It Takes Time (I'm Here Now)

by kianspo

Summary:

Stiles has been crushing on Derek since he was 11 years old. Everyone knows about it. Derek used to tease him about his crush, though not in a mean way. Stiles is someone who has always just been there, and Derek likes being around him, more and more as time goes by. He doesn't understand why until Stiles comes back from college. Has Derek taken too long to figure it out? Now that Stiles has a career and a steady boyfriend, is it too late for Derek to tell him how he feels? Derek might have left him alone, if he didn't hate Stiles's boyfriend quite so much...

Notes:

• Translation into Italiano available: It Takes Time ( I'm Here Now) / Italian Translation by ltxcuteness

I didn't realize this story would grow so much when I sat down to write it. JSYK the Hale family will still suffer heavy losses, don't let the tags lead you astray. Also, in case you're squeamish about your OTP being with other people, both Stiles and Derek date other people in the course of this story before we get to the happy part.

Also, hi, never wrote for TW before, please don't beat me up. In case you'd want to send me a strongly worded note or something, you can do it here. ;)

There is now an Italian translation available on Wattpad!

Chapter 1

Derek first learns that a crush has a specific scent when he’s six years old. He’s been playing on the lawn in front of the house, dicking around with the ball more than throwing it into the hoop, when a car pulls up and unloads Laura and three of her classmates.

“Class project!” Laura announces cheerfully as she ruffles his hair when Derek runs up to greet her. They are werewolves, and he’s still at that age when physical affection from his elder sister isn’t embarrassing.

Derek is bundled up with the group as they head inside, Laura yelling loudly for their mom, asking if there’s any lemonade. They are all in the kitchen, when Derek looks around, confused, sniffing, and finally fixes on Andrew.

“Why do you smell like cotton candy?” he asks, almost hopeful that the boy has some on him. “Oh, but… you don’t now. But you did! You just did! When you looked at Laura, you—”

Andrew has gone red in the face and is coughing into his lemonade, while the other two girls giggle. Laura turns almost purple and hisses at him: “Shut up! Oh my God, Der, you’re the worst!” Then, she runs out of the kitchen, the others following, still giggling.

Utterly confused, Derek looks at his mother. “Mom?”

Talia Hale, heavily pregnant and looking a lot softer for it than usual—a lot more like Derek’s mom and not the formidable alpha of the presiding pack of Beacon Hills, laughs at his puzzlement.

“He likes her,” she explains, picking up the glasses from the table and setting them in the sink.

“So?” Derek asks, brows furrowed. “All her friends like her. They don’t all—oh! You mean, he likes her like he wants to kiss her?”

Talia chuckles. “Yes, sort of like that. Andrew has a little crush on your sister. Now, Derek.” She fixes him with a stern look. “This isn’t something to tease him about, okay? In fact, if you ever catch anyone smelling like that, the polite thing to do is not to say anything.”

“Why?” Derek asks, bewildered.

“First of all, because not everyone has a wolf’s nose.” She pinches the tip of his nose playfully. Derek bats her away. “And second, because people can’t help how they feel. It’s not nice to tease them about it, because you don’t choose to feel a certain way about someone and you can’t just stop. When you’re crushing on someone you already feel…”

“Bad?”

“Well, not bad, necessarily, but you do feel vulnerable. You know, like… like you don’t have any clothes on, and everyone can see it.”

“Ew.”

“Yes, well. That’s love for you.” Talia laughed. “The polite thing would be to offer them your jacket, so to speak. Pretend like you don’t notice.”

Derek looks at her dubiously. “That won’t work with werewolves.”

“Yes, but not everyone is a werewolf,” Talia says and ruffles his hair. “Just don’t be mean, okay?”

“I’m not mean,” Derek says, his attention already slipping, as his eyes fall on the plate of cookies on the counter behind her. “Can I have a cookie?”

“You can have one if you bring the plate to your sister’s room and behave.”

“I will, I will! Gimme!”

Andrew blushes scarlet when he sees him, and Laura glares at him. Derek very prudently says nothing. He has taken two cookies though, and that feels like a way more important secret to keep than someone’s stupid crush anyway.

--

Crushes don’t always smell like cotton candy. The scent varies from person to person, but it’s still distinctive by the emotion it stirs. Derek often thinks of it afterwards in terms of that plate of cookies. It’s like he can see them, he can smell them and they smell amazing, and he knows they’d be chewy and warm inside, but they’re sitting just out of reach, and he’s not allowed to have them, and if he steals one, he’d feel kind of guilty.

The scent of a crush encompasses all of that. Derek becomes familiar with it, encountering it every so often when he’s with Laura, or some of his elder cousins, or even, shockingly, with his mom. He’s been good about not saying anything. He kind of gets it.

He’s sixteen when he detects the scent again, he realizes that it’s directed at him. That’s the first time it’s ever happened.

Initially, Derek is surprised that it is indeed the first time. He’s not arrogant, but he knows he’s attractive. Hell, he’s sixteen, and he already has a couple of break-ups under his belt. Paige, a quiet girl one year his junior, who shared her love of music and a few sweet kisses with him before her family moved. And Rob, Peter’s friend, who was giving Derek a crush course on exactly what his body was good for until Derek’s parents discovered them, and Peter was banished from the house for a while and Rob sent away by his own alpha.

Derek is excessively familiar with the scent of physical attraction, is used to have it aimed his way when he walks the school corridors. But no one has ever been crushing on him before, especially not like this, when all the emotions are there but not a drop of arousal. It’s confusing, and it makes him… not entirely comfortable, considering the source.

It starts when he comes home from school one afternoon to find a frantic-looking woman with curly black hair talking to his mother. Derek knows her. It’s Melissa McCall, head nurse at the local hospital. Derek remembers how great she was not mentioning his fear of needles when he had come in to update his vaccinations. Apparently, while werewolves couldn’t get sick with most human ailments, it was still undetermined if they could be carriers, and Talia Hale took her duty to protect the town under her care very seriously.

But right now, Melissa isn’t displaying any of her good humor or the ability to talk to her patients on their level without appearing condescending. She’s a mess, she’s been crying, her mascara is in rivulets on her cheeks, she’s wringing her hands anxiously, and she smells overwhelmingly of fear. Derek’s mother shoots him a glance, but doesn’t banish him from the living room. She’s the kind of alpha who prefers to keep as few secrets from her pack as possible, those old enough to be able to handle it, of course. Derek preens a little at being tacitly allowed to stay.

It turns out, Melissa’s eleven-year-old son was bitten by a rogue alpha passing through town and, judging by the fact that the bite had healed overnight, the kid has turned. Talia is scowling which is putting Melissa even more on edge. Derek knows, though, that the scowl has more to do with the rogue alpha passing undetected through Hale territory and an innocent kid having been harmed on her watch. Derek’s dad, human, but no less cognizant of Melissa’s emotions for it, wraps a comforting arm around her shoulders and sends his wife a pointed look.

Talia deflates slightly and looks instantly apologetic. She moves closer on the couch and takes Melissa’s hands in hers.

“Scott is a part of my pack now, if you and he both consent to it. I will give him all the training and protection he needs. We’ll catch the rogue or break the bond between them if he eludes us. You don’t have to worry, Melissa. We take care of our own.”

Melissa sobs in relief and all but falls into Talia’s arms. His mother is a powerful alpha, who views the entire town of Beacon Hills as hers to protect. People know this and respect her. The two women had barely spoken a handful of times before, yet it was the alpha’s house where Melissa ran to in time of crisis. Derek can’t help but feel proud of that, of how much people trust his mother.

Melissa leaves eventually to go get Scott, while Talia makes calls to have the entire core family assembled. Many people are part of the pack by extension, but it’s not every day that they take a new wolf in, and it feels right to have all the Hales present for it. Even Peter is allowed in the house for the occasion.

Melissa comes back with not one, but two kids in tow. One is undoubtedly Scott. He has her coloring, her eyes, and a certain air of sweetness around him that is his mother’s defining trait. The other kid is very clearly not a blood relation, though by the way Scott is clutching at his hand, he might as well be.

He’s skinny like a stick figure, with dark brown hair that no one clearly had the patience to cut in any sort of fashion so it was simply buzzed instead. His big brown eyes are distinctly reminiscent of Bambi, if not for the way they are taking in everything around him with a sort of protective fierceness that sweet cartoon woodland creatures never hoped to have. He’s looking at the assembled werewolves as if he’s taking down their number and is marking down the position of escape routes.

“Yeah, sorry. This is Stiles,” Melissa says, making a helpless gesture at him as if there is no way of explaining him other than that. Derek will learn in years to come just how accurate that observation is.

Talia doesn’t bat an eyelash, though Derek can tell she’s hiding her amusement. But he can also see that his mother respects the show of solidarity the two boys demonstrate. She comes over to stand in front of them, holding their eyes in turn.

“Welcome, Scott,” she says and touches his shoulder briefly.

Scott tenses, looking down, and muttering something like “Thanks” under his breath.

Talia turns her gaze on the other boy. “And you, Stiles. What are you here for? Are you seeking the Bite to be a wolf like your friend?”

There is no way, of course, that she’d be giving it to him without his parents’ consent or until he turns eighteen and can petition for it. But the kid goes rigid all the same, Scott looks up abruptly, glaring at the alpha, and even Melissa looks alarmed, stepping closer.

Stiles, though, Stiles jerks his chin up, staring down the alpha defiantly, as if none of them can hear the panicked-fast beat of his heart.

“No,” he says very clearly, his voice, still decidedly a child’s voice on the edge of breaking, carrying effortlessly. “I’m here to make sure my best friend isn’t locked up in some dungeon, hooked to some torture device and used as… as… as some sort of chew toy for you guys!”

He’s red in the face by the time he’s finished, visibly trembling, but still tracking down every werewolf in the room and clearly challenging the alpha. Scott looks at him in alarm, while Melissa covers her face with her palms.

“Stiles…” she groans.

Cora growls lowly and starts forward, but Derek easily grabs her shoulder and holds her back. His father is clearly amused, Peter is smirking, a gleeful expression on his face, Laura is obviously struggling to hold in her laughter, and even Derek feels his lips twitch. The kid’s got balls.

Talia doesn’t laugh, though, looking at Stiles with a thoughtful expression. “I can assure you, Stiles, that I only want what’s best for Scott. He’s a werewolf now, and he will need training and a pack to be healthy and stable. There is no… er, torture dungeon in our house, but I can give you a tour so you can check for yourself if you like. I cannot guarantee, however, that Scott will not end up… being a ‘chew toy’ at some point. Werewolf training is messy, but that’s how we learn control. My kids all went through the same thing. You can see for yourself that they have turned out all right.” She tilts her head at them without taking her eyes off Stiles.

“Oh, I don’t know, Mom,” Laura drawls, grinning. “I think Derek still isn’t quite housebroken.”

Derek elbows her in the ribs, and she kicks his shin in response. It devolves quickly into the werewolf version of a slap fight, until Peter takes them both by the scruff of their necks and forcibly separates them.

“I see what you mean,” Talia says drily, sparing them an unimpressed look before turning back to Stiles. “This, I cannot protect Scott from. But if he’s anything like this lot, he’ll be perfectly capable of giving as good as he gets.”

Stiles chews on his bottom lip, looking torn, but the immature display has clearly settled something for him.

“That’s fair, I guess,” he says, slightly more subdued. “Sorry, I’ll… I’ll butt out. Leave you to it. Um. Thanks for not ripping my throat out.”

Before Talia can respond, Scott jerks him back to his side. “You’re staying!” he declares, his heartrate spiking in a way that makes every werewolf in the room freeze. “If I’m pack, you’re pack.” He turns to Talia, glaring, baring his teeth without knowing what he’s doing. “I’m not staying without Stiles! If you kick him out, I’ll go too!”

The level of noise goes up suddenly, as everyone seems to be talking at once. Talia saying that no one is kicking anyone out, Melissa, terrified, chastising Scott, Peter commenting on insolent brats, Cora, feeling insulted, growling. Scott, though, Scott seems to be breathing too rapidly, and Derek can see his shift coming over him quickly. His teeth elongate, his eyes flash amber, his face ripples, reshaping itself. He’s not in control, not even close, and this can turn nasty at any moment.

Derek shifts closer unconsciously as does Peter. Any second now, Derek is expecting his mother to flash her alpha eyes at Scott and growl, forcing him into submission. He’s bracing himself because he’s never unaffected by her alpha roar, even when it’s not directed at him.

What happens instead is Stiles grabbing Scott’s shoulders, turning him forcibly toward himself. Scott’s arms flail in panic, his claws slashing through Stiles’s arms. Stiles hisses in pain but doesn’t let go.

“Scott! Scotty! Hey, buddy, listen to me. It’s me, it’s Stiles. You don’t want to eat Stiles, do you? Just pull it back, I know you can. You’ve done it before, remember? Just listen to my voice. Remember we talked about your heartrate? It’s way too high, buddy. Just take deep breaths, just breathe for me, okay? In and out, in and out, that’s it. Good. Good. Just calm down. Just pull it back, yeah? Come on. Just like we practiced. Just breathe. Think of not eating me. Er… think of—oh! Think of your mom. You don’t want to eat her, do you? She’s your mom, she makes great cookies, though her pasta is shit—ouch! Sorry, Ms. McCall! That’s it, buddy. That’s it.”

He keeps on talking, barreling on ahead with any kind of nonsense that springs to his brain. Derek stops listening and watches Scott instead. Scott’s breathing evens out gradually, and, while he doesn’t change back, he’s calmed down enough to look down at his hands in puzzlement. There’s blood on the tips of his claws, and there’s blood staining Stiles’s t-shirt, bright red spots blooming on the white cotton.

“Oh my God, I hurt you,” Scott whimpers, and just like that he’s back, the shift releases him, and he’s once again just a confused kid, standing in the middle of their living room, looking bewildered and scared.

Talia pulls him gently away from Stiles then, talking to him in a low, soothing voice that Derek knows so well, while his dad tugs Stiles into the kitchen, muttering about first-aid kits. The tension dissipates quickly after that, and by the end of the day, the Hale pack is larger by one wolf and two humans by extension.

“Your mother should have bitten that one, whether he wanted it or not,” Peter says later, as they watch Scott and Stiles throw the ball around with Cora, while Talia and Rick are giving Melissa a crash course in pack dynamics in the kitchen. Stiles is abysmal more often than not, mostly because he keeps getting distracted.

“It’s because you say shit like that that Mom banned you from the house,” Derek replies.

“Tsk. Language, dear nephew. There are ways to do that and cover it up, you know.”

Derek turns to look at him. “Haven’t you heard him? His dad is the sheriff. I really don’t think he’d let something like that go.” He doesn’t say anything about how not only illegal, but immoral such a thing is, because he knows perfectly well that Peter really doesn’t care.

“Is he now?” Peter lifts his eyebrow. “So he’s even more useful to us. I’m just saying. He’d make a good wolf.”

Stiles chooses that moment to not only drop the ball, but somehow trip over his own feet and fall on his ass. Derek snorts.

But as Stiles and Scott are apparently a package deal, Stiles is around the house since that day as often as Scott is. At first, he watches as Scott trains along with Cora and a few younger Hale cousins. For all that werewolves are common these days, especially in places like Beacon Hills, Stiles seems infinitely fascinated with them and doesn’t tire of watching them shift.

When the novelty wears off, however, he can be most commonly found somewhere in the house doing his homework to bide the time, frequently doing some of Scott’s as well. When that gets boring, Stiles raids the library for books on weres of all kinds, supernatural law, magic, herb lore and whatever else strikes his fancy. His constant presence becomes familiar, his scent blending in with all the others to the point of not really registering.

So it’s all the more surprising to Derek when, a few months in, he notices that Stiles’s scent changes to something bittersweet and intangible, whenever he runs into Derek.

It’s a crush. Derek knows it’s a crush. It’s there in the way Stiles’s eyes go wide in surprise or the way his heart starts beating faster. His heartbeat does this tiny little flip whenever he sees Derek. It’s barely noticeable unless one is to specifically listen for it. Derek doesn’t know why he does, but he does.

‘Don’t be mean,’ his mother had once told him.

And he can’t. He can’t even imagine being mean to Stiles about this. It’s absurd, because Stiles is just a kid, but Derek feels—flattered. Not in the way he does when someone finds him attractive. Rather, he’s kind of awed that he of all people can inspire something so sweet and innocent and trusting. It’s not sexual yet, and part of Derek kind of hopes it wears off before Stiles hits puberty and it becomes awkward. But the other part of him selfishly doesn’t wish to part with this, the emotion directed at him too precious to lose.

They are right on the verge of that awkward age, though, and Derek is pretty sure that either Scott or Cora says something to Stiles, because suddenly he’s at the house a lot less. He swings by with Scott once a week maybe and begs Talia’s permission to take some of the books home with him instead of reading them at the Hale house.

“Was I mean?” Derek asks his mother, dismayed, when Melissa drops off Scott yet again sans Stiles.

He doesn’t think he was. He likes talking to Stiles and never passes an opportunity to chat with him, Stiles’s keen mind always taking him in for a ride despite the age gap between them. Derek started guarding Stiles’s favorite cookies before his siblings could get to them so Stiles could have some by the time he made it to the house. Derek even tried to teach him some self-defense, though that was really a disaster, because Stiles was somehow even more clumsy than usual. Still. Derek was trying to be nice.

“No, honey.” His mom shakes her head. “You were very kind to him. Maybe a bit too much, so he noticed. You just have to give him some time. It’ll pass. Remember that summer when all you could talk about was your cousin Jaime? You followed him around everywhere like a tail, remember that?”

Derek flushes and nods. He was maybe ten at the time and thought that his cousin Jaime was a superhero.

“And then you went back to school, made new friends, and forgot all about it. It’ll be the same with Stiles. Just don’t make a big deal out of it, and when you’re older you’ll both laugh about it.”

Jaime, now that Derek thinks about him, had been really cool to Derek. Very patient, too. He doesn’t tell his mother that Jaime is still something of a role model for him. It puts things in perspective though, and Derek is pleased. He can totally be Stiles’s Jaime.

He doesn’t really dwell on the fantasy of being someone’s hero long. The summer rolls around before he knows it, and then Derek is suddenly busy with his summer job with the Forest Service, while Scott is shipped with Cora to train with a friendly pack in Mexico and Stiles goes to visit his grandmother who lives somewhere around Boston. Derek and Laura then fly over to Brazil to visit and train with their distant cousins, and it’s a flurry of new scents and sceneries, new interesting people—like their cousin Alex, who makes Derek’s own heart do somersaults, obstacle courses that are really spooky even for Derek, and spicy local food. And did he mention his cousin Alex? Alex is hot.

By the time the new school year starts, Stiles and his little crush have been firmly relegated to the background of Derek’s mind, accepted and stored as just a part of his everyday reality, not needing any special attention. He does still notice the peculiar little flip Stiles’s heart makes every time he sees Derek and smiles a little to himself every time.

--

High school is notorious for being one of the most stressful chapters of anyone’s life, but for someone like Derek, it’s a breeze. He’s set up to be popular, though not in a douchey way. He doesn’t need to exert any effort. He’s more than averagely attractive. He’s good at sports. He’s a Hale, core-family Hale at that. People flock to him easily, hanging onto his every word, endlessly supportive. He’s the king of high school, just as Laura had been queen during her time.

The difference, though, is that Laura has always been social and outgoing, whereas Derek is pretty introverted by nature. He’s fully aware that, if he wasn’t as good looking or a Hale, he wouldn’t have been nearly as popular, and some days he almost wishes it were true. His friends are great, and it’s not a hardship to be liked by everybody, but there are days when he wishes he wasn’t the center of attention so that he could enjoy a few quiet hours reading a book or running in the Preserve by himself or just staying in his room listening to music. He’s never alone though, and it’s tiring. He’s moodier than usual when he’s around the house, and it’s always only been a matter of time before his parents have had enough.

His mother listens to his stream of complaints without judgment, but also without much yield.

“I know it’s not what you’d prefer,” she says when he’s done, her tone compassionate, but firm. “But you’re going to have to find a way to deal with it. Derek, you’re a Hale. You’re the alpha’s son. This community relies on us. You can’t afford to not be friendly with its people. Your classmates will have families some day. Families that will live here. They must learn now that you will always be there for them. I’m sorry, honey, but you simply can’t afford to keep your distance. You’re a Hale. It’s your job to be visible, approachable, and helpful. And it starts now.”

He can’t argue with that, but he feels defeated. What’s more, his social circle takes up so much of his time that his grades begin slipping, because he doesn’t have time to study. He’s on the basketball team, and the track team, and the swim team. There are endless parties, movie dates, and ‘hanging out’. Everyone assumes that he’ll be relying on his athleticism to get him to college, but a career in sports is not what Derek wants for himself.

He likes history. If he ever had the luxury, he could lose himself for hours on end reading about ancient civilizations and medieval court politics. He is, however, at the risk of failing the class, and his teacher looks at him like he doesn’t expect any better.

Derek finds himself ranting about all of this to Stiles on a Sunday afternoon that he is spending at home, miraculously, only because nobody wanted to go out in the rain.

Stiles listens to him with an expression of tentative disbelief as if he’s not certain he understands correctly, but it becomes more pronounced with every passing moment. They’re in Talia’s office, vacant while his mother is busy elsewhere. Stiles is sprawled in an armchair, skinny legs hanging over the armrest, a thick book on magic law that Derek is sure he’s too young to read open carelessly across his lap.

“Dude,” Stiles says when Derek falls silent. “I’m going to cry. Any second now. Real fat, big, crocodile tears. Like, I feel so sorry for you, my freaking heart is breaking.”

Derek blinks. “I don’t… what?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Are you seriously whining about having a social life so full you never get a free night? People including you in everything and inviting you to things and you never even have to lift a finger? You’re seriously complaining about that?”

“Look…” Derek pinches the bridge of his nose. “I know, it might sound… arrogant, but—”

“You think?” Stiles’s voice gets a little shrill and he coughs, then laughs incredulously. “Have you tried being a loser with no friends who begs his teachers for extra assignments because he has nothing to do with himself otherwise? I’ve beaten every video game I have twice, and it’s like, October. You want to swap?”

Derek sighs. “Look, I know, all right? I just wish I was more like Laura.”

Stiles rolls his eyes again. “You don’t have to be like Laura. Derek.” He leans forward, and when that doesn’t quite work, he sits up straight, feet on the ground. “You’re the freaking king of high school. You can do whatever you want and get a standing ovation every time. Look, it’s like this.” He sets the book aside, absently careful. “You can tell them you need a couple of afternoons to yourself—to spend with your family, or do some super secret werewolf training no one’s supposed to see, or to, I don’t know, mediate, and they will respect that. Maybe throw in every other weekend, too. I swear to you, no one is even going to question it. Hell, your buddies will probably start protecting your precious alone-time. And please. You need to study more but people want to hang out? Tell them you can hang out in the library. Tell them you need to study and they are welcome to join you. Have them quiz you. Get them to make you flash cards. I bet they’d fight for the privilege.” He snorts. “Just seriously, dude. Don’t you get it? If you showed up to school painted green tomorrow, by the end of the week everyone would be trying to look like Hulk. You can do anything. You can make studying freaking mainstream. People will follow your lead—so just lead them where you like them. You don’t have to become anti-social; you just have to take charge already.”

Derek sits there for a while in stunned silence. He’s silent for so long, in fact, that Stiles begins to look uncomfortable, anxiety spiking his scent.

“Look, I didn’t mean to… uh…”

“It’s not that simple,” Derek speaks over him.

Stiles bites his lip. “I think it really is. But uh… please don’t eat me.”

Derek studies him. The boy still looks apprehensive, as if he’d forgotten who he was talking to when he was telling Derek off. If it was anyone else, it might have pissed Derek off, but being angrily told off by a twelve-year-old has put him into a state of mild shock. It’s a humbling experience.

“I’m not going to eat you, Stiles,” Derek sighs, placing a hand on the back of Stiles’s neck and shaking him a little. Stiles is all skin and bones, too pale by far, with dark circles under his eyes. “Do you really have no friends?”

Stiles shrugs, stares down at his hands. “I have Scott,” he says. “At least I don’t have to sit by myself at lunch. But he’s always busy doing wolfy things after school, and we don’t really hang out that much anymore.”

“No one else?” Derek asks. He doesn’t mean to be a dick, but he can’t really picture it. People have always been after him. Part of him envies Stiles a bit.

Stiles gives him a wry grin. “Cora might deign to acknowledge my existence on an odd Tuesday. But I have to ask—do you guys force her to wear hand-me-downs? Eat all the food before she can get to it? Because I got to tell you, dude, that one’s one angry puppy.”

Derek laughs, surprised. Shaking his head, he pulls his hand back. “No hand-me-downs, no. But she’s the youngest. Every time she accomplishes something new, she finds out Laura or I have done it better or faster or differently somehow. Mom is nice about it, but it’s hard for her to act impressed after all this time. And Cora is really competitive.”

“You don’t say,” Stiles drawls, dry as dust, which sets Derek off again.

It’s only later, when he remembers the conversation in a few days, he realizes that Stiles had changed the topic so smoothly, Derek hadn’t even noticed. He doesn’t think much on it, except to acknowledge that Stiles is one sneaky little shit and leaves it at that.

He does, however, announce to his inner circle at school that he’ll be taking more time to study, and people are welcome to join him, but that’s non-negotiable. He’s met with such a staggering amount of support, it’s suffocating. It really is that easy.

--

Derek eventually goes to UCLA, thanks not only to his prowess at basketball, but also to the fact that his grades are that much better. It’s a compromise with his mother. He is allowed to get his first choice of college if he studies sports medicine and business instead of history. The Hale Gym is a staple in Beacon Hills, and someone will need to run it after Uncle Clive retires.

Derek grumbles and protests. He’s eighteen. He wants to leave. He wants to spread his wings, to travel for a bit after college, to study whatever the hell he wants to, and to get a job somewhere in New York, or Seattle, or even San Francisco. Not for good, he knows. The pull of the pack and their land is too strong to let him roam forever or settles somewhere else, but for a while? Hell yes, he wants to.

He doesn’t really fight his mother on this, though, even if he does show his displeasure by being moody and difficult around the house. He’s the alpha’s son. He has responsibilities to the community. After all, Laura hadn’t been dreaming about becoming a lawyer when she was a little girl, either, but she went to New York obediently to forge and enliven pack connections on the East Coast and to get a degree. Derek remembers the conversation when their mother told her which schools to apply to. Laura had looked sad, but resigned, and had only nodded. They were the Hales. They knew their duty.

Derek doesn’t hate sports medicine too much. He’s always been athletic, even by werewolf standards, and it’s fascinating to learn about how everything works in bodies with accelerated healing and without it. His pre-business school classes are a lot less enjoyable, but he grits his teeth and soldiers on.

All the same, college is freedom. There are plenty of werewolves on campus, some from prominent packs, and Derek finds himself no longer the sole star in the solar system. It gives him a measure of something he’s always craved but never had—anonymity. Or as good as anyway. He doesn’t skip class, turns in his assignments on time, but other than that he enjoys college. He goes out with friends, he goes to parties, gets drunk on wolfsbane-laced beer (it’s not for the first time only because Peter had taken it upon himself to introduce him to the taste when Derek was fourteen).

He discovers how one-night-stand, semi-anonymous in the what-the-fuck-is-your-name-again kind of way sex. He finds out that, beyond the initial thrill of the chase, he doesn’t really enjoy it. So he dates for the fun of it. He gets a boyfriend his junior year who might be a bit more serious than the rest, but they break up before Derek has made up his mind if he wants to introduce him to the family. He mopes for a few days, but he’s not really heartbroken.

His visits home are a combination of showing his parents that he’s very much an adult now (‘Just look how good I am with Ethan and Aiden, Mom’—the orphaned twins whom Talia had absorbed into the Hale pack and claimed as her own while Derek was away) and throwing wild beach parties at the lake that he hopes his mother will never find out about. He gets pulled over for speeding a few times, once by Sheriff Stilinski himself, and manages to look suitably apologetic, but his shit-eating grin might be somewhat in the way. He reconnects with Cora, who’s both relieved that she’s no longer the youngest sibling and jealous of the kids at the same time.

His mother doesn’t restrain him much. They both know that, once his education is complete, he’ll never get the chance to be young and wild again, so she lets him get it out of his system. She even excuses him from pack duties for one memorable spring break so that he can take a road trip to Mexico with his buddies. It’s exactly as stupid and as fun as one might imagine.

In short, college is amazing, even with the dreary prospect of business school on the horizon, and Derek is the happiest he’s ever been.

--

He’s twenty-one and about to get his BA when the ground is jerked from beneath his feet.

--

He meets Jennifer that year. She’s different from everyone he’s ever dated. She’s a few years older, already in grad school, making a name for herself in the English Lit department. She’s exceptionally beautiful, intelligent, with a kind of soft-spoken charm that makes people lean in and listen.

They meet when she’s TA-ing one of Derek’s general requirements classes, and he’s amazed that she takes an interest in him. He’s a werewolf studying sports medicine; he fits the ‘dumb jock’ stereotype to a tee. But Jennifer asks him out for dinner before the semester is even over, and Derek jumps at it, dazed with how lucky he is.

He’s never met anyone like her and he falls hard. Jennifer never calls him stupid, amused more than anything by ‘how charmingly naïve’ he is. Her friends are a different matter, looking at Derek like he’s a bit of gum stuck to her shoe. Most of them are professors already, and Derek doesn’t understand half of what they’re saying, even when they aren’t doing it on purpose. He hates hanging out with them, but Jennifer is determined to make a good impression on the faculty, and drags Derek along. He hates the way they ogle him, the way they treat him like a piece of meat, too dumb to have feelings.

He tags along. He struggles to keep up. He doesn’t want to lose Jennifer, because he’s absolutely mad about her. There are days when he can think of nothing but the scent of her hair, the way her body moves when she rides him, the slightly distant look in her eyes that he can’t seem to break. He’s so dazed, he’s on the verge of failing two classes he needs to graduate.

His mother is not amused when he calls her to say that he has to retake one of his finals.

“Then you’re not coming to New York with us,” she says, a note of finality in her voice.

Derek is seething. The New York trip has been planned for months. Laura is graduating from law school, and the entire family is flying out to be there. They have two weeks of activities planned, and Derek has been looking forward to it all year. He even bought a ticket for Jennifer, hoping to surprise her. He wants to spend time with her without having to share her with her pretentious friends. More than that, he wants to introduce her to his family. She’s the one, after all. Derek has been eyeing engagement rings for weeks now.

And now he can’t go. It’s not the first time his mother has imposed her will on him as an alpha, but somehow it’s the worst. Mostly because he can sense she’s angry at him, and possibly disappointed. Derek is angry, too. He’ll propose to Jennifer on the day Laura graduates, he thinks. Show them.

Anger has always been his friend. Anger helps him focus. He studies for his final like his life depends on it, because it helps him not to think about how his mother had allowed Cora to fly out a whole week earlier. How every Hale in Beacon Hills must be packing right now, brimming with excitement. How even Peter will be joining them, flying out from Monte-Carlo where he’s been wasting family money for the last few months. But Derek—Derek is not allowed, and it’s so freaking unfair, he can’t see straight.

He doesn’t see a lot of Jennifer in those two weeks, spending all his time at the library, studying non-stop. He does, however, make the time to buy the ring, twenty carat gold and a huge diamond. He takes it with him when he goes to retake his exam.

He does well, he thinks, and even finishes a good hour early. A spring in his step, he runs over to Jennifer’s, fingering the ring box in his pocket the entire way. He lets himself into her apartment and immediately trips. When he looks down, uncomprehending, he sees a discarded pair of sneakers tangled in a pair of jeans. The scent hits him at the same time, and Derek sees red. He marches over to the bedroom, kicking the door open with no finesse. He knows what he’ll see before he sees it, but it doesn’t make it easier, seeing his girlfriend, his almost-fiancée, riding a guy Derek doesn’t really know but thinks might be on the soccer team. Jennifer loves her men muscly.

He doesn’t kill either of them, though that might have more to do with a wolfsbane pepper-spray Jennifer uses on him than anything else. His wolf is furious, wanting to tear and maim, and he nearly blacks out from trying to hold it at bay.

“Derek, we weren’t exclusive,” Jennifer tells him later with a mixture of concern and pity. “Half my hookups are werewolves, so I take a scent-canceling shower every time, because it drives you lot mad otherwise. But I never said you were my only lover. I know how werewolves are with commitment. I thought you understood…”

Derek can’t talk, but he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the ring. Commitment.

Jennifer laughs. It’s involuntary, and she slaps a hand over her mouth almost at once.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Giggles break through as she shakes her head. “But this is like a comedy of errors, you have to see it…”

Derek leaves. He keeps it together until he makes it to his apartment. Whatever control he had is gone the moment the door is closed, and he trashes his place, breaking furniture, ripping shelves off the walls, smashing everything in sight. He thrashes and howls, throws himself against the sharp metal railing on the balcony again and again, the excruciating pain never quite enough to eclipse his emotions.

His landlord calls the police, and Derek is finally put out of his misery by means of a high-voltage taser and a heavy shot of wolfsbane.

He’s in lockdown when he comes to. He has to pay a hefty fine in addition to losing his deposit and paying for the damages. Derek only nods and signs the paperwork without a word. This will go on his record, they tell him. He nods again, too numb to care. They give him his phone back, and as Derek reaches for it, it starts ringing.

It’s Laura. Derek stares at the phone for a while, forcing himself to answer. He’s not in any state to listen to her joyful chatter, or worse, to overhear his entire family being together, loud and happy without him. His mother was right. Derek fucked up. Derek was—is stupid. So, so stupid. He was so angry before, but now all he’s feeling is an overwhelming sense of shame. He’s drowning in it.

It’s in an effort to alleviate it by being hurt some more that he finally does pick up.

“Der…” Laura says, and Derek freezes. He knows instantly something is wrong, more wrong than even a minute ago, however hard it is to imagine.

“Laura?”

There’s an agonizing pause when all he hears is her breathing. She’s holding back sobs. Derek feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

“Turn on the TV,” Laura manages at last and hangs up, like she’s hurting too much to keep talking.

They’re all gone.

His mother. His father. His adoptive twin brothers, only six years of age. His Aunt Meredith. Both her daughters, Derek’s cousins, sixteen and fourteen. His Uncle Andrew. His cousin Sam, who was Derek’s age, studying over at UC Davis.

His pack.

His alpha.

His mother.

Their plane disappeared from the radars somewhere over Utah. People reported burning debris falling out of the sky. It exploded in midair, killing everyone onboard.

The next phone call he gets is from Peter. Together with Derek, he, Laura, and Cora are the only ones of the core family left. The Hale Pack will survive. It should make them all feel better.

It doesn’t.

“Come home, Derek,” Peter says, his voice flat, lifeless. “Get someone to drive you. Come home.”

Derek gets to Beacon Hills the next morning to find his house full of people. The entire extended pack is there, quite a few friends and allies. Derek greets everyone, hugs them, accepts their condolences. But it’s not until Peter, Laura, and Cora get in the next night and Laura’s eyes flash red at him that it hits him fully.

His mother is gone. Three quarters of his immediate family are gone.

He tilts his head to the side, offering his neck to Laura, but she just sobs and launches at him, gathering him into a hug that is too tight and too forceful by far. Her arms are filled with new strength, she smells like family, and feels like alpha, and that’s the closest he’ll ever come to remembering what it was like to be held by his mother again.

There are no bodies to bury. They were incinerated in the explosion which pretty much rules out any sort of accident or technical failure even before a group of human supremacists called the Silver Bullet takes responsibility for the crash. Of the one hundred and fifty-two passengers on board, forty-three were supernatural, including thirty-eight werewolves, three werejaguars, one werecoyote, and one half-dryad. Apparently, it was enough to justify taking down an entire plane full of innocent people.

Derek is livid and mad with lust for vengeance. So is Peter, with Cora not far behind. But Laura very firmly says no. They have a pack to look after and a whole community who relies on them. They will put pressure on the FBI and the Supernatural Investigative Service, but they won’t go out on a hunt, no matter how much they might want to. Supernaturals in general and werewolves in particular had spent centuries fighting to be granted equal rights as humans. The Hale Pack will not be responsible for setting them back a hundred years.

The full moon rolls around in two days, and the entire pack goes out into the Preserve, wolves and humans alike. They howl. It starts with Laura somewhere deep in the woods, rolls over down the hills, along the roads. It echoes in the town where people come out into the streets with candles to stand in solidarity, because Talia Hale was loved. The two neighboring packs join in, and it spreads out throughout the entire Northern California, the sound of deep mourning. It settles something inside Derek, though it’s hardly enough to fill the void.

There’s a more traditional human wake at the house the next day. People come and go, bringing lots of food, offering words and, if they dare, hugs. A number of prominent people in town bare their necks to Laura in acknowledgement of her new status. She looks stiff and uncomfortable as she accepts, and Derek feels useless watching her. His sister has a burden to shoulder that he can’t help her with. Cora has made herself scarce long ago, and eventually Derek excuses himself, too, leaving the schmoozing to Peter.

He sneaks into his favorite room, his mother’s private library. It welcomes him with her scent, still lingering, but fading. Derek inhales greedily, his eyes prickling. He should be grateful for this, he knows. But it just feels cruel.

There’s a plate of cookies on the coffee table in the middle. The house is filled to the brim with sympathy food, but this room has been off limits. Derek comes closer, taking the cookies in. They are almond, all slightly misshapen with not a single perfect circle among them. They smell delicious though, and when Derek, who’d had no appetite for days, bites into one, it’s perfect, not too sweet and chewy inside. He absently picks up a second one.

“You like them? I can make more.”

He doesn’t flinch even though he does startle. Stiles is standing in the doorway, wide-eyed and awkward, his heart beating too fast in his chest. Derek relaxes.

“They’re good,” he says.

Stiles exhales in relief and comes in fully into the room.

“They were my mother’s favorite,” he says softly, eyes on the plate.

That’s right, Derek remembers belatedly from the haze of his own grief. Stiles’s mother had died, too. When he was seven or eight or something, before Scott was bitten and became part of the pack, dragging Stiles along with him.

When Derek looks up, Stiles is looking at him.

“How… how are you?”

It’s not what he was expecting. The first thing everyone said to him today was: ‘I’m sorry.’ Stiles’s question makes him pause. The answer should be obvious, and yet it’s not coming.

“I—don’t know,” Derek says at last, shaking his head. He looks up at Stiles from where he’s sitting. “How are you?”

Stiles gives him a small smile and shrugs, hands stuck in his pockets. “I’ve been better,” he says. “But, you know.”

Derek offers him a plate. “Cookie?”

Stiles comes to sit next to him on the couch, though he doesn’t actually take one. He smells sad and nervous, like clean laundry that has been in the closet too long and strangely enough a bit like machine oil. His hair is still cut cruelly short which looks odd now in contrast with his suddenly long limbs and body. His eyes are as expressive as ever, and when he looks up Derek braces himself.

“So can I ask you something?” Stiles blurts out, his heart managing somehow to start beating even faster.

Derek doesn’t have it in him to even nod, just waits.

“You’ve had Harris when you went to school here, right? Was he always such a dick or am I special?”

Derek blinks and then snorts, responding to the words before they even register. “He was always a dick,” he says, relaxing marginally. “Though he mostly didn’t bother with me, because I was quiet. It’s the mouthy ones that keep him going.”

“Great,” Stiles groans. “My one reliable talent and it’s working against me. Maybe I could train myself out of sassing him…”

That prompts a small laugh out of Derek. “Stiles, you mouthed off at my mother, the alpha, the first time you met her. I doubt you could restrain yourself with Harris.”

Stiles grins at him, his eyes soft. “I kind of did, didn’t I? I was so sure she’d bite my head off. You were glaring at me pretty intensely, too, there, buddy. And Cora still mostly looks like she wants to rip my throat out, so hey, sarcasm and wit are my only defense.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “You’ll do fine.”

“So how about Lewis then? Is there any way to get on his good side? I think you were doing pretty well in physics, but boy, is it kicking my ass.”

Before Derek knows, they’ve spent a couple of hours discussing school, teachers they had in common, Stiles being on the lacrosse team but not being able to make first line. He doesn’t quit though he never gets to play because this way he can spend time together with Scott, who’s not only first string, but, sensationally for a freshman, a co-captain.

“He doesn’t let them kick my ass too badly in practice,” Stiles says with a shrug, munching on a cookie. “So it kind of evens out.”

Derek finds himself talking about his days as captain of the basketball team, recounting some of the most memorable games as well as some intense locker room squabbles. It can’t possibly be a fascinating subject to Stiles—or anyone, for that matter—but Stiles is with him all the way, listening with rapt attention, his heart, now that it’s slowed down some, is doing that familiar flip thing every now and then.

It’s the most relaxing time Derek has had in forever. Since he’d met Jennifer, probably.

They are both startled when there’s a knock on the door. Sheriff Stilinski appears a moment later. He gives Derek a sympathetic look, then fixes one of disapproval on his son.

“Now is not the time to be bothering Derek, Stiles. Let’s go.”

“I wasn’t!”

“He wasn’t—”

They look at each other. Derek stands up. “He wasn’t, Sheriff. Really.” His hand has somehow found its way to Stiles’s shoulder. He squeezes it gently.

Flip. Flip. Flip.

The sheriff looks from one to the other, and his expression softens. “Well, as relieved as I am to hear that, it’s time we got out of your hair. Come along, Stiles.”

Stiles gets to his feet reluctantly and shuffles over to his father.

“Derek,” the sheriff says, his tone gentle. “If there’s anything you or your family need—”

Derek nods, the weight of the last few days returning full force all of a sudden. “Thank you.” His shoulders slump as he begins to turn away.

The next moment, Stiles is in his space, hugging him tightly, startling Derek with the sudden realization that they are almost of a height. He hugs back before he knows it, burying his face in Stiles’s neck, and muttering again, right in his ear: “Thank you.”

Stiles presses his forehead against Derek’s shoulder firmly in response. Then he pulls back and walks up to his father, who’s waiting with an unreadable look on his face. After nodding again at Derek, they leave.

--

The summer that follows is more hectic than gloomy, as all of them try to pick up the pieces. The transition from being ‘just kids’, even though Laura is twenty-five and Derek is twenty-one, to being in charge is the furthest thing from smooth to say the least. By the time they manage to untangle enough threads of Talia’s seemingly endless responsibilities and lines of connection, there are barely two weeks left in August.

Derek doesn’t want to go back to school, but Laura insists.

“If you don’t go now, you never will,” she says. “I’d rather wait a couple more years for you to come back with a degree that would help than have to manage the pack and the business all on my own.”

She isn’t lying, but it’s not the whole truth, not even the main reason. She doesn’t want him hanging around all the empty rooms in the house, brooding. There were weeks where he hardly managed to say a word to anyone, despite the many tasks they were shuffling. If left to his own devices, Derek might not resurface for years, and Laura isn’t taking that chance.

Cora is a different species of trouble. Her grief comes with a dose of anger that is far beyond what is reasonable to sustain when one is in possession of a body that doubles as a killing machine. The third time she gets caught while destroying property or defacing something, the sheriff brings her to the house himself, and Laura has had enough. Just like that, Cora is suddenly going to Brazil to spend a year with their related pack.

Cora, of course, takes it about as well as could be expected.

“I hate you! Mom never would have sent me away!”

“Yes, she would have,” Laura replies, actually sounding tired, even as her expression is a combination of determined and patient. “We all had to do it for training. Derek and I went a few years back, remember?”

“Then why isn’t Scott going?” Cora yelled. “He’s got way more trouble with control than I!”

Laura opens her mouth, then closes it, then gets Melissa on the phone. She pays for Scott’s fare, since Melissa can’t afford it and it’s pack business anyway. Cora seems mollified, even a little cheered. She’s always liked Scott.

It’s not until the day of their departure that Derek realizes that this was not, in fact, a perfect solution.

Melissa drives up to the house to drop Scott off so that Peter could take him and Cora to the airport. Scott does the rounds saying goodbye to everyone, hugs his mother, and then positively clings to Stiles, who’s hugging him back just as desperately. They take a long time. Long enough for Cora to start huffing impatiently. Eventually, Peter intervenes, calling out, not unkindly, that they have a plane to catch.

Stiles watches the car until it disappears behind the curve of the road. His eyes are shining too brightly, but his expression is so completely blank it looks like it’s painted on.

It hits Derek then that, in order to give Cora a friend, Laura has taken one away from Stiles. Not just a friend, in fact, but his only one.

Derek watches as Melissa comes over to Stiles slowly, wraps an arm around his shoulders, and pulls him gently back toward her car. Stiles doesn’t turn back, but Melissa does look over at Derek and Laura before getting into the driver’s seat, and her eyes, while not openly accusing, are hard.

They watch the car leave.

“He’s pack,” Laura says eventually, more to herself, Derek thinks, than to him. Her scent is sharp with guilt. “He’s pack, and he has the entire pack right here for him. He’s welcome here anytime. He’ll be fine.”

Derek doesn’t say anything.

--

He goes back to school and it’s a whole different experience. Derek doesn’t party, doesn’t date, doesn’t play sports. He gets another apartment, further away from campus, and spends all his time studying. He’s never been the smartest person in the room, but he’s by no means stupid, and he’s very determined to graduate in two years instead of three.

He’s so efficient, in fact, when he’s focused, that he still has time to get his gym instructor certificate on the side and starts logging hours at the local fitness joint. It’s mostly catering to the guys who like to lift weights, which is fine with Derek. Men flirt with him less and aren’t as upset if he doesn’t talk much to them.

The first time he runs into Jennifer on campus, he freezes, white noise filling his ears. He stands still long after she and her current buff hookup have passed. Somehow, after everything he went through last summer, he didn’t think this would still hurt him, but it does. Personal betrayal, a different kind of pain.

He’d told Laura everything over the summer. Laura said: ‘I want to punch her lights out, but I also kind of want to buy her a beer.’ When Derek looked at her, uncomprehending and slightly hurt, she said: ‘If it wasn’t for this whole mess with her, you’d have been on that plane, too.’

Derek can’t really see it like that. He accepts, on sufferance, the remote possibility that his feelings about what happened would change at some point, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever be grateful to Jennifer. He breathes out a quiet sigh of relief when he hears a few months later that she has transferred to a different school.

--

Derek visits home every break. He does what he can to help Laura, determined to pull his weight. By Christmas, it’s clear that they have suffered a blow, but they rallied. By summer, Laura’s name gets a lot of recognition, the flavor of the town gossip is relieved. Laura is a good alpha, they say. She’ll make Talia proud.

She’s different enough from her mother, though, and a younger, more vibrant alpha attracts a younger, more vibrant crowd. By the time Derek comes home for his summer break, the whole town is abuzz with new energy.

The fact that Laura is doing so well allows Derek to finally get an actual break. He reconnects with friends and pack, haunts his favorite spots in the Preserve, and even has the time to visit the library, lose himself for an hour or two in some historical monograph. He’s there one day, mid-July, when he catches a familiar scent and follows it around, smiling.

Stiles is camped out at a huge empty table by the window, surrounded by a virtual bastion of books and notes. The tip of his tongue is pressed against the corner of his mouth in concentration as he stares at his nearly submerged laptop intently, comparing whatever is on the screen with a hand-written note.

“Don’t tell me they held you back a year,” Derek jokes as he steps closer.

Stiles jumps in his seat, startled, and the moment his eyes fall on Derek, he flushes.

Flip. Flip. Flip.

“D-Derek. Uh. Hi.” Stiles blushes even deeper and clears his throat in a desperate bid to shut down his embarrassment. “Um. Sorry, what?”

Derek chuckles, pulling out the chair opposite Stiles, turning it around and straddling it. “Homework?” He nods at the book fort between them.

“Oh.” Stiles swallows, eyes wide. His heart is near frantic. “No, that’s um… That’s actually something for Laura.”

Derek’s eyebrow lifts. “Oh?”

“Yeah, uh. She’s got me looking up stuff for her sometimes. Pack laws and traditions, court precedents, that sort of thing. I’m kind of like a supernatural paralegal.”

Derek rests his elbows on the table, craning his neck to read some of the titles. It’s a hot afternoon. His t-shirt is clinging to him, not quite soaked through but getting there, and he’s rolled up the sleeves some time ago. He can feel Stiles’s eyes lingering on his arms, before the boy looks away, cheeks flaming, his scent spiking with clear physical appreciation.

Derek smirks a little, glances up at Stiles from under his lashes, wondering if he can make him blush even deeper. He’s not being mean, but it’s hard to resist. Stiles looks so adorable while flustered.

“Paralegal, huh?” Derek says, leaning a little closer, ostensibly to look at his notes. “She should be paying you for this. I mean, it’s summer. You should be enjoying your freedom.”

Stiles shrugs, swallowing, clearly unable to look away from the dip between Derek’s collarbones, where Derek can feel a droplet of sweat tickling skin. Derek shifts his shoulders a little, making it run down into the V of his shirt.

“Guh—sorry, what?” Stiles blurts out, sounding strangled. The scent of his arousal gets louder. It’s fresh and almost sweet and hits Derek like a glass of wolfsbane-laced champagne, making him light and bubbly.

“Freedom, Stiles,” he says, grinning, barely able to hold back his laughter. “Summer. You should be out there, playing ball with your friends, getting ice cream with your girlfriend, skinny-dipping in your neighbors’ pool or something.”

All right, so ‘skinny-dipping’ was a low blow, and Derek should really stop teasing him. Laura would have smacked him by now, even if she’d be laughing.

Stiles gapes at him for a moment then squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head forcibly. He refuses to open them as he blurts out, in a rushed jumble of words, “Right, freedom. I’m no good with a ball and have no friends to play with anyway, I don’t have a girlfriend to take out for ice cream, and anyway, lame, I’m not five, and I’m not subjecting any of my completely innocent neighbors to the sight of my skinny pasty ass if I can help it. The world is not ready. I mean, Mrs. Jenkins is kind of evil, what with stealing our last freaking garden gnome—and yes, I know it’s ours, it’s got the tip of its ear chipped from when I knocked it over that one time—but I don’t think I can have her dying of a heart attack at fifty-three on my conscience. So um. No.” He opens his eyes and keeps them resolutely on the books in front of him. “And this stuff is actually fascinating, and I mostly volunteered my services, I’m good at this sort of shit, and your sister is nice.”

Derek pulls back, feeling a little bad about himself now. He notices a bottle of water on the table and hands it to Stiles like a peace offering. Stiles takes it. He twists the cap this way and that, his long fingers seemingly possessing more grace than the rest of him combined. He takes a swig at last and seems to settle. His heart still does its little flip when he chances a look at Derek.

“I run,” he says suddenly. “You know, in case you were worried I wasn’t getting enough exercise or fresh air or something. I run the trails in the Preserve most days.”

“Really?” Derek eyes him, his interest piqued. “For how long?”

“Uh.” Stiles blinks. “Like, I didn’t measure it or anything, but I think a couple of miles maybe?”

“No.” Derek shakes his head. “I mean time-wise, how long?”

“Oh. I don’t really know? Maybe an hour or so.”

Derek nods. “Most people think the distance is the most important thing about running, but it’s not. It’s how long you run for and your pulse rate throughout. You have a fitness watch or something? You should be monitoring your pulse.”

“I don’t.” Stiles is looking at him like he’s never seen him before. A slow grin spreads over his face. “Dude, are you trying to train me?”

Derek shrugs. “If you’re running anyway, you might as well do it right, get something out of it. Are you trying out for the track team?”

Stiles makes a face. “Technically, I’m on the track team, but they suck so much, nobody really cares if I drag ass.”

Derek straightens up in his seat. “I could set you up with a training plan. Run with you a few times, make adjustments.”

Stiles is staring at him, mouth open slightly.

“Only if you want to, of course,” Derek backpedals. “I didn’t mean you should—”

“Yes!” Stiles blurts out a little too loudly and blushes again. “I mean, that would be amazing, thank you. But you don’t have to, dude. It’s your summer, too.”

Derek shrugs, smiling at him. “I need more experience training people, and I run most days, too, so. What do you say? Meet me by the house at six tomorrow?”

“Six?” Stiles groans, then claps a hand over his mouth as the librarian aims a disapproving look at him. “Ugh, fine. You know nothing about what summer is all about, dude. It’s for sleeping.”

Derek leans over as he stands up, clasps Stiles’s shoulder. “You’ll live.” He smirks. “See you tomorrow, bright and early.”

Stiles groans again.

--

The first time they run together, Stiles trips over his own feet no less than five times in the span of ten minutes. He gets adorably flustered again and swears up and down that he’s usually not that much of a spaz. Derek sort of believes him, his nose and ears telling him clearly what the reason for Stiles’s outbreak of clumsiness is. He hopes prolonged exposure will help with that, and it sort of does.

“Or, you could try wearing a shirt around him every once in a while,” Laura remarks dryly, a week in, as Stiles drives off. “That poor boy is going to explode soon, Der. You’re being kind of horrible.”

Derek smirks. “Stiles doesn’t mind.”

“Of course, he doesn’t.” Laura rolls her eyes then fixes her brother with a look. “Is this really the best way for you to be getting your kicks? Why don’t you try dating again?”

Derek flinches, all mirth evaporating. “No.”

“Aw, come on. I know what happened sucked, but it’s been over a year, Derek. You can’t close yourself off, it’s not—”

“So help me if you say it’s not good for the pack.” He glares.

“Well, it’s not,” Laura huffs. “I’m not pulling the alpha card yet, but I will soon, if you don’t shake it off already. I’ve given you time and space, but you haven’t moved an inch. If torturing Stiles is the most fun you’ve had in a year, that should really tell you something about your life choices.”

Derek keeps on glaring at her, but she’s right, loath as he is to admit it. Not about torturing Stiles. But running with him, teaching him the proper running technique, chatting with him about whatever comes to mind—all of that has indeed been the most fun Derek has had in a long time.

He’s relaxed around Stiles. And never bored—God, definitely never bored. Stiles is sixteen, he’s crossed the threshold into adulthood, and Derek isn’t humoring him anymore. Stiles’s mind is a wonder that keeps Derek constantly fascinated, alert, and engaged, whether he’s talking about annoying tropes in superhero movies, or the history of witch hunts, or the nutritional value of his dad’s diet. Derek has no idea why Stiles claims to have no friends. He’s the most interesting sixteen-year-old Derek has ever met.

He’s cute, too, although, Derek acknowledges ruefully, probably not in the way that’s appealing to most girls. Guys, on the other hand… If Stiles ever put on a simple monochrome t-shirt and better fitting jeans instead of his usual layered plaid ensemble and showed up at any of the clubs in downtown L.A., he’d be snatched up within five minutes and have many dirty things done to him. Those huge Bambi eyes alone, coupled with that mischievous smirk, would…

Derek shakes himself. His point is, Stiles is smart and cute, and he doesn’t know why his peers aren’t queueing outside his door for a moment of his time. Ugh, teenagers. Idiots, the lot of them.

He gives Laura a sour look. “I’ll try dating again when I go back to school, how’s that?”

Laura grins, lifting her hands up. “Good enough, baby bro. And put your goddamn shirt on the next time you go to whip Stiles into shape.”

Derek smirks. “No promises.”

He does wear his shirt after that more often than not, though if he takes it off mid-jog when it becomes too hot for him, Stiles doesn’t complain and Laura doesn’t need to know.

--

He regrets his promise to Laura the moment he gets back to L.A. for his final year of business school. Dating used to be fun before, back when it basically meant stopping by for coffee or sandwiches before holing up in someone’s dorm room and fucking each other’s brains out. Dating became a never-ending nightmare of trying to impress people back when he was seeing Jennifer. Now, Derek doesn’t know where to begin, and the worst thing is that he’s just not interested.

Sex is easy. Bars and clubs exist, and Derek doesn’t have to put any effort into having his pick. Even that seems too much of a hassle lately, though he does usually go as the full moon approaches, because it makes him feel itchy and restless and he can’t shift and run wild in the city. A good lay usually relieves some of that, though more and more it just leaves him feeling dissatisfied on a level he doesn’t understand and vaguely disgusted with himself.

But dating is a different beast. Dating implies he has to like someone enough to want to spend time with them. Derek feels that his quota of people he likes is full at the moment, and he’s resentful that Laura is forcing him to make the effort.

He tries, but it’s half-hearted at best, and he doesn’t have much luck. It’s exhausting. He eventually acquires a couple of friends-with-benefits, heavy on the benefits, light on the friends part of the equation, and leaves it at that. If Laura has a problem with that, too fucking bad.

He grins every time Stiles remembers to send him his running log. Surely, that has to count for something.

--

He lucks out shortly before graduation. He actually kind of knew Michael before, since it’s not really possible for two werewolves taking the same class to not be aware of one another, but they never really connected until now. Michael is tall, blond, blue-eyed, and kind of looks like Thor’s younger brother, complete with an uproarious laugh.

They start talking when he comes to work out at Derek’s gym, and it rolls down from there smoothly. Enough so that Derek invites him over to spend the summer with him in Beacon Hills. Michael is from a big and well-established pack, not in line to be the next alpha, and can pretty much do as he pleases. He agrees.

Laura is polite enough with him, but the look she gives Derek is more on the sad side. Derek only shrugs. She wanted him to put himself out there, so he did. No, Michael will not be staying forever, everyone is very aware of that, but his lightness and good humor and a complete lack of any sort of ambition in regards to Derek are soothing and even healing to him. This might be the one ex he gets to keep as a friend when they eventually part ways.

In two weeks since Derek came back, he hasn’t seen so much as a glimpse of Stiles, although both Cora and Scott are around. A year in Brazil seems to have done a ton of good for Scott, whose control is now near perfect. And Cora loved it over there so much that she’s planning to return there at the end of summer.

Stiles, it turns out, is busy with a summer job at Mary Wright’s coffeeshop. Derek grins as he learns this, and makes a point to stop by when he’s showing Michael around Beacon Hills.

It’s a Thursday afternoon, and the coffeeshop is pretty quiet. A few people are around, but most prefer to have their drinks to go, and Derek agrees. The day is too nice to waste inside.

Stiles is at the till and looks up when the door opens.

“Derek!” He beams.

Derek grins at him, doesn’t need to strain to hear: Flip. Flip-flip.

“I heard you were back,” Stiles says, fingers twisting in the straps of his apron. His eyes slide over to Michael, who’s smiling at him politely. “Um.”

“Oh.” Derek turns and tugs Michael over by the waist. “This is Michael. Michael, Stiles. He’s pack.”

“Nice to meet you, man,” Michael says—well, booms, at Stiles, reaching out to shake his hand.

“Yeah, you too,” Stiles replies, but his smile becomes tense. He takes in how close Derek and Michael are standing, and his posture goes stiff. “So, uh. What will you guys have?”

It’s hot, so Derek orders an iced coffee and Michael goes for a frappe. They both reach for their wallets.

“You paid last time, now’s my turn,” Michael insists.

Derek tries to shove him away from the counter. “No, I asked you out, remember? I pay.”

“I’m staying at your house, man. Buying you coffee is the least I can do.” Michael shoves him back. His hand slides over Derek’s ribs and Derek lets out an involuntary laugh, ticklish.

“Stop, you,” Derek orders, breathless, still laughing. “Stiles won’t take your money, he’s pack, he’ll do as I ask, won’t you, Stiles?”

“You’re not his alpha, why should he listen to you?” Michael snorts, elbowing him back again. “I’m paying, that’s final, you can—”

“One iced coffee, one frappe,” Stiles cuts in, sliding the drinks over to them. “It’s on the house, guys.”

Derek and Michael stop their mock fight.

“Um,” Derek says, feeling suddenly sheepish as he looks up at Stiles and over his shoulder at Mary, who’s watching them, eyebrows raised. “Er, are you sure that’s—”

“Perfectly fine.” Stiles beams at him. Derek doesn’t need to smell the air around him to know that it’s completely fake. “Are you guys just walking around, seeing the sights?” Stiles babbles. “I heard Edward’s gallery reopened, if you’re into that sort of thing. Some nice wild nature photography. Or, if you’re up for some movies, they’re having a classic horror marathon at Cinematix. Or—oh, I can’t believe I forgot this—they’ve put up a new adventure trail at the Preserve. It’s got a really high climbing wall and everything. Just, it’s nice outside, is all I’m saying.”

“Stiles…” Derek starts to say in confusion, because it’s not like he needs a tour, but Michael booms over him.

“That’s aces, man! Thanks, we’ll check it out.” He turns to Derek, leans into him. “What do you say? Rock climbing then movies?”

Derek forces his eyes away from Stiles, but he doesn’t think he misses the sigh of relief from him as he says. “Sure. Sounds great.”

“Sweet.” Michael kisses his cheek and lifts his cup in salute to Stiles. “See you around, man.”

Stiles flashes them his horrible fake megawatt smile again. “You two have a great day!”

Derek collects his cup and leaves. It doesn’t sit well with him. He didn’t think it would be like this. He should have, now that he thinks about it. He really should have, but he didn’t.

Teasing Stiles about his crush was all well and good when he was just a kid, being sweet. But he’s seventeen now. Crushes hurt at seventeen. Derek remembers. And Derek being completely thoughtless about it, just because he missed Stiles and wanted to see him, doesn’t help.

He hesitates on the sidewalk, unsure what to do. Fortunately, at that moment, Michael’s phone starts ringing. He glances at the screen and makes an apologetic face at Derek, mouthing: ‘Alpha.’ Derek waves at him to take his time. Without a clear idea of what he’s going to say in mind, he slips back into the coffeeshop quietly.

No one looks at the door as he enters, and Derek pauses behind a dessert display, ostensibly studying the selection, as the first words he overhears make him freeze.

“…on the house, my ass,” Mary is grumbling as she wipes the inner counter. “Those are coming out of your paycheck.”

“I know,” Stiles replies morosely. He’s cleaning the coffee machine that seems to be clogged up.

“You do realize,” Mary goes on, relentless, “that you just bought coffees for him and his date?”

“I know.”

“Kid, that’s a whole other universe of pathetic. You get that, right?”

“Look, I know, all right?” Stiles snaps, and Derek winces. “I just—I couldn’t take it. They were right in front of me, being all cute, and arguing who should pay, and so obviously into each other, so freaking adorable, I couldn’t… I couldn’t take it one second longer. I just wanted them out of here, so I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. I know it’s pathetic, all right? I’m pathetic. I just wanted them gone.”

He's radiating misery and humiliation to such degree that any werewolf within a block must be cringing right now. Derek feels terrible.

“Argh,” Stiles groans in frustration. In a softer, almost pleading voice, he says: “He looked so happy. I haven’t seen him look so happy since… you know. I should be happy he’s happy, and instead I chased them off because I couldn’t stand to look at them… God, I’m a terrible person.”

“You’re not a terrible person, Stiles,” Mary says in exasperation.

“I’m so selfish.”

“You’re human. Congratulations. You make a decent cup of coffee, too, kid, so you can’t be that bad.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Look, kid,” Mary says. She’s not known to be particularly sentimental, but it’s hard not to feel bad for Stiles right now. “You’re a good boy, Stiles. You’ll find someone. You would have already, if you’d just stopped fixating on Hale and looked for someone—”

“Less out of my league?” Stiles interrupts sullenly.

“I was going to say your own age, but… Look, you’re not bad looking or anything, kid, okay? It’s just, people like Hale, they… well, they’re sort of in a league of their own, you know? You saw the guy who came with him. And all the girls he used to bring by when he was still in school, they were all… well, like that. Guys, too, I think, though he mostly went for girls back then. And you’re… well, you’re not like them. There’s nothing wrong with that! You just need someone who will appreciate your humor and your wit—someone more your speed, you know?”

“Right. More my speed. Gotcha.”

“Stiles…” Mary sighs. “What about that cute blond girl that comes in after her yoga practice? She always blushes when you chat with her.”

“What girl?” Stiles asks, obviously puzzled. “Oh, you mean Erica? Nah, it’s not like that. She’s just shy. She’s like that with everyone.”

“I don’t think so. She gets all flustered when you joke with her. I’m sure she’d say yes if you asked her out.”

Stiles sighs. “I’m not desperate for a date, Mary. Can we just… stop talking about this? You’re an awesome boss, I swear, I’m cheered right up. Let me pass now, I need to throw these out. Got to keep up my awesome coffee-making skills, since I don’t have much more going for me.”

“Don’t know why I bother,” Mary grumbles, stepping aside, as he heads for the kitchen doors, a tray of dirty filters balanced between his hands. “I’m still charging you for the coffee!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Derek waits until the kitchen doors swish shut behind Stiles and walks out from behind the dessert display, making sure to make noise. Mary turns toward him, a professional smile on her face.

“Hi, what can I—oh.” She bites her lip, her cheeks coloring slightly.

“Don’t charge him for the coffee,” Derek says, handing her a fifty. “The rest is tip. And don’t tell him I was here.”

She takes the money silently, watching him with a befuddled look on her face. Derek turns to go, but pauses again just at the door.

“You’re wrong, you know,” he tells her quietly. “No one’s out of his league. He’s just…” He fumbles for words, gaze lingering on the kitchen doors. He doesn’t know what he was going to say. He’s just—young? He’s just—Stiles? What the hell would that even mean? In the end, Derek shakes his head, and walks out, saying nothing.

He nearly smashes into Michael who was about to reenter the coffeeshop. Michael takes a step back and laughs.

“You’re about ready to go?” he asks, grinning.

Derek grins back, slings an arm around his shoulders. “Yep.”

Michael is fun. He likes working out with Derek about as much as he likes fucking him, and he sticks around for almost two months, giving them plenty of time to enjoy both.

Derek doesn’t go back to the coffeeshop that summer, though he misses their coffee. Mary was right, Derek has been their faithful client since he was still in high school. But he can’t make himself go in, even when he’s on his own.

He catches glimpses of Stiles as weeks go by. Sometimes in the Preserve. Stiles still runs, apparently, though he hasn’t been sending Derek any updates. From what Derek can see, he’s in good shape, his heartrate always steady, his breathing under control. Derek is tempted to fall into step with him, share a run, find out how he’s doing. But Derek is usually with Michael, so he steers clear. He’s not that much of a jerk.

Sometimes Derek sees Stiles around town. Once or twice he’s in the company of a pretty blonde girl who looks to be his agemate. Never once are they alone though, a couple of kids usually hang out with them, so those are probably not dates. But Stiles looks like he’s having fun, laughing, talking, gesticulating wildly as usual, and Derek is happy to see him like this, even though the tug of something unpleasant deep inside, something that tastes uncomfortably like guilt, never quite fades.

Maybe because Stiles’s heart still does its usual flip whenever he drops Scott off for training and happens to run into Derek.

Derek does not think about how that makes him feel.

--

Autumn brings foul weather and more responsibilities. Michael leaves, which is just as well. Their relationship has run its course, and Michael ended up bonding more with Cora than Derek by the end of it, since Derek’s patience has never been that strong. They part amicably, and Derek breathes out a quiet sigh of relief.

The one good thing that definitely comes out of it is that Laura backs off about him needing to date. It’s a combination of factors. For one thing, she never really took to Michael for some reason. For another, as an unattached alpha, she is being constantly approached by representatives of other packs seeking their way into an alliance with the Hales through her bed. There’s etiquette to these things, and she can’t just tell them to leave or refuse to meet, but she’s getting fed up with it, Derek can tell. He is selfishly happy he doesn’t have to go through that.

So Laura lays off. Derek is busy anyway, having finally taken over the management of the family gym. It’s in dire need of an overhaul, starting from the building itself, the ancient machines, and the training options that used to be all the rave back in the eighties. It’s not his dream job by far, but it’s the one his mother had intended for him and it beats sitting on his ass brooding. He doesn’t hate it or anything. And he gets to stay in town and help Laura out with the pack, so that’s a plus.

He goes to Stiles’s graduation. Well, more precisely, they all go to Cora, Scott, and Stiles’s graduation. Cora ended up not leaving after all, though Laura would have come anyway, same as their mother would have.

When the three of them jump off the stage, flushed and happy, Laura hugs them all in turn, runs her hand over the back of their necks, scenting them. It’s automatic for werewolves, and every wolf in the pack does it, almost unconsciously. One could always tell how close a member of the pack was to the core family by scent alone.

Derek follows Laura’s example and his own instincts, offering his congratulations. Cora giggles in his ear, hanging off of his neck in excitement, demanding to be twirled. She punches him in the arm when he refuses, calls him a Grinch, and runs off to her friends.

Scott beams at him, mutters: “Thanks, man! Can’t believe I didn’t fail.”

Derek shakes him playfully. “They would never have held you back because of one class.”

“I guess.” Scott shrugs, but he looks relieved all the same. He’s never been ahead of the curve academically, but he’s been doing alright, until he accidentally asked a girl out and she said ‘yes’ back in October. The entire pack had to suffer him being completely loopy over her ever since.

Stiles is the last to hop down from the stage, what with being near the end of the list. He grins at Laura as she hugs him, and Derek sniffs the air surreptitiously. These days, Stiles smells mostly of Laura and Scott, occasionally, to Derek’s utter displeasure, of Peter. Derek’s own scent is almost non-detectable. It’s nowhere near how strong it was last summer, when they went for a run together nearly every day. Derek has no idea why he’s thinking about it.

Stiles is in front of him suddenly, and his blinding grin becomes cautious. There’s hesitation in his eyes and he’s looking at Derek as if gauging if he should go for a hug or if he’ll be rejected. Derek rolls his eyes and pulls him in, palm pressed to the nape of his neck. Stiles’s heart stutters as usual and he inhales sharply, accepting the embrace, but the tension never quite leaves his body. When he pulls back, Derek lets him, though he keeps his hand where it is, rubbing softly, unable to resist the urge to mark Stiles, too.

“So,” he says to make it look like an absent, instinctual gesture, “Valedictorian, huh?”

Stiles blushes with pleasure, but rolls his eyes. “Co-valedictorian,” he corrects, looking at someone over Derek’s shoulder. “They had to split the title for the first time in sixty-four years. Lydia is still pissed about that.”

Derek lifts an eyebrow, following his gaze to where a very bossy and very gorgeous redhead is pouting at one of her classmates. The boy is staring into space with a sullen expression.

“Isn’t that the girl you took to prom?”

“Yeah,” Stiles replies, clearly surprised that Derek knows. “Uh, just as friends, though. And it was really more her taking me, since she was on the outs with her boyfriend again—that’s him, by the way—and he hates me, so she wanted to piss him off. And I only dreamed about going to prom with her since third grade, when I realized just how smart she was, so.” He shrugs. “It wasn’t quite how I pictured it would happen, but I’m not complaining.” He smirks. “Jackson’s bitchface was epic.”

Derek is… surprised. That’s surprise he’s feeling.

“You like her?”

Stiles blushes, though he tries to appear nonchalant, and his heartbeat remains steady. “Well, I mean, there were an odd fantasy or two… okay, or dozen, but frankly, she’s a goddess and who wouldn’t? But it’s like… I don’t know. You meet someone, and at first, it’s just instinct, and hormones, and all that, but then you get to know them, and you start to respect them, and suddenly they are a person, you know? And I’d rather keep her as a person, because she’s awesome, than keep fantasizing about her like she’s just a face.”

‘Am I just a face?’ Derek almost asks, but manages to bite his tongue at the last moment, which is fortunate. He knows he isn’t and never has been, for one. For another, he refuses to feel jealous of an eighteen-year-old girl because he doesn’t like to share being the object of Stiles’s crushes. That’s beyond ridiculous.

“That’s very mature of you,” Derek drawls instead, smirking, shaking Stiles a little by the hold he still has on his neck. “I can almost believe you’re as smart as your diploma says.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Stiles laughs, squirming from under his touch and knocking his shoulder into Derek’s instead before running off to hug his father.

There is a celebratory dinner for the pack, or, more precisely, a good excuse to have an open-air picnic while the weather is so good. They set up by the lake, and the mouth-watering scent of barbecue spreads over the woods, along with the sound of chatter and laughter.

Derek drifts from group to group, touching base, though mostly he hovers at the outskirts of the party by himself, watching with a smile as the younger pack members get tipsy while the adults pretend not to notice just this once. The sheriff seems to be especially unobservant, though Derek knows that will change if anyone under legal age reaches for more than two beers.

Night falls, and someone sets up the speakers, putting on some music so people can dance. Derek watches Laura and Cora dance like they used to when they were just kids, though when Cora tries to stand on Laura’s feet, Laura whines and pushes her off, both laughing. Scott’s girlfriend is there, and they are slow-dancing even though the music is upbeat, and that’s a heartbreak just waiting to happen, because she’s moving away for college, and Scott is staying practically in the neighborhood.

Derek watches his younger cousins show off their dance moves, mocking each other and trying to outdo one another, and thinks that this is almost like it used to be when his parents were alive. They had a party just like that when Laura graduated, and they had one in the house when it was Derek’s turn, because of a freak rainstorm.

He catches Laura’s gaze over the fire, and they look at each other, seized by the same memory, the sharp pain of loss that is always with them, hovering just below the surface. After a long, suspended moment, Laura’s lips quirk and she gives Derek a small, tentative smile. He lifts the bottle he’s been nursing all night in return and nods at her.

Some time later, when most of the adults have gone on home, taking the younger kids with them, Derek feels someone’s warm shoulder press against his own.

“Hey, stranger.”

Derek doesn’t turn, but has to hide his grin by taking a swig from his bottle. “You’re drunk,” he says, when Stiles doesn’t pull back.

“Hm,” Stiles hums, watching the fire. “Not really. Mostly just”—his arm flails as he gestures—“it’s just all this, you know?”

Derek knows, but doesn’t say so. He doesn’t push Stiles away, either.

Stiles peels himself off anyway and looks at him. “Hey, you like to dance?” he asks, his words slurring around the edges.

Derek winces. “Not unless I’m drugged.”

It’s only when Stiles giggles that he realizes he’s misunderstood. “I… sorry, did you mean—”

Stiles just keeps on laughing softly, swaying in place a little. “What else could I have meant?” He shakes his head, grinning. “It’s all right. I just… was psyching myself all night to ask, so I had to do it.”

“Do you want to—” Derek turns toward him, ready to set his drink aside and move into the circle of light. He’s surprised how ready.

But Stiles is shaking his head again. “No, no, it’s fine. It’s just one of those things.”

Derek watches him, confused. Stiles catches his look and sighs.

“Some things,” he says, clearly struggling to articulate, “there are some things you just have to do at some point, or they just remain forever, like… like… like a doctor’s appointment you meant to make, but never did, and then bam, bad news, sir, you’re dying, it’s too late now, and—oh my God, this is a horrible analogy, just, I need to stop now. Uh. But you know. It’s like that. Things. You have to find out at some point, or…”

Derek realizes that his own heart is beating too quickly as he listens, and his palms are sweating, but he doesn’t know why. He’s confused, more than anything, because he thinks he does know what Stiles is talking about, and Derek had ‘those things’ too, but it was with Jennifer, and he went for broke, and it ended horribly, and now Stiles is asking him to dance, and…

Stiles is shaking his head and smiling sadly as he watches Derek’s face, and it feels like he’s not drunk, and a lot older than eighteen, and he can see things that Derek can’t.

“It’s all right,” he murmurs gently, and he’s suddenly in Derek’s space. “I didn’t think you’d say ‘yes.’ I just had to ask, you know? For me.”

Before Derek can reply, Stiles leans in and kisses his cheek. The scent of him, fresh grass and old books and apples, mixed with pack, Scott, Laura, Derek, envelops Derek like a cloud, making his head spin.

Hot breath against his ear.

“Have a nice summer, Derek.”

It sounds strangely final. It sounds like Stiles is saying something else entirely, but before Derek can process, Stiles is already gone, pulled back into the crowd by the fire, swallowed from view.

--

Derek’s confusion over that night isn’t lifted the next morning. Nor is it any better in a week when he accidentally discovers that Stiles has already left for Stanford. The news catches him completely off guard.

Stiles goes early, the sheriff explains when Derek runs into him at a grocery store, to settle in and to find a job that will work with student hours. His scholarship covers tuition, but not living expenses. The sheriff, Derek knows, can’t help him much, and both of them would rather die than take money from Laura, no matter how many times she emphasizes that they are pack and it’s supposed to be that way.

It’s all very reasonable and makes perfect sense, but it’s also unsettling. When Derek discovers that Laura had known all along and didn’t say anything, he realizes he’s pissed.

“How was I supposed to know you wanted to know?” Laura snipes back, unimpressed, when he corners her in her office. She’s been working as a public defender for a year now. “How was I supposed to know you didn’t know, for that matter? Stiles wasn’t keeping it a secret.”

“He didn’t tell me,” Derek grumbles.

“Well, you’ve hardly said two words to him in a year. Why would he think you’d want to know?” Laura rolls her eyes, and then her gaze narrows. “Why the sudden interest? No, don’t make that face. You haven’t paid any attention to Stiles since that summer two years ago when you suddenly decided to make him your running buddy. Why is this bothering you now?”

Derek glowers at her. “He’s pack. It’s a big change. I just—I need to know these things.”

“Aha,” Laura says flatly. “Derek, you’re my brother, and I love you, but until you’re ready to pull your head out of your ass, kindly take your tantrums elsewhere. I have a case.”

Derek is not too old to flip her off, but that’s all right, because Laura is not too old to stick her tongue out at him.

Gradually, the demands of everyday life occupy more and more of his attention, and Derek forgets, sort of. It becomes a confusing moment among many other vaguely confusing, slightly awkward moments he’s had with Stiles over the years, and he puts it out of his mind. His conscious mind, at least.

He gets even more distracted when one of Laura’s rejected suitors takes it badly, and the entire pack is forced to take a stand against a minor guerilla war he unleashes on them. They handle it with minor werewolf-only casualties, and everyone heals fine, but it’s messy enough that the Conclave gets involved anyway, sending an inspector to investigate and possibly assign reparations, and Laura gets extremely short-tempered for a while.

Derek doesn’t see Stiles again until Christmas, and then suddenly his confusion is back full force.

The Hale Pack is big. Not as huge as some, but still big enough to make gathering everyone in one place a feat. Usually, everyone spends Christmas Eve with their own families and then comes together for dinner at the Hale house. It’s not a religious celebration, since many pack members follow different beliefs, but it’s the easiest time for most of them to get time off work, so the tradition sticks.

Derek knows Stiles is back in town, knows that he and his father will be at the party before he arrives from a last-minute grocery run. The house is full of people, chatting and laughing, exchanging news, and generally basking in each other’s presence. Derek knows Stiles is in here somewhere, but he’s still unprepared for the moment he actually sees him.

Oh, Derek thinks, his mind going blank. Oh.

Stiles is the same yet different. Derek can’t put his finger on what has changed, but it feels like suddenly, instead of the boy he never really had to look at anymore to see, there’s an unfamiliar young man standing in the middle of his living room, painted in vivid technicolor, and it’s impossible not to stare.

Stiles is tall. Derek knew that, but it feels like news. His hair is a bit longer, messy in the attractive way that only a really good haircut can achieve. His jeans look new, and, what’s more, they fit, they really, really fit, in a way that is making Derek vaguely uncomfortable. The sweater he’s wearing is thin and soft and does nothing to conceal the definition of muscles in his arms and shoulders or the firm flatness of his stomach. The charcoal grey color somehow makes his eyes look bright like amber, almost beta-gold without the electrical sheen of supernatural to them. He laughs easily, lips pink and generous, long-fingered hands as expressive as ever.

Derek feels ambushed. Completely blindsided.

Stiles has been talking with his father, but as someone calls the sheriff over and he excuses himself, Stiles turns and comes face to face with Derek.

“Stiles,” Derek says, surprised at the way his voice drops, but even more surprised that he has any voice at all, his throat feels so dry.

Stiles’s smile doesn’t falter, only softens slightly around the edges.

“Derek. Hi.”

“Hi.”

And then they are just standing there, smiling at each other like idiots. Derek should scent him. It’s what pack does, everyone, even humans, whenever they run into each other, a greeting and recognition, both. It’s instinct. Derek has never been shy about it with someone who belongs to him in that sense, but he’s seized by some strange hesitation now, unsure if he can touch.

He can sense Stiles’s mounting confusion behind his smile, and reaches out hastily, awkwardly, to run his hand lightly down Stiles’s arm. Stiles actually follows the movement with a puzzled expression on his face before glancing up at Derek. Whatever he sees makes him roll his eyes and then he’s pulling Derek into a hug, pressing his nose into Derek’s hair, inhaling deeply.

“Don’t be such a weirdo,” Stiles murmurs straight into his ear, and Derek only manages to suppress a shiver, because he uses the energy to pull Stiles close, pressing his cheek against the soft skin of Stiles’s neck.

He smells good. He smells familiar and new at the same time, and Derek wants to keep him right here for a while until he can puzzle out that contradiction, but that really would be weird, so he lets him go.

Stiles pulls back, still smiling. His heartbeat is fast, perhaps slightly accelerated than it was a few moments ago, and Derek is waiting for that familiar flip it always does, and it feels like it’s just about to do it when—

“Stilinski! Get over here you loser!”

Malia barrels into Stiles, making him stagger back two steps as he catches her. She wraps herself around him with her usual disregard for her own strength and buries her nose in his neck. Stiles is laughing, wrapping his arms around her even as he is complaining.

“Ow, seriously, watch the claws, squishy human here!”

She pulls back, grinning, completely unrepentant. Derek feels a sudden urge to smack his cousin upside the head, hard. Malia’s eyes are roaming up and down Stiles like she’s ogling a particularly appetizing cut of venison.

“Damn, Stilinski, when did you get so hot?”

“I’d thank you, if you didn’t just try to maim me,” Stiles says, rubbing at his shoulder. “And what do you mean, I was always hot.”

And that’s… not untrue, Derek realizes, startled. Stiles hasn’t changed that much. Different clothes and hairstyle aside, he’s more or less the same he’s always been. But it feels like some sort of switch has been pushed into the ‘on’ position inside him, and suddenly what was easy to overlook before became impossible to ignore.

“No way,” Malia says, and, with no regards for boundaries, jerks his sweater halfway up his chest. “You’ve got abs!” she crows, managing to run her fingers down the definitely visible muscles before Stiles bats her hands away. “You never used to have abs before, that’s—”

Stiles jerks his sweater down, blushing furiously, still fending her off. “Ugh, Malia! You’re as horrible as ever! Stop!”

“I just want to take another look—”

“Malia,” an amused voice cuts in, breaking their puppy fight. “Stop pawing at the human or at least drag him somewhere else first. Hello, Stiles.”

“Peter.” Stiles rolls his eyes. “I did not miss you at all,” he says, but still obediently hugs him.

Peter takes his opportunity to run his hands all over Stiles, before Stiles pushes him away, amused and embarrassed at the same time.

“My daughter is right,” Peter concludes, smirking.

“Why,” Stiles groans, “why do you always have to be such a creep?”

“Ignore him, haven’t you learned by now?” Laura says, joining them, slinging an arm casually over Stiles’s shoulders. Peter bares his teeth at her playfully, making her roll her eyes.

Derek is almost relieved to see them like this once again. When his mother’s alpha spark had first descended on Laura, as it was supposed to, her relationship with Peter got strained for a while.

“No, seriously, what gives?” Malia asks. “You joined some sort of fight club?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “No. This is simply what happens when you work at a bar where the owner is an asshole and, despite being a werewolf, leaves all the heavy lifting to us, puny humans. I think I hefted more crates of whiskey than I poured drinks my first three months there alone.”

“You bartend?” Malia boggles. “You? You drop whatever happens to be in your hands for over a minute.”

Stiles sends her a mock glare. “Not when it comes out of my wages. I make a mean margarita, I’ll have you know. And I’m an absolute riot on shot nights.”

“I can believe that,” Laura says, ruffling his hair, an evil glint in her eye. “You work at Moonrise, right? I went there the last time I visited Josh in San Francisco. Is it still two-for-one every Friday night, and if you order five, the bartender serves you shirtless?”

Everyone cheers, as Stiles blushes deeper than ever and looks around wildly. “Shut up before my dad hears you!”

“Aw,” Malia drawls, sidling up to him on the other side and slipping her hand under his sweater again. Stiles jerks back, but Laura holds him steady. “You must get really good tips.”

Stiles stops his struggles, giving up, and turns a shit-eating grin on her. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Everyone laughs as they tease him, and Stiles, recovering, gives back as good as he gets. Derek watches from the periphery of the group, feeling vaguely disgruntled at those glimpses of a life he’s not a witness to. He drifts away, after intercepting a look Laura sends him and realizing he’s been growling subvocally in irritation at Malia’s usual lack of tact and personal boundaries. They are werewolves; they are not savages. Laura lifts an eyebrow at him, still half-draped over Stiles. Derek chooses to retreat.

But he keeps on hearing things all night, seemingly unable to tune out whoever’s talking to Stiles. He learns that Stiles is double-majoring in social anthropology (understandable, considering he’s part of a werewolf pack) and environmental studies. The latter sound so complicated when Stiles describes with great enthusiasm all the research he’s been studying to Gill and Meghan that Derek loses track pretty soon.

Stiles still talks with his hands, as animated about the subject as he used to be about the new Spiderman comic book, and Derek never had the slightest inclination toward natural sciences, but he feels enraptured all the same. He’s distracted whenever anyone tries to talk to him, to the point where Scott frowns and asks if Derek is okay, and Laura keeps watching him from across the room, lips teasing the possibility of a knowing smirk.

Derek has no idea what it is she thinks that she knows.

He’s happy to be left alone by the mostly clear drinks table and is contemplating how he can pull Stiles aside for some catching up without making it look like a big deal. He’s frowning at an empty glass sitting in front of him, wondering why whoever drank from it thought it acceptable to just leave it there, when he feels a shoulder press against his own.

“Hey, stranger.”

Derek’s head snaps up. Stiles is standing in front of him, looking somewhat more rumpled and smelling overwhelmingly of pack. He’s grinning.

“Any particular reason you’ve been brooding here in the corner for half the night?”

Derek glowers at him, then back at the room. “It tends to get a bit much.”

“Hm.” Stiles’s shoulder presses against his again, this time in solidarity. “I guess. I’ve just been so happy to see everyone. It’s been a while, and it’s… nice. Though a little weird, too.” He frowns slightly. “Everyone’s treating me like… I don’t know. Like I’m Scott or something. Janine asked me to strip for her. And Roberta asked me out.” He shudders.

Derek lifts an eyebrow. “Roberta—my cousin Roberta? Isn’t she fourteen?”

Stiles gives him a completely bewildered look. “Yeah. What’s up with that?”

Derek can’t help a snort.

“Yeah, laugh it up, big guy, it’s hilarious.” Stiles elbows him in the ribs. “Her mother was standing right there, growling at me like I was trying to steal her daughter’s virtue or something.”

Derek outright laughs. “Roberta,” he pushes out through the giggles, “has always been assertive.”

“Ugh,” Stiles groans. “You’re the worst.”

“We could be actual relatives soon.”

“Shut up.”

“Unless Roberta fights her mom for you.”

“Seriously, the absolute worst, oh my God.”

Derek just grins, pressing his shoulder back into Stiles’s. Stiles leans into him.

“Hey, Derek?” Stiles asks after a while. “Do you still run?”

“Sure.”

“Me too, but not as often as I’d like, what with my job and classes… You want to go for a run with me in the morning? See how bad I am, maybe make a new training program for me?”

Derek pulls back to look at him, surprised and pleased. “Of course.” He smirks. “Six a.m. works for you?”

Stiles rolls his eyes, but just grins in response. “It’s a date.”

--

The Stiles he sees the next morning is a lot more like the Stiles he used to know. In a pair of old sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt that has seen better days, with his hair still curling slightly after his shower, he looks younger and softer, his sleepy grin making something clench in Derek’s chest at the familiarity of it. But the aura of confidence around him isn’t at all diminished, and he becomes almost visibly brighter and more ‘on’ as the run wakes him up.

He talks about his classes, about his idiot roommate, about a professor in one of his social anthropology courses who wouldn’t believe Stiles is in a pack, let alone in the Hale Pack, and is giving him a hard time because of it. He tells Derek about his campaign to woo everyone who works at the library with baked goods so that they’d give him unrestricted access, about a guy on a freaking skateboard who knocked him over that one time and then asked him out, about whether or not he should join the track team, because it would be nice, but he doesn’t really have the time, and—

They’ve been running for nearly forty minutes, when Derek, who’s been listening not only to Stiles’s stories, but to his heartrate and breathing, shoots an arm out in front of him, halting him.

“Slow down, let’s walk.”

“What?” Stiles stumbles. “Why?”

“You’re panting. If you can’t talk and run—”

“—you’re running too fast,” Stiles finishes, grinning, and obediently slows down. “Shit. Forty-two minutes, huh? I guess I really am out of shape.”

“Stiles.” Derek gives him an odd look. “You’ve been matching my speed.”

Stiles blinks, then grins, then lifts an accusing finger at Derek. “You were testing me!”

Derek shrugs. “You asked me to write a new program for you. I had to know what I was working with.”

“You’re a sadist.” Stiles groans. “Oh my God. I can’t believe you let me run at your level of cardio for forty minutes! No wonder I feel like I’m about to keel over!”

Derek smirks. “You would have noticed if you’d—”

“—paid attention to my body, yeah, yeah.” Stiles waves at him vaguely. “Whatever you say, Master Yoda. You’re still evil.”

“Stop whining, we’re back to running in thirty seconds.”

Stiles groans.

Derek doesn’t realize he’s been waiting since the moment he spotted Stiles at the house the other night until they’ve reached the end of the trail. Stiles’s breathing is elevated, but he’s not panting, and he’s grinning, drunk on the endorphin rush. Derek reaches out instinctively to squeeze the nape of his neck, shaking him a little, pressing in both his scent and his approval for a job well done.

That’s when he hears it, finally, that tiny little sound he doesn’t know he’s been missing.

Flip.

Derek grins.

--

Derek likes spending time with Stiles. Not that he didn’t before, but it was different. Age difference means a lot when it separates adults from children. But once the magical barrier is crossed by all parties, it has a tendency to simply dissolve. Stiles is an adult now, and Derek no longer feels responsible for him the way he would for a younger sibling or packmate. They are equals now, and Derek can simply enjoy his company.

Stiles keeps busy, even on holiday. They go running every morning, and, while the renovations at the gym have been paused for the holidays, leaving Derek free, Stiles has picked up a few shifts in the coffeeshop he used to work at. Mary is happy to have him, since a lot of kids take time off for the break. The sheriff tries to object, but Stiles assures him that it’s fun and gives him a perfect opportunity to catch up with everyone.

Later, he tells Derek that he’s determined not to ask his dad for money unless absolutely necessary. Derek says nothing, even though he badly wants to. He can respect a prideful stance, even if he knows, has known for a while already, that no one really gets through life all on their own. He knows, too, that Stiles wouldn’t take a penny from the pack funds unless he was desperate. He never says it, but Derek knows, has caught enough abortive comments over the years and has certainly seen enough of Stiles to know. Stiles still believes, deep down, that he was only accepted into the pack on sufferance, and hasn’t been kicked out yet because everyone is too nice or got used to him.

Derek wants to set him right, but he’s in no position to do more than he is already. The rest is up to Laura, and Derek trusts her to take care of it eventually.

For now, Derek simply enjoys hanging out with Stiles and his friends and pack—most often it’s Scott, Isaac, and, surprisingly, Cora. His younger sister is still giving Stiles suspicious looks every now and then, but Derek can tell that Stiles is winning her over little by little, when he talks about organic farming and cruelty-free economy.

On Thursday, they all go to the skate rink. Derek isn’t sure how it comes to be, because all he remembers is Scott making an offhand comment that he’s never skated. Stiles and Cora exchange malicious looks, and just like that, they’re queueing up for the rental.

Scott is terrible. Before he sets a foot on the ice, he claims that his superior werewolf reflexes will make it a cake walk. The moment he does set foot on the ice, Cora collapses in a fit of laughter, wheezing as she holds herself up against the rink board. Isaac isn’t doing much better, clutching at his stomach, as Scott tries getting up and ends up falling again. And then again. And again. Stiles looks torn for all of five seconds, but then there’s a cluster of girls cooing over Scott, subtly fighting each other over who gets to teach him. Stiles rolls his eyes, grinning, and takes off.

Stiles is… not bad. In the sense that he can skate in a straight line, turn when he needs to, and generally maintain his balance. The rink isn’t very crowded, it’s California, not Vancouver, but there are still plenty of people for him to avoid, arms flailing.

Derek would swear up and down that he doesn’t do it on purpose. His skates forward cautiously, arms splayed for balance, as he concentrates on carefully moving his feet. Stiles catches up with him within half a minute.

“Dude, relax, you’re way too tense,” Stiles says, grinning, and reaches to take a hold of Derek’s arm. “Woah, definitely too tense. You need to relax a bit, or you’ll end up like the wolfy ice mop over there. Come on, bend your knees a little bit. Seriously, none of you done it before?”

Derek tries to follow that advice, biting his lips hard enough to draw blood. His back remains rigid.

“Okay, get over here, easy, there you go,” Stiles instructs softly, as he herds Derek to the side of the rink, away from the crowd. “Now, slowly… okay, that wasn’t slowly! Derek, you’re okay?”

“Fine,” Derek manages, after he’s done flailing. “This isn’t very relaxing, Stiles.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not even trying,” Stiles complains. “Okay, just hold there. How about this?”

He slides away, and then Derek feels arms wrapping around him from behind, Stiles pulling him carefully in until he’s plastered against Derek’s back. Derek grins, knowing Stiles can’t see him. He covers Stiles’s hands with his own, leaning into him a little.

“Jesus, you’re like a brick wall,” Stiles mutters into his ear. “Just let go a little bit. I swear I won’t let you fall.”

“Hm.”

Derek does relax at the proximity, enjoys it for a few moments longer perhaps than is justified. Then, he holds Stiles’s hands firmly in his own, twists around in his arms and slowly starts skating away. Backward. Stiles, moving perforce with him, gapes.

“What—how?”

Derek can’t hold a grin back any longer, lets Stiles have one of his hands back, and starts gathering up speed, as the end of the rink draws nearer.

“Derek, stop!” Stiles squeals, his eyes wide. “We’re going to crush! Slow down! Dammit, turn! Turn! I don’t want to die, Derek, let me go—oops, sorry, Miss! Derek!”

Derek uses his hold to tug Stiles closer as they make the turn, and Stiles yells in fear even as he laughs.

“Derek, I swear to God, if you launch me into a quadruple salchow or something, I’m going to kill you!”

Derek wasn’t going to, but now that the idea is in his head, he spins them, tugging Stiles closer against his chest all the while, until he inevitably starts losing control of their rotation. He has just enough coordination to push them toward the soft board surrounding the rink, just before they collapse on the ice in a heap of limbs. He ends up on top of Stiles, who screams as they fall, and then just lies there, not even trying to get up, shaking with laughter.

Derek beams down at him. “I played hockey when I was in high school. Only for a year, but…”

“Bastard.” Stiles is laughing. “The worst, you’re the absolute worst, I hate your stupid face. Why am I on the bottom? You heal, I don’t. I think I hurt my elbow.” He thinks about it, then adds, “Ow.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Well, you promised you wouldn’t let me fall,” he says, as he carefully lifts himself off of Stiles then gives him a hand up. “That was very chivalrous of you.”

“Dick,” Stiles says as Derek more or less lifts him to his feet. “You’re such a dick, honestly, I don’t know why I—”

“Tag, you’re it, losers!” Cora yells as she breezes past at an unreasonable speed, tapping Stiles on the shoulder hard enough to nearly knock him over. “Last one buys hot dogs!”

Stiles’s eyes narrow. “Oh, it’s on,” he yells after her and gives chase.

And Derek—Derek does, too.

--

They are all having coffee after Stiles’s shift has ended the next day, when Stiles pulls out his phone and winces as he reads the text.

“Danny’s asshole boyfriend dumped him,” Stiles informs them, scowling. “We’re all his wingmen tonight at the Jungle, or he posts photos of us from middle school to Facebook.” He shows them the screen so that they can see the message by themselves.

“Crap,” Scott says. “Not that this is bad news. The guy was a douche.”

Apparently, everyone has an opinion on Danny’s ex, and while they are happily abusing him, Stiles turns to Derek.

“What do you say, man?” he asks quietly. “You’re in?”

Derek doesn’t really know Danny all that well, but he’s curious to see Stiles in a club setting. The last time Derek saw Stiles dance Laura had to hit him hard in the kidneys to keep him from laughing. Granted, it was seven years ago, but still.

Derek nods. “Sure.”

Stiles beams.

He has to make his own way to the club. Cora ditches them. Stiles, Scott, and Isaac are still technically underage, and Stiles says something about having a friend get them in. Derek should be more surprised that Stiles is, apparently, Facebook buddies with all the local drag queens, but he’s gets too distracted for that when he finally gets inside.

Stiles is wearing tight skinny jeans, and a shirt that clings to him like it’s molesting his torso. His hair is artfully styled, and he’s… Derek gulps. He’s wearing eyeliner. Derek doesn’t know how to deal with that.

“Let me buy you a drink,” Derek says before anyone else can, because he can already see all the eyes following Stiles around, and he doesn’t want to have to hurt anyone tonight.

Stiles grins at him. “Awesome, thanks!”

Derek watches him knock back a shot, then another one. He leans over, gripping Derek’s shoulder to yell in his ear over the music, even though Derek would have heard him anyway.

“I’m going to go dance with Danny for a few, okay? He’s really not taking this whole thing well.”

So Derek watches him dance. Scott and Isaac are there too, and for a while they all dance together, a tight protective circle around Danny, the tall boy in the middle, who’s smiling at them gratefully and leans into their touches. Scott splits after a while and goes to sit by the bar, but before he can so much as try convincing the bartender to serve him, there are three drinks in front of him. Derek laughs, watching Scott stare in bewilderment then blush then accept with a grateful nod. Derek is keeping an eye on him, but Scott’s a werewolf. He can’t get drunk, and human roofies won’t work on him.

Back on the dancefloor, Stiles and Isaac have Danny sandwiched between them now, hands all over each other, and no, it doesn’t look ridiculous at all. Derek is watching, his mouth dry, his heart beating loud enough to deafen him over the music. He’s not the only one. Half the club is enjoying the show, and the three in the middle obviously know that.

It’s not awkward. It doesn’t make Derek want to laugh. It makes him tense and alert and slightly pissed off for some unknown reason.

Isaac is all sinuous movement and easy grace. He probably was like that even before he’d requested the Bite from Laura. Danny is the kind of guy who doesn’t need any impressive moves and can seduce half the club by simply shuffling from foot to foot and smiling. And Stiles—Stiles is almost sizzling with energy, the movements of his body uncomplicated but raw and honest and so full of life that it makes Derek shiver.

He has to turn away, because he can’t watch. He flashes his eyes and requests a wolfsbane-laced shot of whiskey. He doesn’t intend to get drunk, but he can’t face this sober.

He doesn’t know how much time he spends at the bar nursing drinks, only occasionally glancing at the dancefloor. People keep hitting on him. Humans, mostly, though a couple of wolves passing through town try, too. Derek tries not to growl as he rejects them, but he suspects he doesn’t always succeed. He doesn’t know what’s happening. He hasn’t had that much trouble reigning in his temper since… well, since Jennifer.

When a pair of arms wrap around him from behind, he tenses, ready to strike, because that is absolutely it, but then relaxes within a moment.

“Dance with me, Sourwolf,” Stiles breathes in his ear, and yes, that. Derek didn’t want to dance, but yes. Yes.

He slides off the stool and Stiles leads him into the crowd by the hand before turning around, facing him, a smirk on his face, his thin t-shirt nearly translucent with sweat, his eyeliner smudged and blurry around the edges. He smells overwhelmingly of other people, even though the scent of the pack is stronger than the rest. Derek feels a rumble start in his own chest, and before he can think about what he’s doing, he grabs Stiles by the waist and pulls him closer. He’s not gentle and has no excuse for this shit, but Stiles only grins at him, and loops his arms around Derek’s neck.

“Hey you,” he murmurs, pressing against Derek as he moves.

Anything goes in a club, apparently.

Over his shoulder Derek can see Isaac making out with Danny and wants to bark at them, because they’re idiots.

“Hey, hey, no growling,” Stiles says, actually sliding closer against Derek, chest to chest. “They’ll be fine; it’s just fun.”

And Derek should care more about rebounds and potential heartbreaks, and Isaac is not fun when he’s moping. He should, but right at that instance he doesn’t, because he’s not dancing with Stiles; this isn’t dancing, this is…

Derek didn’t drink that much, but he feels drunk. He feels like he’s falling. Like he’s holding Stiles upright, carrying him even, but also holding on to him to keep his own feet. Stiles never stops moving and he’s plastered all over Derek, and Derek might die if he stops.

He buries his face in Stiles’s neck, inhaling, scenting, far more intimately than he ever has before. He’d never dare at any other time, but he feels almost drugged now, he feels like all he can do is follow what feels good. A little jolt runs through Stiles when he feels Derek’s breath against his neck, he squirms a bit, but not like he’s trying to get away, more in some unclear frustration. Then his long clever fingers slide into Derek’s hair, and oh, if that is fair game, Derek can totally press his lips to the warm damp skin.

Stiles shudders in his arms as Derek drags his lips up and down his neck, not really pressing down, even though he wants to. God, how he wants to. He is rewarded by Stiles’s own scent intensifying in response, eclipsing the scents of all the others who have touched him tonight. Derek could drown in it. His head is swimming. The music turns into something dark and viscous, and Derek holds Stiles tightly as he rocks them, dipping them low, pulling them up, all without opening his eyes.

Stiles’s fingers are tangled in Derek’s hair, the side of his face pressed against Derek’s, as he’s holding on, his breath coming out in short gasps, hitching sometimes when Derek’s movements surprise him. Laughter runs through him, too, infecting Derek, who finds himself grinning at odd moments, even though they are both hard, but it’s only part of what makes everything feel so good right now, as they move together, drunk on joy.

It ends abruptly when harsh white lights flood the floor, indicating the start of some sort of performance. Derek groans, and Stiles curses, as they manage to untangle—only just—and move aside. They can’t quite let go of one another as they stumble back to the bar, where Derek orders water.

The drag queens are performing tonight, it turns out, and Stiles must have slipped a word in to his friends, because they are singling Danny out, dragging him front and center to give him all of their attention. It’s cute, sexy, and so goddamn funny, because these ladies absolutely rock, and Derek finds himself laughing like he hasn’t in a long time was he watches.

Stiles is leaning on him more than on the bar, as he watches and cheers, rolling his eyes when Derek reminds him to drink his water. Derek’s arm is looped around his waist. It’s no big deal that Derek keeps nuzzling Stiles’s jaw, the shell of his ear, as they enjoy the performance. Stiles doesn’t object, only snuggles closer.

When it’s over, Stiles turns toward him, grinning, eyes foggy but bright, and says: “Admit it, you’re having fun.”

Derek pretends to think about it, then gives up when he can’t fight his own grin anymore, and says: “Yeah, I am.”

Stiles laughs.

Some time later, they pour Danny into a cab, and then Derek, who’s sober by then, drives everyone else home. He has a strange feeling as the night’s euphoria starts to dissipate. He feels like he’s forgotten to do something, like there’s something he must do or say, and he can’t figure it out, and it’s bugging him even through all the laughter.

He is fairly certain that it’s something to do with Stiles, and regrets that he has to drop him off first. Scott and Isaac are giggling sleepily in the backseat, when Derek pulls up at the sheriff’s house. Stiles looks at him, his grin tired but pleased. Derek suddenly doesn’t know what to do with himself, but he has to do something, so he reaches out and wipes gently at the corner of Stiles’s eye where the eyeliner is smudged like coal.

“Thanks.” Stiles looks down, as if bashful. His heart is doing the flip thing again. “Um, I probably won’t be up for running today.”

Derek glances at the lightening horizon, dawn being maybe an hour away, and laughs. “I’d say so. Drink more water, get some sleep. See you later.”

“Right, see you.” Stiles grins and opens the door. “Bye, guys.”

“Bye, Stiles,” Scott and Isaac chorus from where they’re slumped against each other.

“Check on Danny later?” Scott pipes up.

Stiles aims a finger at him. “You know it.”

Derek waits until he’s all the way inside before he drives off, still grinning, yet feeling that strange unresolved pull intensify. He falls into his own bed later with a sense of overwhelming relief, ordering himself to sleep just to escape from his confusion.

--

He wakes up to the sound of someone pounding loudly on the front door. Derek wants to kill them. Yes, he knows, it’s probably past noon, but he’s been out all night, and who the fuck has the audacity to demand entrance to the house of the alpha in such a way anyway? He rolls out of bed with a loud groan and thoughts of murder that don’t dissipate even as he stomps downstairs and can already hear Cora’s delighted squeal.

“There he is, the grumpy puppy!” an eerily familiar voice exclaims as Derek comes downstairs. “My-my, has he gotten hotter or what?”

Derek blinks, then stares. Before he can process, he has an armful of a very happy werewolf, blonde curls tickling his nose.

“Alex?” Derek pulls back, staring at her. A delighted grin begins to break on his face. “Alex?”

She laughs, poking him in the chest. “You’re so grumpy when you’ve just woken up, I love it!”

Derek realizes suddenly he’s not wearing anything but pajama pants and blushes, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh. Hi?”

Alex just keeps laughing as she loops her arm through his, dragging him toward the kitchen. “Come on, Grumpy, let’s get some coffee into you, while I ogle the goodies.”

Derek tries to slink away to at least get dressed, but just then Laura and Peter descend on them, and Alex is clutching his arm like she knows exactly what he’s thinking, and he gives up. He’s used to his family making fun of him anyway, and at least there’s coffee.

Alex is technically their cousin, though it’s through someone’s marriage and even that is so far removed that it barely counts. She is part of the pack in Brazil that they’re sort of related to, two years older than Laura, and was responsible for the two of them when Derek and Laura went over there for their extended training.

Derek used to have the biggest crush on Alex. She was almost aggressively sexy, yet at the same time somehow totally adorable with plump round cheeks and bright blue eyes. She kicked Derek’s ass six ways into Sunday during every single training session, and somehow he only wanted to come back for more.

Every remaining Hale descends on her, and they spend several hours happily catching up, eating pancakes and bacon, because no one wants to bother with lunch. Alex looks and feels the same, still making outrageous statements, still laughing loud enough to shake the house, still being playful and scarily competent at the same time.

The only difference is in the way she keeps looking at Derek with fire in her eyes where there only used to be teasing before. It’s blatant enough for Laura, Cora and Peter to notice and exchange meaningful looks. Derek ignores it all. It’s flattering, and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

It used to be so easy once upon a time. But then Jennifer happened, and now he never knows anymore. It’s easier with guys. Derek is, like most wolves, pansexual, and it shouldn’t matter to him. It never used to, before, but now it does. Guys are less complicated. He gets how they work. It’s simple and it’s fun. Like it was with Michael. Hell, even like it was with Stiles the night before. Just two packmates, two friends, enjoying themselves. Yes, with a bit of spice in there, now that Stiles is no longer a kid and it’s all right. Easy. Simple.

That nagging feeling from yesterday returns full force when Derek heads back to his room to change and finds that Stiles has texted him, asking if Derek is up for their usual run tomorrow. Derek thinks about Alex, and types quickly:

No, sorry. Something came up. Day after for sure.

He gets a reply a minute later.

No problem, dude. I’ll run extra for you. ;)

Derek frowns as he gets dressed. Something about Stiles’s easy acceptance bothers him, though he can’t figure out what.

It keeps bothering him all through dinner as they storm the oldest grill restaurant in town, staying well past closing hours, demolishing piles of ribs and laughing so hard the windows rattle. The proprietor is happy to indulge, keeping a couple of staff on hand, because he knows that Laura will pay extra and because the entire town spoils the pack sometimes.

It’s the kind of night the remaining Hales rarely get on their own anymore. It’s not that they don’t enjoy themselves when pack is there, but there’s a part of Laura that can’t let go. She’s responsible for them, and she can’t relax fully when someone might need her to be the alpha. To a lesser extent it goes for Derek, Peter, and even Cora.

And when it’s just the four of them in the house, on the rare occasions that it happens, they are usually quiet, too cognizant of all the empty chairs around the table, of the locked-up room that used to be their parents’ bedroom. Laura should have moved in, but never did, and none of them had ever brought it up, not even Peter.

Alex is close enough to be family, and she’s pack but not quite at the same time. She brings the kind of joy to them they’d forgotten they could have with just the inner circle, and it’s… nice. More so, it’s wonderful.

Even more wonderful for Derek, because Alex is sitting next to him. She punches him in the shoulder as she talks, grips his thigh as she laughs, leans into him playfully while stealing garlic bread off his plate. She’s flirting, and he’s flirting back, because it’s fun, because he knows her, because she’s safe. He’s definitely enjoying himself.

He and Cora show Alex around the next day, though Cora ditches them after lunch to meet up with one of her girlfriends. Alex never stops flirting with him, and Derek is cognizant by now that she’s not entirely joking. She’s at the age where most werewolves would be looking to settle down, and, apparently, he warrants an audition. It’s flattering. He had pined for her long enough when he was a teenager for it to make his head spin a bit still.

He sees Stiles as he and Alex are leaving the movie theater. Stiles is across the parking lot, loading up groceries into his Jeep. He catches sight of Derek and waves, eyes traveling between him and Alex curiously. Derek waves back, but Alex chooses that moment to snap a strap of her shoe and hobbles, cursing, bumping into Derek, and then laughs and demands he carry her to the car. Derek rolls his eyes, but knows from experience he’d save a lot of time and energy by just obliging. By the time he looks up, Stiles is gone.

That night, Alex shows up at his room. They watch a movie on Derek’s laptop and drink beer. By the time the second movie starts, Alex has broken out some really potent wolfsbane tequila. She talks about her human father who’s borderline alcoholic. She talks about the time Talia Hale had dragged her out of the boys locker room by the ear when she was fifteen. She talks about how her younger cousin got married two months ago, and how she teased Alex about not fitting into the bridesmaid’s dress, and Alex clawed through her veil, but she thought…

Derek ends up kissing her because he can’t stand to listen any longer, and they tear each other’s clothes off desperately, trying to get ahead of the pain. It dissolves to a blur of warm bodies and hot touches, and claws digging into flesh. Derek lets himself go the way he hasn’t since Jennifer, possibly hasn’t ever, and Alex is just as merciless with him in return. They’re hurting each other, but it’s better than hurting themselves, and they ride it out until whatever remains of the pain becomes bearable.

--

When morning dawns, Alex is gone. Werewolves don’t really get hangovers, but Derek is still woozy when he climbs out of bed, puts the first shirt he sees on, and trudges downstairs into the kitchen, drawn by the scent of coffee. Cora is sitting at the counter, drinking distractedly from her mug, as she scrolls through her tablet.

“Morning,” Derek says, poring himself a cup.

Cora doesn’t look up, just grunts in response. That’s fine with Derek. Out of all the Hales, Laura is the only one who can occasionally pull off being a morning person.

Cora is more awake than Derek is, though, because after a while she says, “Oh, right, before I forget. Stiles dropped by earlier. You didn’t text him to cancel your run or something.”

Derek freezes. He forgot. He completely forgot about Stiles after Alex had showed up at his room. He looks at the clock on the wall automatically. Half past nine. He and Stiles usually go at six, and they start from the house.

“He didn’t…” Derek clears his throat. “He didn’t wait?”

Not that he’d want Stiles to, that would be even worse, but he has to know…

Cora’s eyebrows lift, though she doesn’t look up from her social media feed or whatever it is that’s got her attention. “He asked if he should, but I told him you and Alex had a late night last night, and you probably wouldn’t be up for it anyway.”

Derek stares at her, heart sinking. “You told him that?”

Cora blinks and finally looks up. “Uh. Any reason I shouldn’t have?”

Derek can’t answer, can’t articulate what’s wrong with all of that. It’s not that Cora told him, but that too, and that Derek forgot, and that it’s Stiles, and it’s all just plain wrong somehow, though he can’t understand why.

“Derek, you okay?” Cora is looking at him with concern now.

“Yeah. I need to…” He gestures helplessly, palms suddenly sweaty. “I’d better go call Stiles.”

He has no idea what he’s going to say, but—

“I doubt you’d catch him,” Cora says. “He said he and his dad are going camping for a couple of days. Something about the Stilinski men bonding experience.” Her lips quirk. “There’s no reception in the mountains.”

Derek swears.

“Hey, what’s the big deal?” Cora frowns. “You’re acting all weird. It’s just Stiles. I mean, yeah, not cool, man, ditching him and not warning him, but he was up here anyway, and hey, he’s seen Alex. I told him it was like all your dreams coming true, since you've been pretty gaga for her since forever. He gets it.”

Derek wants to howl. He doesn’t want Stiles to get it. Stiles getting it is exactly the problem, though Derek still can’t figure out why. He storms off, coffee forgotten. He feels perfectly awake now.

--

He doesn’t get a hold of Stiles for the next two days, and then only via text. Derek apologizes about not canceling, feeling that it’s woefully inadequate, but unable to come up with anything better. The response he gets is completely understanding and friendly, and plain wrong.

Hey, man, no worries. No big deal. ttyl

Stiles doesn’t, in fact, talk to him later. The next day after he’s back from his camping trip, he heads back to Stanford. He pays his respects to Laura during her business hours, catching her at the police station, and doesn’t come by the house again.

Derek is irrationally angry about that. So Derek forgot, so what? Way to be a brat. He cultivates anger like a crop that can save the world from hunger because he doesn’t want to deal with what’s underneath.

Alex leaves in a few days, muttering a quiet ‘thanks’ to Derek as she goes. Derek is angry at her too, because they could have been friends, good friends even, maybe like her and Laura. But now that a night of too revealing sex between two people who didn’t know each other all that well and didn’t share a deeper connection to sustain such revelations stood between them, they could never build an easy friendship. They would always, in fact, be uncomfortable with one another.

Derek is angry, so he runs, he works out, he joins the crew that is working on renovating the gym and does some heavy lifting himself. He avoids Cora, Scott, and Isaac. He dodges Laura. He doesn’t want to see anyone. All he wants is to tear something apart.

Almost a whole month passes before he figures it out. When it finally clicks, he stands frozen in shock. He doesn’t think he could have been more shocked if he’d been hit by a lightning out of a clear blue sky.

It’s the way he’s always been aware of Stiles on some level. The way he’s always kept track of him at the periphery of his mind. The way he admired Stiles’s mind and laughed at his jokes back when Stiles was just a kid. The way he never understood why Stiles wasn’t more popular. The way Derek found him so endlessly interesting, and appealing, and bright. The way he couldn’t take his eyes off him that first night at his house. The way he felt high when he was holding Stiles at that club, the way he still feels high when he so much as thinks about it. The way he’d always, always listened to that tiny flip in Stiles’s heartbeat, that little break in rhythm that settled something inside Derek he couldn’t reach himself.

The sheer amount of guilt Derek feels over the entire Alex thing. Maybe Derek needed it, and maybe Alex did too. Maybe it was overdue for a long time. Maybe Derek had postponed dealing with the fact that his parents were gone and Jennifer had betrayed him for too long, and it had to be faced at some point. But it didn’t have to be this way, and if Derek wasn’t such an incredibly oblivious idiot, he wouldn’t have ended up hurting the man he loved.

Because that’s what his grand realization boils down to.

He’s in love with Stiles.

And he’s pretty sure he has lost him.

--