilize the town — or at least keep things from getting worse.”

“Seriously?” Stiles asked. “Why can’t we just do that, then?”

“Because it’s only a temporary solution,” Dr. Deaton told him, “and it’s dangerous.” His eyes flickered down Stiles’ arms and Stiles swallowed, looking down at the thick red lines on the insides of his wrists where Jennifer had cut him open. He understood.

“Take care,” Dr. Deaton said gently, and Stiles went home.

-

“Maybe it’s in the basement of town hall or something,” Stiles said later, close to midnight, while he climbed into bed next to Derek. Derek was reading the previous emissary’s journal again, looking half asleep. Stiles nudged him and Derek blinked at him tiredly.

“In the town hall?” Derek frowned off into the distance. “It seems…wrong. If Deaton’s right and the object knows where to put itself, why would it make itself impossible to find?”

“That’s true,” Stiles sighed, thumping back against his pillows. “But if that’s the case, why doesn’t it just show up next to you? You’d think it’d know it’s needed.”

Derek shrugged expressively. Stiles gave up for the time being and flipped onto his side, watching Derek turn the page of the journal. “Anything interesting in there?”

“Depends on what you find interesting,” Derek replied. “Nothing about the ritual. Just a lot of stuff about the town.”

“Anything helpful, then?”

“Mostly memories,” Derek said softly, brushing his fingers across a delicate drawing of a wolfsbane plant.

Stiles stared at the little leatherbound book and the tiny cupboard at the back of the closet where he’d found it. Something occurred to him. “Derek,” he said. “Did your parents have a safety deposit box?”

Derek’s head came up sharply. “There’s an idea,” he said. “I think they did — Laura would know.”

Laura did know; she came over for breakfast the following morning and Derek asked her before she’d even said hello. The urgency in his voice stopped her short and she frowned. “This is about the object, isn’t it?”

Derek nodded and Stiles said, “Well?”

“They did,” Laura said, slowly sinking down onto the couch. “I saw it, Der. I had to get it opened after the fire because they had copies of their wills in there. But I don’t remember — ”

“Think,” Derek said forcefully. “Was there anything that could have been it?”

Laura shook her head. “Not off the top of my head. There was some jewelry — I don’t know, Der.”

“Let’s go,” Stiles said eagerly. “I mean, you have access to it, right?”

“It’s Sunday,” Laura pointed out. “The bank’s closed.”

“Monday, then,” Stiles said impatiently, and they all agreed: Monday.

-

The following morning, Derek and Stiles met Laura in front of Beacon Hills Federal Credit Union at eight sharp. The moment the doors were unlocked, they went inside and Laura presented the key to the security deposit box. The woman helping them didn’t want to let Stiles into the vault because his name wasn’t on the security box’s authorized user list, but the manager was an old high school friend of Laura’s and when she heard what they were looking for, and that Stiles was the new town emissary, she ushered them right in.

Derek paced anxiously around the small viewing room while they waited for the manager to bring in the box. Laura watched him worriedly. “Just don’t get your hopes up too high, Der,” she said gently and Derek made a stressed whining noise.

“It has to be here,” he said, clenching his teeth. “If it’s not — ”

“We’ll figure something out,” Laura finished patiently. “Stop pacing; you’re stressing me out.”

But Derek didn’t stop moving until the manager reappeared with the box in her arms. It was a large one, a foot cubed and after she set it down on the table, she respectfully left again.

“Okay,” Laura said, looking nervous. She pulled out the key and stuck it in the lock. “Here goes nothing.”

Stiles felt the cold, clean buzz of magic as soon as she turned the key, intensifying as she opened the box. They all leaned forward, the tops of their heads touching as they peered into it. Stiles heard Derek exhale slowly. Laura reached into the container and began pulling things out, laying them on the table to examine — folders of documents, small ring boxes, larger cardboard boxes. Stiles could feel magic emanating from several of them, but he didn’t reach for any of them; this stuff was all intensely personal and he didn’t feel comfortable reaching out and touching anything unless it was offered first.

“God, I’d forgotten about some of this stuff,” Laura said quietly, opening a box to find a plaster cast set of baby’s footprints. Stamped below the tiny footprints was a name — Cora — and a birth date. Laura traced her fingers over the plaster slowly. “I didn’t take a lot of time to look after the fire. I was just trying to find their wills, you know?”

Stiles glanced up at her, then over at Derek and found him standing there with a distressed look on his face, his eyes burning crimson. “Hey, Derek?” Stiles said quietly, and Laura looked up sharply.

Derek shut his mouth, jaw working for a moment before he said roughly, “Smells like them.”

Laura dropped the plaster with a clatter and immediately turned into him, flinging her arms around his neck. Derek exhaled shakily and curled his arms around her. Stiles looked away from them, feeling uncomfortably like he was intruding.

“You can go,” Laura said softly, but she was talking to Derek, not Stiles. “We can do this some other time.”

Derek shook his head. “No,” he said, voice still rough. “It’s okay. I can do this.”

Laura hesitated for a moment and then said, “If you’re sure.”

Derek nodded, his face going grim and determined. They turned back to the table and began opening boxes, carefully examining the contents of each. Most of them contained precious momentos with no trace of magic — Laura set these all aside, though Derek lingered over the small box that contained his parents’ wedding bands, fingers ghosting over the cold metal.

Some of the items in the box were magic. Laura opened a jewelry box containing a gold pendant set with a large sapphire that almost vibrated with magic. Laura said that she could remember their great-grandmother wearing it, though she had no idea what its powers were. Derek and Stiles both shook their heads; it wasn’t what they were looking for. There were other items — a locket and ring set that burned Stiles’ fingers when he touched them, and a thin ledger full of columns and columns of numbers none of them could puzzle out.

“I don’t know what half this stuff is,” Laura confessed as they neared the bottom of the box. “I think this box has been in the family forever.”

It was mostly papers at the bottom of the box, birth certificates and social security cards and deeds to land. As Laura lifted out the final folder, though, she exclaimed, “Oh!” and her hand darted back into the box. When she retracted it, she held a small statue of a wolf carved from hematite, which glittered dully under the lights. It was incredibly detailed, from the scruff of fur around its neck to the claws sticking from its toes, darker flecks of obsidian marking the solemn eyes.

“I remember this,” Derek said quietly, his face softening as Laura placed it in his hands. “It sat on the windowsill in the kitchen for a long time.”

“You think that’s it?” Stiles said excitedly, but Derek shook his head.

“No,” he replied. “There’s not much magical about this.”

“You should hold on to it,” Laura told Derek. “There’s no reason for it to be in here.”

Derek nodded slowly, his fingers curling around the stone figurine. Laura sighed when she looked into the box. “That was all that was left in there.”

“We struck out yet again,” Stiles said gloomily. He swallowed, subconsciously rubbing his hands over the healing cuts on his arms. It was beginning to look as though Dr. Deaton’s last-resort suggestion might indeed be their only option.

“Well,” Laura said, carefully placing folders and boxes back into the security box, “at least we got a trip down memory lane out of it. What do you guys say to some breakfast?”

They left the bank, stepping into the bright morning sunshine, and headed down Main Street toward the diner. Everyone they passed on the street smiled and said hello, but Laura was the only one of them who responded. Stiles was busying watching Derek, who looked lost in thought, the small figurine still clasped in his hand. They slid into a booth at the diner, Laura on one side and Stiles and Derek on the other, and it was a while before any of them spoke.

“I bet it’s Peter,” Laura said eventually, sighing as she propped her chin on her elbow.

Derek echoed her sigh, his eyes flitting around the crowded diner as he poured packet after packet of sugar into his coffee. Laura reached out and smacked his hand. “You’re going to rot your teeth out.”

Derek bared said teeth at her moodily. “I was a wolf for five years,” he said curtly. “Let me have my goddamn vices.”

Stiles reached out and picked up the little wolf carving, which Derek had set down on the table. It sat heavy in his hand, cool and smooth to the touch. He flipped it over and found a carving on its belly; two letters, J. H. “Who did this belong to?” he asked curiously.

Laura gave Derek — who was tearing open another packet of sugar — the evil eye and said to Stiles, “Mom said it’s been in the family for decades. We always thought it might have belonged to Joshua Hale.”

“Oh,” Stiles said. “The town founder?”

Laura nodded. “Or his father, maybe — Johannes.”

“Huh,” Stiles said absently, setting the wolf back down on the table as their waitress came back with their orders. He looked a little despondently at the large plate of waffles he’d decided on; he didn’t have much of an appetite at that moment.

“Come on,” Laura said, digging into her hashbrowns. “Don’t give up. Let’s go back to the library after this and Derek, you can take a look around and see if anything calls out to you.”

“I did that the other day,” Stiles pointed out.

“Yeah, well, you’re not the alpha, are you?” Laura retorted, jabbing her fork in his direction before burying it in her scrambled eggs. “Der? That sound good?”

“Fine,” Derek grumbled, stabbing at his sausage.

Stiles was halfway through his waffles when his phone rang. He grunted and pulled it from his pocket, swallowing down his mouthful when he saw it was his dad calling. “What’s up?”

“Where are you?” his dad asked sharply.

“In town with Derek and Laura,” Stiles replied. “Why? Is something wrong?”

His father exhaled roughly. “We’re starting to get calls in. People have been seeing Peter. It sounds like he’s headed toward the center of town.”

“What?” Derek snarled, shooting to his feet. “That fucker — ”

He made to head for the diner door but Laura scrambled after him, grabbing his arm. “Hey, whoa!” she protested. “Just hold on — let’s think this through.”

Derek shook his arm, his eyes burning red around the edges. “This is my problem!” he snarled, breaking free and heading for the front door.

“Oh no you don’t; we’re a pack,” Laura muttered, pulling her phone from her pocket as she followed Derek out the door. “Hey, Scott — ”

“Stiles?” his dad said in his ear. Stiles jumped a little, so distracted by Derek and Laura that he’d forgotten he was on the phone. “Where are you?”

“Leaving the diner,” Stiles replied, hastily pulling out his wallet and dumping a pile of bills on the table. He shoved the little stone wolf into his pocket and headed for the door.

“Okay,” Dad said grimly. “I’m coming to find you.”

“You don’t have to!” Stiles protested, scrambling out of the diner and onto the street. “I’m pretty sure Derek’s got this under control.” He swung his head around, looking for the aforementioned alpha, and spotted him far down the street, Laura running after him.

“It’s my job,” his father replied grimly. “I’ll be there soon.”

Stiles sighed exasperatedly and hung up, breaking into a run as he tried to keep up with Derek and Laura. It was a gorgeous day, skies blue and patched with white tufts of clouds, the sun shining warmly down on the street. There seemed to be a lot of people out and about — walking to work, maybe, or taking their kids to the park at the end of the block. It seemed almost normal, but even as Stiles ran, he could see people’s heads turning in the direction of the library, looks of bewilderment — and even fear — on their faces. The source of this became apparent soon enough as Peter Hale came sauntering up the middle of the road, walking on the double yellow line.

Derek made a furious noise when he saw his uncle and stepped out into the road, narrowly avoiding behind hit by a middle-aged woman in a station-wagon who was too busy gawking at Peter to notice him. Derek didn’t seem to notice her, either; all his attention was on Peter. Even as Stiles stared, Derek shifted, long claws punching out from the ends of his fingers, brow growing protruded and harsh, eyes burning scarlet. As Peter drew near, Derek tilted his head back and howled.

Goosebumps broke out on Stiles’ arms — he’d never heard a sound like it, so low he could feel it in his bones, then rising so high it almost hurt. Laura, a couple yards ahead of him, lifted her chin to join in, and beyond them, somewhere maybe streets away, more voices rose to join the howl — the rest of the pack showing their support. A challenge, Stiles thought with a shudder, angry and defiant.

Derek dropped his head and threw himself at Peter with a furious snarl. Peter met him in a blur of motion and for a moment they moved so quick Stiles could barely tell them apart, limbs swinging and claws flashing and mouths snarling. When they pulled apart, as suddenly as they’d started, Derek’s nose was bleeding and the front of Peter’s shirt had been slashed to pieces.

“Well met, nephew,” Peter said sourly, licking blood from the corner of his mouth.

Derek swiped at the blood leaking from his nose, eyes following Peter as he casually walked the edge of the circle their onlookers had formed around them, concerned faces watching the two werewolves. Peter’s eyes moved constantly, flickering from Derek to the crowd around them. He smirked faintly when he looked at Stiles and Stiles glared back. “Why did you come back?” Derek asked coldly. “I think we made it clear you’re not welcome in Beacon Hills.”

“We,” Peter repeated softly. “Funny you should say ‘we.’ Where were you five years ago when your pack needed you, Derek?” Derek flinched and Peter smiled, triumphant, though the look faded when he added, “I came back because even in Los Angeles I could feel this town dying. It’s under your protection, Derek; why aren’t you protecting it?” His last words snapped out, harsh as a whip, and Derek took an uncertain step backward. Stiles could see the doubt in his eyes; all that worry that people blamed him for the failure of the town, all the fear that it was his fault.

“It’s not,” Stiles whispered, his hands clenching at his sides. “It’s not.” He longed to step up beside Derek, to take his hand and tell him it wasn’t true — but this fight was between Peter and Derek.

“You hid,” Peter said scornfully. “Your family needed you and you turned your back on them. You don’t deserve to be alpha!”

Derek made a distressed noise and launched himself again at Peter, but it seemed half-hearted this time; Peter threw him off easily and Derek went stumbling back across the pavement. He threw himself at Peter again and Peter landed a hard punch to the side of his head. Derek dropped to his knees, spitting blood. Stiles stepped forward anxiously, unaware he was even moving until Laura stopped him with a hand to his chest. Stiles forced himself to stand still, biting down on his lip. The street was so quiet, more and more people joining the crowd as word spread.

“I was ready,” Peter hissed, circling around Derek, ready to strike the final blow at any moment. “I was ready and willing and yet — ”

“They didn’t want you,” Derek said, spitting more blood onto the pavement.

Peter sneered. “I — ”

“They didn’t want a ruler,” Derek told him. “They drove you out. They made their choice.” His eyes moved from Peter to the silent crowd around them. Some people smiled back.

“You’ve let this town fall to pieces!” Peter snarled, swinging a clawed fist at Derek, who ducked it. Peter made a furious noise, gesturing around at the gathered townspeople. “This — this is who you choose? This town is dying and the blame rests on his shoulders!”

No one said a word; most of the people gathered them around were, in fact, glaring at Peter. There came movement from the crowd — the rest of the pack arriving, stepping onto the road in a loose circle, their faces turned to their alpha. Derek seemed to straighten with their silence, body full with self-assurance, a new mantle of control settling around his shoulders. Stiles fought back a grin; he’d told Derek, hadn’t he? The town didn’t hate him — they loved him.

Peter sensed it too; he hunched his shoulders, stepping back as Derek rose to his feet. Sudden movement next to Stiles made him turn, momentarily distracted; his dad stood there, one hand touching the gun at his side, a frown on his face as he watched the tense circle of werewolves. He raised a questioning eyebrow at Stiles, who shook his head. He didn’t think that intervening would be a good idea. To his relief, his dad made no move to step in, though his hand remained on his holster.

“You have a choice, Peter,” Derek said, taking a step forward, his movement easy and casual, yet coiled like a spring, ready for attack. “Beta or omega. It’s up to you.”

“Not good enough,” Peter snarled. “I’ll take the third option.” He launched himself at Derek this time, and Derek met his attack, driving his shoulder into Peter’s chest to throw him backward into Boyd. Boyd caught Peter easily, shoving him forward into Derek, who wrapped a hand around Peter’s neck and slammed him to the ground.

“Submit,” Derek snarled. Peter growled at him, struggling against his grasp. Derek slammed him back against the pavement. “Submit!”

Peter glared up at him and then, by degrees, tilted his chin up, exposing his throat to Derek. Derek let go of him roughly, unbending his knees. “Get out of here,” he told Peter coldly. “Go back to whatever hellhole you call home and stay there.”

“So it is, then,” Peter snarled. “I’ll enjoy watching this place consume you all.” He spat at Derek’s feet and turned, trotting off down the road, the crowd parting to let him through.

“Follow him,” Derek told his betas. “I want to know he’s left our territory.”

Laura and the others nodded and set off after Peter, the crowd watching them go. “Good riddance!” someone in the crowd yelled, and suddenly everyone was cheering and yelling, the noise deafening. Stiles saw the startled look on Derek’s face as the crowd swelled around him, people laughing and clapping him on the back and shaking his hand. Derek turned his head, eyes finding Stiles’ through the crowd, and Stiles grinned. “Proud of you,” he said, knowing full well that Derek could hear him over the noise of the crowd, and Derek threw back his head and laughed.

-

“You think it was all right, letting Peter go like that?” Stiles asked a little while later. The joyous crowd had dispersed and he and Derek and his dad were walking up to the sheriff’s station to make a report.

Derek shrugged. “He’s family,” he said, sounding a little lost.

“That may be,” Stiles’ dad said, “but you remember that he was willing to kill you — and Stiles. Family only goes so far.”

“You’re right,” Derek said quietly, the corners of his mouth turning downward. Stiles felt sorry for the disappearance of the happiness he’d shown surrounded by the crowd of townspeople, smiling and laughing and looking happier than Stiles had ever seen him; he’d gotten a glimpse of the old Derek, the boy laughing in the family photo that hung in the library.

“I’ll be inside,” Stiles’ dad said as they reached the station. “Whenever you’re ready.” He left them standing outside the station doors. Stiles hesitated before tucking himself against Derek’s side, a little relieved when Derek curled an arm around him, turning to press his nose against Stiles’ temple and inhale deeply.

“I’m sorry you had to do that,” Stiles muttered.

Derek exhaled roughly, his breath ruffling Stiles’ hair. “I should have just killed him,” he said quietly. “He’ll be back — he’s that kind of person.”

Stiles shrugged. “If he does, you’ll send him packing again. Or we’ll do it together — we’re a pack.”

“We are,” Derek said, sounding a little surprised, like he’d finally realized everyone was on his side. “We are,” he repeated, sounding a little more sure of himself. Stiles looked at him and founding him smiling faintly.

“We are,” Stiles agreed, slipping his hand into Derek’s, something settling inside his chest when Derek squeezed his hand. “Hey, um — we have a problem, though.”

“What’s that?”

“We didn’t find out if Peter knew anything about the ritual object,” Stiles said, a little anxiously.

“He didn’t,” Derek said quietly. “If he had, he would have tried to use it as leverage.”

Stiles nodded slowly, swallowing back the disappointment rising in his chest. If Peter didn’t have what they needed, that meant they were pretty much out of options. From the look on Derek’s face, he knew it too.

“Come on,” Stiles said, tugging on his hand. “Dad’s probably getting impatient.”

When they stepped through the doors, however, this didn’t seem to be the case; Stiles’ dad was leaning against the front desk, joking with a couple of deputies.

“Don’t you guys have crimes to be solving?” Stiles asked sarcastically, leaning up beside his dad, who snorted.

“You ready to make your statement?”

Stiles nodded but Derek jerked his head toward the hall. “Bathroom,” he said. Stiles watched him turn and get waylaid by the deputies, who all wanted to shake his hand. Stiles grinned to himself and told his dad, “I’m gonna go sit.”

His dad waved him away, attention caught by Deputy Knox, who was telling him about the stone wall she and her husband were installing. Stiles rolled his eyes and ducked into his office, which seemed oddly still after all the commotion out on the street. It was quiet enough that he couldn’t hear the deputies and his dad talking about in the hall, but the sound of the building’s protective wards buzzed loud in his ears. He dropped into a chair, glad for a moment off his feet, a brief second of quiet after all the activity that morning. His head spun a little as he tried to wrap his mind around everything that had happened; Peter’s arrival and subsequent dismissal had happened so fast, a ‘blink and you might miss it’ moment.

It was important, though, that it had happened in public, Stiles was certain. Important for Peter, because he was faced with the entire town and their dislike. Important for Derek, because he got to see how the town loved him. Important for the town, too, to see how their alpha dealt with a problem like Peter. Stiles thought Derek had handled it well — even if killing Peter would have meant eliminating their problem with him, Stiles didn’t think that Derek’s first major act as alpha should be bloodshed. Magnanimity, though — that was a good start.

Stiles shook his head distractedly. He was having trouble concentrating over the sound of magic. It seemed loud in the small office — louder than it should be, anyway, not like the background hum of the house or town hall. He wondered if there was something wrong with the warding spell, like the way the one on the rare books grate at the library had gone warped and shocked him so violently. He got up from the chair, antsy now, and ranged around the office, eyes flickering over the photographs on his dad’s desk, and his combat medals from his time in the army hanging on the wall right next to a drawing of their old house Stiles had done when he was six. He swung around to peer through the windows, but they just looked out on the station parking lot — nothing interesting there. He turned to look at the bookshelves next to the door and paused, a weird feeling settling in his stomach when his eyes fell on the wolf skull sitting on the top of the bookcase.

The last time he’d been in his dad’s office, it had been mere weeks after moving to town, the first night Peter showed up in the backyard — he’d just barely started to know Derek. He’d known nothing about werewolves or magic or any of the other weird shit happening in town, long before he’d been strung up and almost killed by a dark druid, weeks before he’d kissed a man who could grow claws at will.

Stiles’ hands trembled as he reached out to touch the skull. There was no explosion, no rush of sensation or sting of magic — just cool, cream-colored bone under his fingers. He knew, though, with certainty that this was the object they’d been searching for for weeks. He wanted to laugh; missing for five years, the whole town searching for it, and it’d been sitting in his dad’s office the entire time, safe and sound.

Stiles’ head snapped up as the office door opened and his dad stepped inside, saying over his shoulder, “ — do what we can. I’m sure there are other options.” He glanced at Stiles, raised his eyebrows at the skull in his hands, and headed for his desk. Derek stepped in behind him and looked over at Stiles, his eyebrows drawing together when he saw the skull.

“Derek,” Stiles said quietly, meaningfully, and god, Derek got it. His head went back sharply, pale eyes going big and wide. After a long moment where Stiles’ dad watched the two of them with confusion on his face, Derek exhaled and stepped forward. His hands came up to touch Stiles’ and they were shaking, just like Stiles’ had.

“Hey,” Stiles’ father said behind them, his voice sharp. “Is that — ”

Stiles nodded, his eyes fixed on Derek’s face. Derek’s eyes were on the skull, fingers slowly tracing over the smooth bone before gently lifting it from Stiles’ hands and flipping it over. He breathed out roughly at the sight of the initials carved on the interior dome of the skull. J.H., just like on the belly of the wolf carving. “Joshua Hale,” Derek said quietly.

“You think it’s his?” Stiles asked, a little weirded out by the thought.

Derek nodded slowly. “It makes sense, in a way,” he said softly. “Our family’s dedicated our lives to this town. Kind of stands to reason that a part of the founder is part of the ritual.”

“Literally,” Stiles pointed out.

Derek snorted quietly. When he finally lifted his head to look at Stiles, his eyes were soft with relief. “We can save it,” he said, his voice a little unsteady. “We can fix the town.”

Stiles smiled. “Yeah, we can,” he agreed softly. “Told you we’d find it.”

Derek leaned over to kiss him, his touch gentle and warm; Stiles could feel the care in it, the unspoken thank you. Behind them, his dad coughed and they pulled apart, Stiles’ cheeks flushing red. His dad didn’t seem all that bothered; mostly, he looked bewildered.

“That thing,” he said, almost embarrassed, “has been in my office the entire time?”

“Seems that way,” Derek told him, smiling faintly.

“Jesus,” Stiles’ dad sighed, dragging a hand over his face. “I didn’t even think about it.”

“Probably why it ended up here,” Stiles told his father. “Somewhere no one would mess with it.”

“Huh,” Dad said, eyeing the skull.

Word of the find quickly spread through town; as Stiles and Derek walked back down the street to where the Jeep was still parked at the bank, the skull carefully cradled in Derek’s arms, they found themselves stopped by person after person, all eager to check out the skull and give them their enthusiastic congratulations. Halfway back to the bank they met the pack returning. Laura knew what the skull was immediately, throwing her arms around Derek with an excited cry. The rest of the pack picked up on it quickly; Scott tilted his head back and gave a triumphant howl everyone else joined in on — even Derek, a blissful look on his face.

Somehow, everyone ended up back at the Stilinski house and the day became a celebration, the pack lounging in the living room, relaxed and full of laughter. Stiles broke out all the food people had dropped off at the house over the past few weeks, as well as a crate of wine a local vineyard had left them in thanks for some advice Derek had given him on a supernatural blight his grape crop was suffering from. Laura called Lydia and told her to close the library; she and Allison showed up half an hour later and, from the sounds of it, most of the town had declared the day a holiday, most of the businesses on Main Street shutting their doors for the rest of the day.

Derek was mostly silent; he seemed content to sit back on the couch and watch everyone talk around him, a faint smile on his face the entire time. Stiles had never seen him look so relaxed. His contentedness seemed to pass itself along to the rest of the pack, everyone loose-limbed and happy.

“This is the way it used to be,” Scott told Stiles, jovial and a little tipsy sometime in the late afternoon as they stood in the kitchen and uncorked another bottle of wine. “Before, you know.”

Stiles nodded in understanding. “Feels good,” he said.

“Yeah,” Scott said, his voice going soft and a little sad. “I missed it.”

Stiles slung a companionable arm around Scott’s shoulder as they headed back into the living room. “Times are changing, man,” he said. Derek, sunk so deep into the couch he looked like he’d grown into it, caught Stiles’ eye and smiled.

Everyone was still at the house when his dad came back later that evening. He paused in the doorway to stare at them stretched out around the living room, looking slightly exasperated. “Three of you,” he said, giving Stiles an especially pointed look, “are underage, and you’re drinking at the sheriff’s house.”

“Come on,” Stiles groaned from where he lay on the couch, head cushioned on Derek’s lap. “Dad, I’m two months away from being legal."

“Uh huh,” his father replied, sounding unimpressed. He leveled a dark look at Derek. “Aren’t you supposed to be keeping your pack in check?”

Derek didn’t even try to look chastened. “Kids will be kids,” he said solemnly, then grunted when Stiles punched him in the thigh.

Stiles’ dad gave up trying to shame them and disappeared back outside, reappearing an hour later with a stack of pizza boxes. He confiscated everyone’s keys and then left them to their own devices with a roll of his eyes. Stiles could hear him upstairs, whistling to himself. He sounded happy. Stiles hid his grin against Derek’s leg.

The house didn’t quiet down until long after midnight; since Stiles’ dad had confiscated everyone’s keys, almost everyone ended up crashing somewhere in inside — Scott and Allison being the exceptions, as they could walk to his house. Boyd and Erica got the bed in the guest bedroom, while Lydia and Laura got the couch in the den and living room, respectively. There was no place left for Isaac, but he didn’t seem too bothered, constructing himself a nest of blankets on the floor of the living room and settling in with a contented sigh. It wasn’t long before Stiles and Derek were the only ones left awake in the house, quietly cleaning the downstairs. Stiles grinned as he brought empty wine bottles into the kitchen; he could hear Lydia snoring and couldn’t wait to blackmail her over it.

Stiles leaned against the counter and watched Derek rinse out the wine bottles. He looked content, his eyes half-closed, long lashes casting shadows on his face. He glanced over at Stiles like he could feel his eyes on him, and gave him a placid smile.

“What?” Derek asked quietly, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

Stiles shrugged, smiling faintly. “Nothing,” he said. “I just like looking at you.”

Derek stepped away from the sink, drying his hands on the cloth hanging from the oven door. “Is that so?” he murmured, taking another step into Stiles’ space, his fingers curling in Stiles’ belt loops.

“Cross my heart,” Stiles assured him.

“Hm,” Derek said thoughtfully, leaning in to press a slow kiss to Stiles’ lips. He pulled away after a moment, but only far enough to ask, “You tired?”

Stiles shook his head. He was astoundingly clear-headed considering he’d had most of two bottles of wine, as well as half a pizza. If he laid down, he’d probably be out cold in thirty seconds, so as long as he remained vertical, he was good.

“Let’s sit,” Derek said softly. He towed Stiles to the back door and they stepped out into the cool air of the night. The moon shone bright over the trees, almost full. It was kind of amazing, really, just how much had happened since the last full moon. Derek sat himself down onto the edge of the porch and, to Stiles’ slight surprise, tugged Stiles down to sit on his lap. He hooked his arms around Stiles’ waist and Stiles settled back against him with a happy sigh, laughing when Derek hooked his chin over Stiles’ shoulder and nosed at his cheek.

It felt good to be able to sit outside and not have to worry about what lurked in the shadows. Stiles could focus on the night itself, the glitter of stars in the sky, the buzz of night insects, the cool taste of the air. He wondered what Derek could hear and smell.

“I want to thank you,” Derek said after a while, his voice soft. “For everything you’ve done.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Stiles replied. “It’s what anyone would have done.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Derek said. He drew his nose along Stiles’ jaw, breath hot against his throat. “Just shut up and be gracious.”

Stiles grinned, skin tingling at Derek’s touch. “Okay, fine,” he said. “You’re welcome.”

“Good,” Derek breathed, his arms tightening around Stiles’ waist as he dipped his head, lips brushing against Stiles’ neck, frustratingly light. Stiles squirmed in his grip, but Derek held him still, tongue flicking out to trace the hinge of Stiles’ jaw, teeth scraping his skin.

“Come on,” Stiles sighed, heat flushing his cheeks. “Can I just — ” He broke off with a strangled noise as Derek bit down on his throat — not hard, but hard enough to make Stiles’ toes curl. “Okay,” he mumbled, tilting his head back against Derek’s shoulder to give him better access. Derek made a pleased noise, a rumbling sort of sound that came from deep in his chest. Stiles laughed breathlessly as Derek sucked a bruise into his skin. “Are you purring?”

Derek pulled away from him with a wet noise. “I’m not a cat,” he said indignantly.

“Coulda fooled me,” Stiles grinned, eyes soft as he tugged on Derek’s hair. “You going to let me return the favor?”

Derek huffed, sounding put-upon, but acquiesced, loosening his grip on Stiles’ waist so Stiles could twist around, straddling Derek’s thighs. He gazed down at Derek for a long moment, Derek’s solemn face painted silver and softened by the moonlight. Derek gazed back at him, his pale eyes bleached gray in the light, hands light at Stiles’ waist. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Stiles told him softly, his heart banging in his chest as he rubbed his thumbs against Derek’s cheeks.

For a long moment, Derek just stared up at him, his face inscrutable, and then he surged up, bringing their mouths together in a fierce kiss, fingers digging into Stiles’ hips. Stiles met him gladly, hands slipping down to grip at his shoulders. They’d never kissed like this before, fierce and uncontrolled, Derek’s hands gliding under his shirt to palm at his skin, digging his nails into Stiles’ shoulder blades. There’d always been something cautious about the way they touched, like maybe Derek was afraid Stiles was fragile.

“Have you been holding out on me?” Stiles mumbled into Derek’s hairline as Derek bent his head and fairly attacked Stiles’ neck again.

Derek paused, looking contemplative. “Not entirely,” he said. “I guess I was just waiting for things to calm down.”

“And?” Stiles pressed, half smiling. “The verdict?”

Derek blinked at him languidly. “All clear,” he said, “to the best of my knowledge.”

“Good,” Stiles said with fervor, tangling his fingers in the soft hair at the base of Derek’s skull and pulling him in for another long kiss.

They got a little lost in touch after that, hands and mouths roaming. Stiles was hard in his pants, rocking down against Derek with his hands on Derek’s shoulders to keep his balance, mouth open and panting against his neck, when the light came on in the kitchen and he froze. Derek stilled as well, tilting his head back so he could follow Stiles’ gaze, a faint frown on his face as he listened. “Lydia getting a drink,” he murmured after a moment, and Stiles relaxed. The light went off again a second later and Derek tilted his head back, nuzzling at Stiles’ neck. “Bruises,” he mumbled. “Broke the rule again.”

“You know,” Stiles said quietly, twitching his hips downward, enjoying the way Derek hissed against his throat, “I just can’t find it in myself to care right now.”

“I’ll take that as an open invitation,” Derek murmured, his hands sliding round to Stiles’ back, slipping under the band of his underwear.

“Hm,” Stiles hummed, gasping softly as Derek’s fingers curled against his ass, pressing him down so their hips ground together. His body felt as though it was on fire, his spark pulsing under his collarbone. Every touch of Derek’s hands and mouth vibrated through his body, causing ripples that echoed from his ribs to the tips of his fingers and toes. “Am I glowing?” he mumbled, lips dragging against Derek’s cheek.

Derek kissed him as they rocked together, heat building between them. “Never seen a star shine brighter,” he whispered. Stiles bit back a moan as he came in his pants — just like a teenager, he thought muddily — overwhelmed by Derek’s gentle words and even gentler touch. Derek pressed their foreheads together, a soft smile on his face as he stilled Stiles’ movements with his hands on Stiles’ hips, holding him steady.

“God,” Stiles mumbled, dizzy, body flooded with a hazy golden feeling. “I don’t think you’re real.”

“Real enough,” Derek murmured, nuzzling at his sweaty cheeky. “Can you…?”

“Yeah, let me — ” Stiles said, pressing in for a languid kiss while his hands slipped between them, nimbly unbuckling Derek’s belt and unzipping his pants. His fingers paused at the band of Derek’s boxers, trembling at the heat from Derek’s skin. “Is it okay? To touch you?”

“Please,” Derek said softly, and Stiles smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. He squeezed his hand down the front of Derek’s pants and curled his fingers around him, sighing at the way Derek fit in his hand, hot and real.

“Real,” Stiles repeated out loud, whispering it into Derek’s hair. Derek snorted softly, his breath hitching as Stiles jerked him off slowly, taking the time to indulge the way he pulsed in Stiles’ hand. When Derek came, he did so silently, mouth open in a silent oh as he pressed his face to Stiles’ neck. Stiles carefully extracted his hand from Derek’s pants, his other hand rubbing up and down Derek’s spine in slow, looping movements. After a long moment, Derek exhaled.

“You too,” he murmured.

“Me what?” Stiles wondered, smiling faintly.

“The best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Derek told him quietly, straightening slowly. His eyes were half-closed, heavy and content. Stiles did nothing to stop the wide smile spreading across his face, heart aching with happiness.

“I’m glad,” he told Derek, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I’m really glad to hear that.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, foreheads pressed together, surrounded by the night. Eventually, though, Stiles’ knees started to complain about the prolonged kneeling and he said, a little sadly, “You ready for bed?”

“I think I could be ready,” Derek said, amused. He steadied Stiles as he got to his feet, then followed, trailing close behind as they headed back inside. Stiles’ eyes were closed before his head hit the pillow, but he had time before drifting off to be aware of Derek arranging himself around him, a steady wall of heat and muscle curled around Stiles’ back. Stiles smiled into his pillow as Derek threw an arm around him, tangling their fingers together. They’d done it. They’d won.

-

Somehow, the Stilinski house turned into the place to be; without fail, Stiles came home from work every day that evening to at least three pack members lounging in the living room or out on the porch. Derek looked increasingly smug and content and Stiles really couldn’t fault him for that, especially because the pack actually did stuff — Laura made dinner, Boyd brought bagels from the bakery he worked at, Isaac fixed the front step Stiles had never got around to. When he came home on Thursday, Derek was sandwiched on the couch between Scott and Boyd, who were determinedly teaching him how to play Fallout: New Vegas. He looked bored, rolling his eyes at Stiles as Stiles grinned and passed through the living room.

Isaac was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables, though he looked up when Stiles came into the room, peering curiously into the pot on the counter. “What’s this?”

“Gazpacho,” Isaac said with a haughty sniff. “My mom’s secret recipe.”

“Smells good,” Stiles said.

Isaac smirked at him and said, “Boyd brought some of that foccacia you like.”

Stiles groaned, staggering toward the back door. “You guys are killing me.”

Isaac laughed. Stiles was halfway out the back door, intent on watering his garden, when someone knocked on the front door. Isaac turned his head and, in the living room, all the werewolves lifted their heads curiously. Stiles sighed and crossed back through the house. To his surprise, Dr. Deaton stood on the front porch, casting Stiles one of his enigmatic smiles.

“Hi,” Stiles said curiously. “Did I miss an appointment or something?”

“No,” Dr. Deaton said patiently. “I’m here to talk to Derek.”

Stiles heard Derek shift and a moment later he was at Stiles’ back, pressing up against his shoulder. “Yeah?” Derek asked, his tone guarded.

Deaton smiled faintly. “Derek,” he said, “it’s been a long time.”

Derek nodded jerkily. “Can I help you?”

Deaton smiled again. “I’m actually here to help you,” he said placidly. “The full moon is tomorrow night — a prime time to perform the ritual and get this town back on track.”

Derek breathed in sharply. Stiles said, “You want to come inside?”

Scott and Boyd were on their feet when they came back into the living room, and Isaac lurked in the doorway to the kitchen, looking a little anxious. “Do you want us to leave?” Scott asked Derek, who looked a little uncertain, his eyes flickering over to Dr. Deaton.

“It’s entirely your call,” Dr. Deaton told him. “The ritual is performed alone.”

Derek exhaled angrily. “Does it have to be?”

Dr. Deaton looked a little startled. “I — suppose not.”

“Good,” Derek said firmly. “Then I’m not going to do it alone. The reason we’re in this mess is because everything was kept a secret, and I’m not going to let that happen again.” He nodded at Scott and Boyd. “Stay.”

“Actually,” Dr. Deaton said, “this requires a trip to the nemeton. The ritual must be tailored to each specific site, and I’ve yet to see the tree.”

Derek nodded, his eyes flickering to Stiles. “Are you going to come?”

Stiles shook his head, barely suppressing a shudder at the thought of seeing the tree. “I’ll go with you tomorrow if you want me to, but I’d prefer to stay away from it.”

Derek nodded again and turned, leading the group across the house and out the back door. Isaac elected to stay behind to work on his gazpacho, but Stiles followed them to the edge of the yard, watching them disappear into the trees. He shuddered again and turned away, focusing his attention on the garden.

Stiles was still outside, on his knees pulling weeds, when they returned — Scott and Dr. Deaton at the front conversing cheerfully while Derek and Boyd walked behind, slower and silent. Derek paused by Stiles as the others headed for the house, reaching down to brush his fingers against the back of Stiles’ neck.

“Hey,” Stiles said, tilting his chin up to look at Derek. “Everything good?”

Derek smiled faintly. “We’re good to go.”

-

That night, Stiles dreamt about the nemeton for the first time in weeks. He stood at the base of it, so massive its upper branches were wreathed in clouds, tall as a skyscraper, limbs reaching out for miles. It shook violently in the wind and then, with a groan like a leviathan rising from the depths of the ocean, began to fall toward him. Stiles ran but he was nowhere near fast enough, the ground shaking under his feet, causing him to stumble and fall to the ground where he found himself trapped, unable to move as the nemeton came screaming down at him.

He woke up pinned under Derek’s weight, struggling and sweating, his breath coming in harsh heaves. “Hey, hey,” Derek said sharply, his hands cupping Stiles’ face. “Stiles.”

As awareness of where he was filtered back to him, Stiles stopping struggling, his hands finding the back of Derek’s shirt and tangling there, glad for the touch of something real. Derek stared down at him, looking worried. “Are you okay?”

Stiles nodded slowly, his breathing still uneven, though it was smoothing out now that he was awake. “Bad dream,” he mumbled, mouth dry.

“I’d say,” Derek said softly. He tilted his head, brushing his cheek against Stiles’. Stiles relaxed by slow degrees, his fingers loosening their death grip on Derek’s shirt. “Do you want to talk about it?” Derek asked, his voice a low rumble.

Stiles sighed. “It’s okay,” he said. “It was just the nemeton.”

Derek frowned faintly. “It frightens you.”

Stiles nodded, not ashamed to admit it. “Even before Jennifer took me,” he told Derek. “I kept having all these weird dreams about it.”

Derek was silent for a long moment. “I noticed,” he said finally. “I’d wake up because your heart rate went through the roof. I’d wake you up sometimes.”

“Thanks,” Stiles said softly. “I really appreciate that.”

Derek nodded, carefully shifting his weight off Stiles and back to the mattress, though he kept one leg hooked between Stiles’, head resting on the same pillow. Stiles sighed quietly, turning to face Derek, their foreheads touching. It wasn’t long before Stiles drifted back to sleep, weightless this time, undisturbed by dreams.

-

Derek wasn’t in the house when Stiles rose the next morning, though he’d left a note saying he was off to run the boundary of the town so Stiles wasn’t too worried. Erica showed up as he sat out on the front steps drinking coffee; she seemed a little disappointed Derek wasn’t there, but she was happy enough to sit with Stiles and talk. Stiles gave her a ride back into town — apparently she’d jogged all the way out to the house — and spent a quiet morning working a solo shift at the library.

The door opened around noon, announcing the seventh visitor he’d had all day, though when Stiles looked up he was startled to see Derek coming through the front door, a solemn look on his face. Stiles straightened from the stack of book he’d been entering into the system and grinned.

“Hey buddy,” he said cheerfully. “You’re a welcome surprise.”

Derek rolled his eyes, looking fond, and said, “Are you busy?”

Stiles gestured around at the empty library expansively, raising his eyebrows. “What do you think?”

Derek snorted. “I need your help.”

“Yeah?” Stiles shoved the books aside, leaning his elbows on the counter. “What’s up?”

“I’d like everyone in town to come to the ritual tonight,” Derek told him, leaning against the other side of the counter. “I don’t think this is something that should be kept a secret anymore and Deaton agrees — he thinks that by inviting everyone, the ritual will be more powerful, anyway.”

“Okay,” Stiles agreed. “Sounds like a good plan. What do you need from me?”

“Your body,” Derek said, deadpan, and Stiles laughed. Derek relaxed, eyes crinkling up at the corners, and continued, “I need you to go door to door and let people know. Laura’s already given the all-clear to close the library for the rest of the day.”

“I can do that,” Stiles nodded. “What do I tell people?”

Fifteen minutes later, Stiles had all the lights and computers turned off, signs hung on both the front and back doors.

Library closed early today.

Please come to the nemeton (that big-ass tree out in the preserve) tonight at sundown for a revitalization ritual with your favorite new alpha.

See you there!

- S.S.

-

Stiles got back to the house around six, right around the time his dad got back. Derek appeared maybe fifteen minutes later and he seemed agitated, ranging around the house while Stiles cooked dinner.

“Dude, cut that out,” Stiles sighed, as Derek twisted to peer out the back windows for the tenth time. “You’re making me nervous.”

“Sorry,” Derek muttered, clearing his throat with an anxious cough. He started picking at the paint on the doorframe instead and Stiles smacked his hand. Derek bared a fang at him but he backed away anyway, looking chastened.

“I understand why you’re nervous,” Stiles told him, “but everything’s going to be fine.”

Derek ran a hand through his hair, looking out at the backyard again, to where the sun was beginning to sink over the trees, dark clouds closing in. “Do you really think so?”

“Yeah, I do,” Stiles snorted, tossing the salad. “I think Deaton knows what he’s doing, and I think you do, too.”

Derek abandoned the window to come stand behind him, curling his arms around Stiles’ waist. He rubbed his face against Stiles’ neck and Stiles let him, even though it was really too hot for such close contact. He knew that it soothed Derek, though, so Stiles let him have his indulgence. Derek didn’t move away until Stiles’ dad came downstairs, freshly showered, but he seemed a little looser.

It started to rain while they ate dinner, not totally unsurprising; it’d been hot and humid all day, with the odd stillness that came before rainfall. Derek looked ruined, his shoulders slumping as he stared out at the darkening backyard, now lit with a yellow-gray light.

“No one’s going to want to come,” he said, sounding absolutely dejected.

“They will,” Stiles said firmly. “This is more important than a little bit of rain.” He hoped so, anyway; it was pouring by the time they had to go, coming down in thick sheets.

Derek stared out the window at it, him mouth turned down at the corners. He shook his head when Stiles asked him if he was coming. “I need to get ready,” he said. “You go ahead; I’ll be there.”

Stiles looked at his dad, who shrugged and pulled out the umbrellas, offering one to Stiles. They set off across the wet backyard, shoes squeaking on the sodden grass. Stiles pulled a face as they stepped into the woods, where it was a different sort of wet. The rain came down through the trees in big wet drops, the air damp and cold.

“He’s not going to back out, is he?” his dad asked as they made their way through the trees, the lights of the house fading behind them.

Stiles shook his head, absentmindedly tugging at his spark to pull his little ball of light into existence, illuminating the way through the darkening woods. “No way,” he said firmly. “Maybe the rest of town will, but he’s the one who’s got to perform the ritual, and there’s no way in hell he’s not going to do it. Not if it’s going to save the town.”

His father nodded. “You’ve got a lot of faith in him.”

“Yeah, I do,” Stiles said fiercely, and they didn’t speak again. Stiles was focused on the deep thrumming in the earth that would lead them to the nemeton. It made his skin crawl, the scars on his wrists aching at the memory of the last time he’d been at the crossroad of the telluric currents. He was scared of the nemeton, it was true; he was afraid of it latching onto him again, sucking him dry. He knew he was stronger now — Deaton had said it wasn’t likely to happen, but that didn’t make the thought of it, or the memory of what had happened, any less terrifying. Like he knew Stiles was getting nervous, his dad put a hand on his shoulder as they drew close to the clearing.

To Stiles’ surprise and gratification, the clearing and surrounding woods were crowded with people. Most of them held a light of some sort — candles, mostly, and flashlights and lanterns, though Stiles spotted a few people with little lights like his, though theirs flickered like candlelight. He saw Dr. Deaton across the clearing, a ring of flames around his bald head like a halo on fire. “Showoff,” Stiles muttered, biting back a smile.

The nemeton didn’t feel as threatening with so many people around; he could feel the magic of telluric currents strong under his feet, converging under the gnarled roots of the nemeton, but mostly he felt the energy of everyone in the clear, bright and alive. It felt a little like a carnival with everyone talking and holding their lights. He knew that Derek had been right to pull the town into the fold; just them all being here, in this clearing, was making things better.

Stiles spotted the werewolf members of the pack standing at the edge of the clearing, huddled under a massive blue-and-white golf umbrella held by Boyd. Stiles tapped his father on the shoulder and nodded over at them. His dad smiled. “Go on, then.”

Stiles trotted across the clearing, his light bobbing in front of him like a tiny guide, and skidded to a halt on the wet grass next to them. It was still raining hard, the temperature dropping low enough that he could see his breath, steaming in the air. He was glad he’d put on jeans and a sweatshirt. “Hey guys,” he said, shaking heavy droplets of rain off his umbrella.

“Hey,” Scott said, turning his bright smile on Stiles. “Where’s Derek?”

“Said he was getting ready,” Stiles said, jerking his head in the direction of the house.

“You think this is going to work?” Erica asked him, looking worried, and Stiles had to wonder just how he’d somehow managed to become the authority on the matter.

“I think so,” he told her, the same thing he’d told Derek. Stiles looked at the pack, all of them watching him with wide, anxious eyes. “I trust Derek.”

Isaac exhaled. “Me too,” he said firmly, and everyone else nodded. Stiles grinned.

Back across the clearing, people fell silent and Stiles twisted around to see Derek emerging from the trees, his pace measured. Derek was bare-chested, but his skin was painted with symbols and runes that Stiles couldn’t read. The marks didn’t bleed in the rain — either Derek had painted them with something grease-based and waterproof, or the marks themselves were magic, which wouldn’t have surprised Stiles in the slightest. Derek hadn’t shifted, though his eyes glowed red in the dim light of dusk, and his claws were long and sharp, curled carefully around the skull of his ancestor they’d spent so long searching for. He wore the crown of woven branches Lydia had brought him, the wood pale against his dark hair, plastered to his skull by the pouring rain. Stiles wondered if he was cold without a shirt on, but Derek didn’t seem to be aware of it. He didn’t seem to be aware of anything but the tree, his eyes fixed on its spreading canopy.

Around the clearing, people drew back as though pulled by invisible strings, until the clearing was empty and the town stood in a great circle around the edge of the trees, silent as they watched their alpha step amongst the massive roots of the nemeton. Stiles, sandwiched between Scott and Lydia, stared at Derek’s back and the spiral figure tattooed between his shoulder blades. Had it always been there? How had he not noticed?

Derek stretched his arms forward, lifting the skull to hang it from the tree. There must have been a nail or a hook there — it’d probably been there for generations, Stiles realized, ready to be used for the ceremony year after year. Derek straightened, and only then did his eyes flicker around the clearing, like he was seeing everyone there for a the first time. His eyes paused on Stiles, who smiled encouragingly, and Derek pulled his shoulders back proudly, reaching into his pocket for a slip of paper.

The words he read were strange, alien to Stiles’ ears, like nothing he’d ever heard. Derek’s voice, too, seemed unfamiliar, rolling and booming over the noise of the rain. Slowly, Stiles became aware of an unfamiliar sensation rising in the clearing, lapping at his shins. He could feel power building, buzzing in his chest, not entirely pleasant but energizing. He found himself dropping the umbrella, gasping at the cold shock of the rain, his hands seeking out Scott and Lydia’s. Their hands closed around his, wet and freezing and solid, and he felt the energy in the clearing rise higher. It whined in his ears, almost painfully loud; next to him, Scott flinched but didn’t let go of his hand. Everyone was holding hands, Stiles saw, all around the circle — his dad next to Melissa, Laura next to Finstock — everyone.

The magic in the circle grew to such a pitch that Stiles couldn’t tell if the ground was shaking or if it was in his body, clutching at him right down to the bones. It was scary, in a way, but the tree didn’t feel hungry like it had when Stiles was strung up against it. The magic curling around his shoulders now was curious, exploratory, excited; Stiles couldn’t feel the rain anymore, body cloaked in magic, warm and fresh. Over by the tree, Derek continued to read from the piece of paper, words slurred and half a howl, feverish.

Without warning, the magic burst, breaking over the circle like a shockwave, shooting off into the trees. The nemeton shook like it’d been caught in a gale, showering everyone with twigs and leaves. Derek stamped a foot against the wet earth, tilted his head back, and howled so loud Stiles felt it in his bones, an echo of the magic that’d just encircled them. The pack howled with him and, one by one, so did the people of the town; Lydia, Allison, Finstock — looking delighted — the town council members, the little old lady who grew pot on Ferne Lane, Mr. Sanderson the seven-times widow, even Stiles’ dad. Stiles was one of the last, giving into the call of the bright, wild energy coursing through him.

When the last of the cries faded away, echoing off the hills that gave the town its name, there was a slightly stunned silence, filled only by the sound of the rain, gentle now. Next to Stiles, Lydia was crying, and she wasn’t the only one. Derek turned from the tree, crossing his arms over his chest like he’d suddenly realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt.

“Did it work?” someone called, voice thin in the vastness of the clearing.

Derek twisted to look at whoever had spoken, a long moment passing before he admitted, “Yes,” a grin breaking out on his face. The crowd began to cheer — several people howled again — and swarmed forward around the tree. Stiles pushed his way toward Derek, grinning like a lunatic. Derek saw him coming and dodged the reaching hands that wanted to shake his, slipping around people until he reached Stiles, his face open and happy. Stiles threw his arms around Derek’s neck and Derek whirled him off his feet with a laugh, pressing their mouths together.

“You did it,” Stiles whispered when they broke apart. People laughed around them; someone slapped his back. “You saved us.”

Derek grinned at him, his pale eyes wet. Stiles kissed his forehead, the tip of his nose, each cheek, body full of a golden happiness he couldn’t even begin to subscribe.

“Look!” someone said, pointing up at the tree, and everyone craned their heads up to follow their finger. A collective gasp ran through the crowd as the branches of the nemeton shivered into life, tiny buds burst open to reveal soft white flowers with whorls of delicate pink at their centers. Stiles, mouth open in delighted surprise, looked at Derek, who blinked, a couple tears spilling down his cheeks. He looked at Stiles, expression raw, like he’d been punched in the gut.

“It’s real,” Derek said hoarsely.

Stiles smiled at him, his own eyes burning. “Yeah,” he agreed. “It is.”

-

Despite the pouring rain, the celebration at the nemeton raged on for hours. Stiles managed to work up the courage to press his hand to the bark of the tree and, to his relief, the magic coursing through the wood no longer felt wrong. It felt pure, like a well of crisp water. Some of the tension seeped out of his shoulders. When he could no longer ignore how cold he was, soaked to the bone, Derek gathered him onto his back and trotted off through the woods. Stiles curled his arms around Derek’s neck and pressed his forehead against Derek’s cheek, eyes suddenly heavy.

“‘M proud of you,” he mumbled.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” Derek replied softly, crossing the backyard with long, sure steps. The house was dim and quiet, the sound of the rain suddenly muffled. Derek carried him upstairs and into his room — their room, Stiles was pretty sure it could be called now — and they slipped out of their sopping wet clothes. The unfamiliar runes written on Derek’s skin had smeared into dark blurs. Derek wiped at them with a dirty shirt before climbing into bed after Stiles and wrapping himself around him like an octopus. Stiles melted under his weight, boneless and utterly content. He dragged his cheek against Derek’s neck in a poor imitation of the move Derek always used on him, murmuring, “You’re mine right?”

“Yeah,” Derek agreed quietly, rubbing a thumb along Stiles’ cheekbone. “I’m yours.”

-

The next week passed slowly, languid like molasses. Stiles worked his shifts at the library and on his day off, the pack had their beach day. They spent the day at Lake Shastina, basking in the sun and throwing each other into the frigid lakewater. Derek was particularly vicious; no member of the pack was safe from him. He even managed to throw Boyd, who had considerable bulk on him — and then chucked Erica in after when she laughed. She came out of the water screeching — “Like a banshee,” Stiles told Lydia smugly, and Lydia punched him on the arm. Stiles laughed until Derek decided it was his turn in the water. Stiles gave a undignified squawk of surprise when warm hands hooked under his armpits and flung him into the lake.

“Good to know your boyfriend doesn’t play favorites,” Lydia said smugly when Stiles climbed out of the lake, shivering and swearing. Lydia’s words made him freeze in the middle of toweling off, eyes flickering over to where Derek was rummaging through the pile of snacks they’d bought, saying something sarcastic to Scott, who laughed. “You are, right?” Lydia asked softly, watching him.

Stiles nodded jerkily. “We — not in so many words.”

Lydia raised her eyebrows. “Are you Facebook official?” she asked sarcastically, leaping away with a shriek when Stiles shook his wet hair at her.

“Part of me suspects Derek doesn’t even know what Facebook is,” Stiles replied.

“You’d be wrong there,” Lydia retorted. “He’s got one and it’s adorable.”

Stiles found it later, in the car as they drove back to Beacon Hills. Lydia had borrowed her mom’s SUV and Erica sat up front with her, Boyd stretched out across the middle row of seats while Stiles and Derek sat in the back. Scott drove ahead of them with Allison and Isaac. They hadn’t left the park until after sundown; it was truly dark down, and Derek had fallen asleep leaning against Stiles, head tucked against his neck. He smelled good, a little like salty sweat and sunscreen, and Stiles absently traced his hand up and down Derek’s thigh as he flipped through his phone.

Remembering what Lydia had said, Stiles searched Derek Hale on Facebook and got eight results, only three of whom lived in the country. He squinted at his screen. The picture of the Derek Hale who lived in California was taken from behind, his face not visible, but since the other two American Derek Hales lived in Virginia and Arizona, respectively, Stiles had to assume he’d found the right one. He tapped on the name to get to the profile and was disappointed to find most of it locked, unaccessible to him. He could see Derek’s basic information — student at UC Davis, birthday in early November, all his siblings and cousins. It made Stiles’ stomach twist to see their names — except for Laura, they were all dead.

He could look at Derek’s profile pictures and flicked through them slowly, strangely unsettled to see Derek so much younger, his face smooth and happy. In one picture he was at a party, ubiquitous red cup in hand, laughing in the middle of a crowded room. In another, he stood sandwiched between a younger Laura, and another girl much younger, who looked like Laura’s clone — Derek’s younger sister.

“What are you doing?” Derek asked sleepily.

“Doing some detective work,” Stiles replied, rubbing his cheek against the top of Derek’s head. He held up his phone, the window open to a picture of Derek with his face painted for some kind of sport event. “Do you recognize this man?” Stiles asked solemnly.

Derek tilted his head, staring at the photograph for a long moment before snorting. “Where’d you find that?”

“Your Facebook,” Stiles told him. “I sent you a friend request.”

Derek snorted again, plucking Stiles’ phone out of his hands. “I’ll be sure to deny it.”

“Rude!” Stiles exclaimed, shoving at him. Derek didn’t budge an inch, casting Stiles a sarcastic look before returning his gaze to the phone, swiping sideways through the pictures. Stiles watched him pause on the picture of him and his sisters.

“I remember this,” Derek said, sounding a little sad but mostly amused. “We had a barbecue and Cora stole a bottle of whiskey. All the kids got drunk. My mom was pissed.”

“I remember that,” Boyd said, sitting up from the middle row of seats. “That was my first time at one of the family parties. Your mom was terrifying.”

“She didn’t even use her alpha voice,” Erica added, twisting around from the front seat. “She was so disappointed in us.”

Derek snorted. “We heard that tone a lot growing up.”

“You were a bad boy, huh?” Stiles asked brightly. Derek glowered at him. Stiles laughed. “Oh, you totally were. Did you have a leather jacket?”

“Yeah, he did,” Erica input cheerfully. “So very not scary.”

Derek growled at her, looking half furious, half mortified. Erica just laughed at him and turned around to face out the windshield.

“Don’t worry, buddy,” Stiles told Derek, pinching his cheek. “I find you very scary.”

Derek snapped at Stiles’ fingers, grinning at his startled yelp. “You should,” he said, his eyes sparkling with wry amusement. “Do I need to tell everyone how you reacted the night we met?”

“No,” Stiles said firmly, clamping his hand over Derek’s mouth. “You do not.”

-

Two days later, Stiles came home from work to find his dad lounging on the couch and Derek in the kitchen making dinner. Stiles grinned at his dad, jerking his head in Derek’s direction. “You putting him to work?”

His father snorted. “He’s not paying rent, is he?”

Derek leaned into the living room, looking offended. “I said I could pay if you wanted me to.”

“Sure, now you say that,” his dad teased. Stiles could tell he liked having Derek around, though, and it relieved him to know that when Stiles left for school, his dad and Derek would have each other for company. “By the way,” his dad said, like he’d heard Stiles’ thoughts, “you got a letter from your school. It’s on the counter.”

Stiles nodded and went into the kitchen, sneaking a quick kiss to Derek’s cheek before rifling through the pile of mail sitting on the counter. He found the letter from his school and ripped it open, quickly skimming the contents with a sigh.

“Everything all right?” Derek asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, tossing the letter back on the counter. “It’s just a reminder about first day stuff — where I need to go to get my ID picture taken and whatever.”

Derek frowned down at the carrots he was dicing. “When do you go back?”

“Uh…” Stiles scanned the letter. “September third? I’ll go back before then, though, so I can settle in. Me and a couple of friends are renting a place for the year.” He chewed on his bottom lip, watching Derek a little anxiously. He hadn’t really thought about what was going to happen when he went back to school, and they certainly hadn’t talked about it. He knew Deaton would be holding down the fort as temporary emissary while he was away, as far as it came down to personal relationships — aka him and Derek — some part of him had somehow believed there was still at least a month left of summer before he had to think about it, not less than two weeks.

Derek didn’t look happy; he nodded at Stiles’ words but didn’t look up at him, his shoulders tense as he continued to chop the carrots up finer and finer. Stiles didn’t know what to say to him. Instead, he asked, “You want any help with dinner?” and when Derek shook his head — still not looking at him — Stiles retreated to the living room.

Derek was kind of stiff for the next few days. Maybe normal people would have looked at him and assumed it was just part of his personality, but Stiles knew Derek pretty well now, and he could tell when Derek wasn’t happy. Maybe the pack sensed it too, because the only person who showed up at the house that week was Laura, and she rolled her eyes exasperatedly at Derek’s closed-mouthedness. He spent a lot of time out of the house, running the boundary of the town, and Stiles spent a lot of time reaping the harvest from his garden, which was in full swing. He had a few magic lessons with Dr. Deaton, learning a wide range of runes, as well as how to handle his spark with more finesse for when it came time for him to learn more delicate spells than tossing a ball of light into the air. He didn’t mind the lessons; it was fun learning, and it kept him out of the house and Derek’s way, so that was fine with him.

As the days ticked down to his departure from Beacon Hills, though, Stiles had to face the fact that one, he badly needed to begin packing, and two, he needed to talk to Derek. He tackled the packing first because, if he was being truthful, he was dodging the issue with Derek. As it happened, though, the two needs coincided. On the last Wednesday before Stiles planned on leaving, he sat in his room digging through his desk drawers for anything that might be helpful and, the next time he looked up, Derek stood in the doorway, slightly obscured by a haze of dust.

Stiles sneezed explosively before managing a weak, “Hey, dude.”

“Hey,” Derek said quietly, not moving from the doorway.

Stiles swallowed; this was the moment, he knew. He patted the floor next to him. “You want to sit?”

Derek stared at him for a long moment before he stepped into the room. To Stiles’ surprise, Derek didn’t sit next to him but behind him, long legs on either side of Stiles’. Derek looped his arms around Stiles’ waist with a sigh, pressing his face between Stiles’ shoulder blades. Stiles sat stiff for a moment, startled, then relaxed in relief. Derek hadn’t been all too touchy for the past couple of days. They still ended up tangled together at night, sure, but Stiles thought that had more to do with Derek moving in his sleep than any conscious act on his part. Stiles had missed the comfort of his body.

“You okay?” Stiles asked softly, circling his hands around Derek’s wrists and squeezing gently. “Derek?”

Derek didn’t answer. Stiles waited a moment, listening to him breathe, then shrugged and reached out to sort through another pile of junk he’d pulled from a drawer. Derek would talk if and when he was ready; Stiles might as well get some work done. This drawer was interesting, anyway — it’d been ages since he’d cleaned out his desk, and his dad’s hadn’t bothered to go through it when they’d moved. There were all sorts of mementos from elementary school: certificates of participation, math worksheets with gold stars stuck on them, bad drawings of his parents. A worn folder held a bunch of work from second grade and Stiles laughed as he pulled out an essay.

“Dude, look,” he said to Derek. “What I Did On My Summer Vacation by Stiles Stilinski. Let’s see — Mom took me to the zoo. We went camping — I remember that. We always went to Point Reyes, but that summer I got poison ivy all over my legs and I was just miserable.” He snorted wryly, looking at his arms, marred by scarring from the burns from the grate at the library, and the cuts on his wrists from Jennifer. “Guess I’d have quite the essay to write about this summer.”

Behind him, Derek sighed again, but shifted, hooking his chin over Stiles’ shoulder to look at the paper Stiles held. “What’s ‘kalmin loshun’?”

“Calamine lotion, I think,” Stiles said. “We went through like three bottles.” They sat silently for a long moment, staring at the paper in Stiles’ hand. Stiles swallowed, his throat tightening. “This isn’t — I’m not going to be gone forever,” he said haltingly.

Derek heaved out a long breath. “I know.”

Stiles turned his head, pressing their temples together. “So what’s up?”

Derek was quiet for a while before he said grudgingly, “I don’t like change.”

“Not many people do,” Stiles said. “We’re not changing just because I’m leaving, are we?” he asked with a sudden stab of worry.

Derek’s arms tightened around his waist. “I don’t want us to.”

“Good,” Stiles breathed. “I’ll come back whenever I can, I promise, and you can come visit me whenever you want.”

“Okay,” Derek said quietly. “I’d like that.”

“You’re going to busy, anyway,” Stiles told him. “Getting the town back in order. Taking care of the pack. You probably won’t even realize I’m gone.” He blinked down at his hands, throat gone tight again. He was going to be the one nine hours from home, living with a couple of guys from school who were more acquaintances than friends. He suddenly wasn’t looking forward to going back to school at all.

“Don’t say that,” Derek replied, sounding a little wounded. He dragged his nose along Stiles’ cheekbone. “You’re never out of my mind.”

“I’d take you with me if I could,” Stiles said mournfully.

“I’d go,” Derek breathed, tilting his head to kiss Stiles. “If I wasn’t…”

“Alpha,” Stiles finished for him. He twisted around suddenly so he could kneel between Derek’s legs, bringing them nose-to-nose. “My alpha,” he said firmly. “Doesn’t matter where I go.” Derek’s face softened, a thin line of red light outlining his pale irises. Stiles managed to drudge up a smile, brushing a thumb against his cheek. “Can I ask a favor?”

Derek blinked slowly, leaning into Stiles’ touch. “What?”

“Can I — ” Stiles flushed a little, gathering his courage. “When I leave, can I take one of your shirts? I like — I want to smell like you.”

Derek’s eyes flashed full red, his nostrils flaring; Stiles was pretty sure that meant he was into it. His voice, though, was steady when he replied, “Only if I get one of yours in exchange.”

“Fair’s fair,” Stiles agreed, smiling for real then, though his heart ached a little as Derek leaned in for another kiss. He was going to miss this more than anything.

-

By Friday evening, Stiles’ car was packed and ready to go for the long drive the next day. His last day at the library was that day; Laura brought him a cake, and Lydia had her group of arts and crafts kids make him a banner that said We’ll Miss You in huge, glitter-covered letters. It got all over his hands and shirt, but he was too busy trying not to weep to notice.

When it came time to close the library down for the night, Stiles took one last slow lap around the place, absentmindedly straightening books, eyes sweeping over the walls. He went down into the cool, quiet basement and put his hand on the grate to the rare books room. It vibrated gently under his hand, the magic almost like an old friend by now. When he finally went back upstairs, Laura and Lydia were waiting for him by the back door, twin melancholy smiles on their faces. Stiles blinked rapidly at the sudden ache in his eyes, his throat tight. This isn’t permanent, he told himself fiercely, though it certainly seemed like a final goodbye. He welcomed the tight hug Laura gave him.

“We’ll have you back next summer,” she told him firmly. “I’ve already told Finstock. He had a conniption.”

Stiles laughed as she pulled away, her pale eyes sparkling suspiciously. Lydia hugged him next, standing on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“I’ll see you later,” she promised, and Stiles nodded; there was still the regular party at Scott’s house that night, which he was both dreading and looking forward to.

Laura ruffled his hair. “C’mon, then,” she said, a little sadly. “Time to lock up.”

Stiles gave the library one last fond look before following the girls outside into the dusty heat of late afternoon. He drove home slowly, taking in all the sights and sounds that were Beacon Hills. The town had changed in the week since the ritual — nothing a casual observer could see, but Stiles could feel it in the air, a vivaciousness and sense of life that hadn’t been there before. The town felt more real, in a sense. Alive.

Derek was on the front porch when Stiles got back to the house, talking with a middle-aged woman Stiles had seen around town — she was there for a consult with the alpha, Stiles guessed, squeezing Derek’s shoulder as he headed into the house. His dad was in the kitchen; Stiles lifted his head, sniffing appreciatively.

“Tacos?” he ventured.

“Fajitas,” his dad corrected. “Your mom’s recipe — and don’t even give me that look,” he added at the way Stiles narrowed his eyes at him. “It’s your last night home. I’ll eat what I want.”

Stiles gave in with a laugh as he settled himself down at the counter. “Fine, fine.”

Derek wandered in a few minutes later, settling himself down on the stool next to Stiles, pressing his knee to Stiles’. Stiles gave him a faint smile. “Hey, dude,” he said. “Who was that?”

“Her name’s Maura,” Derek told him, rubbing a hand over his face. “She’s an old friend of Mom’s. Likes to talk.”

“You were out there a long time,” Stiles’ dad agreed.

“We always used to run off into the woods when she came to visit,” Derek admitted, his eyes crinkling at the corners when Stiles snorted. “You might get roped into an hour-long conversation about her latest operation or whatever.”

“But you managed to escape,” Stiles grinned. “Did you use your alpha voice?”

“Maybe,” Derek said placidly. “I told her it was your last night in town and she disappeared.”

“You big softy,” Stiles said, his stomach twisting. Derek smiled, dropping his hand to Stiles’ thigh and keeping it there.

Stiles’ dad had to go in for a late shift after they’d eaten; it bummed Stiles out that he wouldn’t be able to spend any more time with him. “We never did get to go camping or anything,” Stiles said mournfully.

“You hate camping,” his dad retorted. "I think we spent enough time sitting around on the couch together to fill our father-son time quota for a couple of months, don't you?"

Stiles huffed out a laugh. "You may have a point there."

His father smiled. "I'll see you in the morning. Derek, make sure he doesn't stay up too late; I don't want him tired on the drive tomorrow."

"Yes sir," Derek said solemnly, while Stiles made an indignant noise behind him. The sheriff grinned and disappeared out the front door.

Stiles and Derek made their way out into the backyard so Stiles could take care of the garden one last time. Beyond watering it and pulling up a few scraggly weeds, there wasn't much he could actually do except harvest some cucumbers and tomatoes.

Derek, who'd settled on his back in the grass nearby, eyes closed, said suddenly, "You should take some of the wolfsbane to school with you."

"Why's that?" Stiles asked curiously, his hands full of string beans. "Are there packs around Los Angeles?"

Derek shrugged, cracking one pale eye open to look at him. The light of the setting sun washed it red. "Probably. I just want you to be safe."

"I've made it this long without being ravaged by werewolves," Stiles pointed out.

Derek sighed. "The supernatural attracts the supernatural, Stiles. It's how communities like this are formed."

"I'm not supernatural, though," Stiles protested.

"You've got a spark," Derek argued, "and you've spent all summer surrounded by us."

"Oh," Stiles said, realizing what he meant. "So I'm like, infused with the supernatural."

Derek made an exasperated noise. "If that's how you want to think about it."

Stiles looked down at his hands, dirt from the garden under his fingernails. "And I smell like you," he said thoughtfully. "Would that be a problem? If I ran into another pack?"

"Not for most packs," Derek replied. "Especially not in a city, where there's no real way to claim territory. But some packs can be aggressive. I just want you to be safe," he repeated.

"And I appreciate that," Stiles said softly. He flopped back on the grass, resting his head on Derek's stomach. He lay quiet for a moment, listening to the faint, steady sound of Derek's heart beating. "I'm not going to take it, though," he added. "I don't want to be the weirdo roommate with herbs drying in my room."

Derek snorted. "Fine," he said, his hand rising up to smooth over Stiles' hair. "Just watch out for yourself."

"I will," Stiles promised, his voice soft.

They fell silent after that, listening to the sounds of the day fade around them, the shadows growing long. They didn't get up until after the light had faded from the sky and Stiles began to shiver from lying for too long on the cool grass. Even then, though, they didn't head inside, but made their way down the long, quiet road to Scott's house.

As they drew nearer, Stiles noticed a lot of cars parked on the side of the road past the house, including a police cruiser that looked a lot like his dad's, and there seemed to be a lot more noise coming from the house than usual, all the windows ablaze with light. "What's going on?" he asked suspiciously, hand tightening around Derek's.

Derek smiled faintly. "Can't say," he said, sounding pleased — and rather smug.

Stiles eyed him crossly as Scott came around the side of the house, a wide grin on his face. "Dude!" Scott said enthusiastically. "Everyone's here!"

"Everyone?" Stiles repeated despairingly as Derek took him by the shoulders and guided him to the backyard. What looked like half the town stood back there, gathered under the glittery banner the kids at the library had made. Everyone shouted joyously when Stiles came around the corner of the house, cheering and clapping.

"God," Stiles said, his throat going tight again. "You assholes."

"Come on, Stilinski," Laura grinned, stepping up and pressing a beer into his hands. "You didn't think we were going to let you leave with just a hug, did you?"

"That's what normal people do," Stiles argued, but not very hard — mostly he was just touched that they' done this for him. Derek and Scott both looked incredibly pleased with themselves, and Stiles couldn't help the grin that spread over his face as he looked over at them.

"Late shift, huh?" Stiles said when he found his father in the crowd.

"I am, technically, on call," his dad replied, swinging an arm around his shoulders. "You ignore the lie and I'll ignore that beer in your hand."

"Agreed," Stiles laughed, clinking their beers together.

The party lasted late into the night, giving Stiles time to talk to everyone. "I think I've reached my hug quota for the year," Stiles told Erica, wheezing when she hugged him so hard his feet left the ground.

"That means anything after this is just a bonus," she retorted, a dangerous glint in her eyes.

"I'll make sure Dad puts in a good word for you at the police academy," Stiles said hurriedly, and ducked away.

Laura found him some time before midnight, wrapping him up in a hug more bone-crushing than Erica's. "I can't thank you enough," she murmured in his ear. "Derek wouldn't be here without you."

Stiles' eyes snapped to Derek, standing over by the back door as he talked casually with Scott's mom. "Maybe," he said, voice wavering a little. "But it's your job to keep him here while I'm gone."

Laura sniffed as she let him go. "I'll accept that task."

Derek showed up at his side a few minutes later. "Your dad says you need to go home."

"What, he can stay up late and I can't?" Stiles retorted, swinging around to look for his dad. He was talking with Boyd and Erica, and when he saw Stiles glare at him, he just waved cheerfully.

"Come on," Derek said, rolling his eyes at Stiles' indignant expression.

"Wait, wait," Stiles said. "I've got to say goodbye to Scott." He'd been putting it off; after Derek, Stiles knew he'd miss Scott the most out of all the friends he'd made that summer. Derek nodded, and Stiles found Scott by the snack table, looking a little sad.

"Hey, man," Stiles said quietly. "Thanks for everything you did this summer, including not calling me a dumbass for thinking you guys were LARPers."

Scott laughed. "We never did get around to playing D&D, did we? Our DM's still in Japan."

"Next summer," Stiles told him firmly.

Scott nodded. "Next summer."

They hugged tightly, Stiles thumping Scott's back and blinking madly. "Can I come and visit?" Scott asked, his eyes looking suspiciously misty. "I'm gonna use the money I earned this summer to buy a motorcycle."

Stiles laughed. "What does your mom think about that?"

"She doesn't know," Scott said, looking a little guilty.

"Well, you're welcome anytime, man," Stiles told him. "I'll see you around."

-

Stiles and Derek walked home in silence, their fingers loosely entwined. Stiles had this uncomfortable unhappy feeling twisting at his stomach; this time tomorrow he'd be back in Los Angeles, settling into the new apartment. Going back to school had never bothered him before but now, knowing there'd be no more working at the library, no more hanging out with his friends, no more curling up with Derek, he wanted nothing more than to say fuck it and never go back.

Derek sat on the end of Stiles' bed — their bed — watching Stiles yank his shirt over his head. He'd already stripped, clad in just his boxers, with his hands hanging loose over his knees as he watched Stiles. "I don't want you to go," he said abruptly.

Stiles paused with his jeans pushed halfway down his thighs, turning to look at Derek with a glum expression on his face. "I told you; it's not forever."

Derek clenched his jaw, looking down at his hands. "What if it is?" he said, and the misery in his voice made Stiles' heart hurt. "What if you decide that being our emissary isn't what you want? What if you can't find a job here, or you get offered something better hundreds of miles away?"

Stiles shoved his jeans off and pushed his way into Derek's space, straddling his thighs. Derek's hands lifted automatically to steady him and something in Stiles' chest settled a little at his touch. "That's not going to happen," he told Derek firmly. "Beacon Hills is where I'm gonna stay. You're here, my dad's here, all my friends are here. I'm your emissary; I'm not going anywhere else."

Derek looked at him for a long moment, a troubled look on his face. Stiles could tell Derek wanted to believe him, but wasn't sure if he could. "What about your schooling?" Derek asked. "If you waste your degree by staying here — "

Stiles laughed softly. "Dude, I'm studying programming. I can do that from anywhere." His face softened. "I always planned on staying near my dad. If you're around, that's just a bonus." He could feel Derek beginning to relax, his grip on Stiles' hips less desperate and more controlled. "What about you?" Stiles added, tone teasing. "Are you going to get a job and start paying my dad rent?"

Derek snorted, his body relaxing. "I thought I'd give the town a few more weeks to settle down," Derek told him truthfully, "and then I thought I might apply to the park service."

"Become a park ranger?" Stiles asked curiously.

Derek nodded. "There are a couple close by. Boyd's dad works for one."

"Hmm," Stiles said thoughtfully.

Derek frowned at him a little suspiciously. "What are you thinking about?"

"You in a ranger uniform," Stiles told him, grinning. "Do you think you'll get an axe?"

Derek snorted again, amused. "I'm not going to be a lumberjack."

"You sure you wouldn't rather be one?" Stiles asked, grinning. "Now I'm picturing you as the Brawny man and you look amazing."

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," Derek said dryly.

"Oh, I am," Stiles said, looping his arms around Derek's neck, his grin softening to a fond smile. "I've got a goodbye present for you."

Derek raised his eyebrows curiously; instead of saying anything more, Stiles leaned in for a slow kiss, Derek's mouth soft and welcoming against his. Stiles liked kissing Derek a lot. He moved so gently yet insistently, lifting his hand to press against Stiles' jaw, directing him where he wanted him to go. Stiles could feel the power in his touch and wondered if Derek ever really let go. Maybe when they'd been together a bit longer he'd ask, but for now and forever he liked Derek like this, liked the way he groaned low in his throat when he tilted his head to mouth at Stiles' neck, like a starving man presented with his first meal in months.

Stiles sighed happily, his hands skimming over Derek's solid chest, grinning at the way Derek’s breath hitched when he tweaked a nipple. His hands slid lower, Stiles scraping his nails through the thick trail of hair below Derek's navel, which disappeared into his boxers. Derek made a quiet noise against Stiles' neck, half muffled against his skin.

"Okay?" Stiles asked softly, his fingers plucking at the elastic band of Derek's underwear. Derek nodded, groaning quietly when Stiles slid his hand inside and curled his fingers around Derek, humming happily at the feel of him. Stiles slowly jerked him to hardness, until Derek was panting into his neck, his hips twitching under Stiles' weight. That was when Stiles let go of him, shimmying backward. Derek made a confused noise, his hands gripping at Stiles, unwilling to let him go.

"Let me go," Stiles grinned. "I want to give you your present."

Derek's brow furrowed, but he reluctantly let go of Stiles, who shifted off Derek to kneel on the floor. "Okay?" Stiles asked again. Derek's eyes widened in sudden understanding; he nodded again, spreading his thighs so Stiles could settle between them, pushing his boxers down his hips. "I'm gonna leave you something to remember me by," Stiles told him, grinning darkly at the way Derek's eyes went red and stayed that way.

He started slow, kissing his way up the inside of Derek's thigh before wrapping his hand around the base of Derek's dick and dragging his tongue across the tip. Stiles kept his eyes on Derek's face, smiling when Derek tilted his head back, mouth open. He watched Derek's chest heave as he took him deeper into his mouth, the weight of Derek's dick heavy on his tongue, skin soft and warm. When Derek looked back down at him, his face was slack and punch-drunk, cheeks pink. Stiles had to shut his eyes for a minute, his own dick hard and pulsing in his boxers.

Derek put his hand to Stiles' cheek as his head bobbed up and down, fingers tracing the line of his jaw, brushing against his throat before settling in his hair — not tugging, but just resting there, solid and comforting. Stiles liked the weight of it, how Derek's spread fingers encompassed his skull. He dipped down further to reward him, fighting not to gag at the feeling of Derek hitting the back of his throat. Derek groaned, his thighs tensing under Stiles as he fought the rise of his hips.

"Jesus," Derek hissed, his hands slipping down to Stiles' shoulders, forcing him to stop. "Your dad just got home."

Stiles lifted his head with a slick noise, eyes unfocused as he caught the sound of the front door closing. "Don't worry," he slurred, writing two runes in the air. They hung there for a second, glittering faint gold, and then disappeared. A moment later, a gentle breeze swung the door shut, the latch catching with a click.

"You're too clever for your own good," Derek told him, amused.

"Mmm," Stiles agreed, leaning back in to take Derek's dick in hand, lips still slick with spit and precome. "Don't pretend like you don't like it."

"Caught me," Derek said, his words breaking off into a faint groan as Stiles got his mouth back on him, settling back into the task at hand with renewed vigor. Stiles was quickly rewarded by Derek's increasingly harsh breathing, his hips rolling under Stiles' mouth despite his effort to keep still. "Stiles," Derek warned, hips stuttering, the muscles in his thighs flexing.

Stiles grinned up at him, tapping encouragingly on his leg. Derek groaned, crimson eyes squeezing shut as he came down Stiles' throat, head tipped back. Stiles waited for Derek to lift his hand from Stiles' hair before pulling off him slowly, licking his swollen lips.

"You gonna remember me?" he teased, voice a little hoarse.

"Come here," Derek said fiercely, tugging Stiles back up and into a rough kiss, hands squeezing at his hips.

"God," Stiles moaned, getting a hand between them so he could touch himself, so hard it kind of hurt. Derek, though, made an angry noise and pushed him backward, putting room between them so he could slide off the bed, kneeling before Stiles. Stiles watched with wide eyes as Derek jerked him off himself, eyes burning red from behind heavy lids. Stiles could feel his orgasm building low in his hips; he swayed, hands flying out to anchor himself on Derek's shoulders.

"I'm gonna," he tried. "Derek — "

"Go ahead," Derek said roughly, and he closed his eyes, mouth open as he continued to jerk Stiles off.

"Fuck," Stiles gasped, hips jolting forward as he came on Derek's face, heavy white drops of come splashing against his skin. He shuddered, legs shaking and bloodless. "God." He sank to the floor as Derek opened his eyes, looking pleased. "It got in your hair."

"Don't care," Derek replied, licking his lips lazily. "I'll smell like you now."

Stiles laughed weakly. "Laura already said we reek of each other."

"So I'll reek even more," Derek retorted, nuzzling Stiles' neck. "I don't mind."

"Yeah," Stiles agreed, dragging his fingernails through Derek's hair and thinking of the three t-shirts belonging to Derek that were folded up in his dufflebag. "Me either."

They sat on the floor for a while, Stiles tucked up against Derek's side as Derek absently rubbed his cheek against Stiles' neck. His eyes began to grow heavy, body warm and sated and relaxed. He barely noticed when Derek stopped and said, "You need to sleep."

"Mm," Stiles agreed sleepily, letting Derek pull them to their feet and crawl into bed. He immediately turned on his side, lips curving up in a smile when Derek curled an arm around him and pulled him close. "Gonna miss you," he mumbled.

"I know," Derek murmured, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. "I'm going to miss you too."

Stiles fell asleep with Derek curled around him, their fingers entangled. He didn't dream of anything that night, safe behind a wall of love and contentedness.

-

That morning, Stiles rose to find the bed next to him empty, the sheets cool. He shrugged and went off to shower, though when he went downstairs, lugging the duffle bag full of the last of his things, he found his dad in the kitchen making breakfast, but no sign of Derek.

"I think he went on his run around the boundary," his dad told him, dropping a plate of eggs and sausage in front of him. "Eat up."

Stiles ate as directed, head caught in that bleary place that comes from not enough sleep. His father eyed him critically. "You gonna make it?"

"Just load me up with coffee," Stiles said sleepily, glancing at the time on his phone. He'd have to get on the road pretty soon if he wanted to get to LA before sunset; once there, he'd still need to get all his stuff inside the apartment. Still, he dragged two cups of coffee out over nearly an hour, waiting for Derek to come back so he could say goodbye.

Derek didn't come back, though; Stiles watched the door, leg jiggling nervously, until his dad sighed and said, "You need to get on the road, son."

"I know," Stiles said, not taking his eyes off the door, a sinking feeling in his stomach. He didn't rise for another fifteen minutes despite all the significant looks his dad kept casting him and when he did he moved slowly, dragging his bag out to the Jeep and looking anxiously to the woods the entire time.

"I'll make him call and explain himself when he gets back," his dad told him, patting him on the back. Stiles nodded, his heart hammering with anxiety. It's okay, he told himself. They'd had their goodbye last night, really. He'd said everything he needed to. Still, it would have been nice to see Derek one last time. Like, really nice.

Stiles gave his dad a long hug goodbye, promising he'd call once he made it to the city. He didn't say anything more about Derek, climbing into the Jeep and backing out of the driveway. It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter, he repeated in his head over and over. His eyes were not burning. It doesn't matter.

Stiles drove slowly through town, returning the waves people tossed his way. Then he left the town proper and began heading for the highway, the houses giving way to trees as he approached the town line. He'd almost reached it when someone stepped out of the woods by the Now Leaving Beacon Hills sign and he slammed on his brakes so hard he almost smacked his head against the steering wheel.

"Fuck!" Stiles swore furiously, throwing himself out of the Jeep, ready to punch Derek's lights out. "You asshole!"

"Sorry," Derek said, so miserably that Stiles settled for punching him on the arm instead. It hurt; Derek was built like a brick house. "Sorry," Derek repeated.

"Where were you?" Stiles asked, some of his anger fading, the hurt settling in instead.

"I don't — I don't like goodbyes," Derek said haltingly. He took a step closer, then paused like he wasn't sure Stiles wanted him near. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, just come here," Stiles sighed, gesturing at him. Derek stepped forward and curled his arms around Stiles, who sighed and tucked his head against Derek's neck. They stood like that for a long time, Derek breathing slow and steady in Stiles' ear. Several passing cars honked at them before Stiles pulled away. "I've got to get going," he said.

Derek nodded, the corners of his mouth turning down. "I have something for you," he said. "Going away present."

"Blowjob?" Stiles joked wearily. "I don't have time, dude."

Derek gave him an exasperated look and reached into his pocket, pulling out the little stone wolf Laura had taken from the security deposit box. "Here."

"Oh, dude, no," Stiles protested. "That's like, a family heirloom."

"I want you to have it," Derek insisted, pressing it into Stiles' hands. Stiles curled his fingers around it reflexively, accepting its chilly weight.

"Thank you," he whispered, gazing down at it.

Derek leaned in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. "You should get going," he said gently.

"Yeah," Stiles agreed sadly, kissing Derek in return. "I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Travel safe," Derek replied, and he stood by the edge of the road, watching Stiles climb back into the Jeep. Stiles watched him in the rear view mirror until he followed a curve in the road and could see Derek no more.

-

It was early evening by the time Stiles got back to Los Angeles. He shot off a quick text to his dad — made it fine, will call tomorrow — and then he and his roommates spent the next couple of hours unloading the Jeep and trying to get the apartment somewhat livable. It was almost midnight by the time Stiles had a chance to shower and get ready for bed, his heart aching a little as he pulled one of Derek's shirts from his bag and tugged it on. He wondered what Derek was doing right now. They hadn't spent a night apart in a long time.

He plucked the little stone wolf from where he'd carefully wrapped it in a towel and set it on his nightstand, fingers slowly tracing over the cool stone. It was going to be a rough year, he was pretty sure.

Next to the wolf, his phone buzzed with a message from his dad: I'll talk to you tomorrow. Derek says check your Facebook.

Stiles smiled faintly. He'd have to try to get Dad to make Derek get a cellphone; it was going to get embarrassing real fast if Dad had to act as their go-between all the time.

He had two new notifications on Facebook; the first said Derek Hale has accepted your friend request, and the second — Stiles started grinning. Derek Hale has changed his relationship status to "In a relationship with Stiles Stilinski." Half the pack had already liked it. Maybe this year wouldn't be so bad after all.

As Stiles curled on his side and began to drift off to sleep, the little stone wolf on his nightstand yawned, shaking out its fur and stretching each leg one at a time. It laid down in a tight circle, drawing its tail over its face as its obsidian eyes settled shut, utterly content.

Notes:

Thank you for all the support and kind words left on this fic over the years! As always, I am on tumblr & twitter.