Chapter Text
It's a few months into Stiles' second semester at college when Derek first smells the tears on him.
Things have calmed down significantly, and they're no longer actively at war. The alpha pack moved on, the Nemeton was neutralized, and Stiles had a major hand in both those events. So if Derek wasn't already aware of how razor-sharp and strong Stiles is in times of crisis, he sure is now.
But there's been no crisis for months. Close to a year, now, actually. Everyone is back at school or at work. They're still working on the pack bonds, but getting better, and there's frankly an astounding lack of stress.
And yet, Stiles shows up for the bi-monthly pack meeting at the rebuilt Hale house smelling like tears.
Derek almost focuses his senses on Stiles for more information before he remembers that they're no longer in constant survival mode, and that he was raised better. His mother would have made him weed their entire, massive garden for being that rude. Respecting personal boundaries is a necessity in wolf society, because secrets are so hard to keep, and Derek is aware that he might need to re-learn that after so long of living from one moment to the next. Offending people hasn't exactly been much of a concern for him in the past few years of his life, and it's actually a comfort to know that he's in a place now where it's relevant again, if a little inconvenient.
The betas don't seem to notice anything off, but Derek doesn't expect them to. First of all because they're bitten betas who'll never have senses as good as a born wolf alpha, but also probably because they have their own problems. Entering adult life as traumatized teens is challenging enough in itself without adding pack drama and sensory overload to the mix, so tensions are always running a little high. Which is another reason why Derek wants them all to bond as often as possible, so they can draw on the strength and connection of pack a lot more. But Stiles isn't a beta, so even though he's pack, he'll never have the same benefits from the pack bonds. And while this is no different than any other non-bitten pack member, Derek can't help but worry.
A cursory sniff tells him that the tears aren't fresh, a couple of hours old at least, but there's still a pretty significant salty tang, so Stiles hasn't washed his face since they fell. Derek doesn't smell any immediate pain or sadness on him, and tears from eye irritation or allergies don't carry the same chemo-signals, so he's got nothing. It's not any anniversary regarding Stiles' mom that Derek knows of, and while he's aware that Stiles is prone to worry, especially about his dad, there's nothing new happening lately to upset him more than normal, and as a general rule Stiles isn't the type to cry as an outlet for his emotions, on the rare occasions that he does let himself have an outlet.
In any case, Derek watches him move around the loft, jittery and deathly still in turn, but smiling and joking with the others like always. Nothing is out of the ordinary.
And yet... and yet.
“Are you okay?” Derek asks finally by the end of the night, most of the others having left already.
Stiles snorts, and doesn't even pause in packing up his laptop and gathering up the various items that managed to escape from his backpack over the course of the pack-meeting. “Are you seriously asking me that? You know the answer's no.”
Derek does know. Stiles is most definitely not okay. None of them are, and they're all perfectly aware of it. Boyd and Erica still have nightmares over what they went through with the alpha pack, Isaac will probably always be skittish, an entire childhood of abuse not easily soothed. Scott is still struggling with just being a wolf, never mind the scare of having his mother kidnapped, and Derek... well. The darach events didn't exactly help with his issues, either. But at least Cora and Jackson are doing well in South America and London respectively.
Stiles was never quite the same after his dad was taken, even though it was only temporary. He'd been downright scary in dealing with the alpha pack, pushing his spark abilities to their absolute limits, forcing the alphas to accept that this kind of power wasn't easily broken. And once he and Deaton shut down the Nemeton for good, basically turning off the faucet of weird shit, Derek had hoped that they would all finally have a chance to breathe and rebuild.
And for most of them that did happen.
“I know. But I'm the alpha, and since you're not a beta, I don't get the shortcut to your feelings that I do with the others. So maybe... we should talk.”
Stiles gives him an odd look, and it takes Derek a moment to realize that what Stiles had taken note of was that he'd been spoken of like a pack member. It still baffles Derek how Stiles can keep doubting that he's pack, but he'll probably never stop feeling like turning down the bite was seen as some kind of failing on his part.
“I can actually talk, you know,” Derek grouses, hoping to lighten the mood. And from the way Stiles huffs, he thinks he succeeds.
“Yeah, but I wouldn't want you to, like, sprain something there, big guy.”
“It's not my pain I'm worried about right now, Stiles.”
Stiles sighs, and finally stops packing things. “Look, can we not do this now? I'm... not fine, I'm not gonna lie to your face.”
Derek gives him the hairy eyeball. Not so much because he distrusts Stiles, because it's actually been a long time since he admitted that he's probably always trusted Stiles with his life. But this is a common in-joke with them, and using it stems from a mix of his desire to connect with Stiles enough for him to open up, as well as just plain habit.
“Well not right now,” Stiles argues. “Not after you paid for pizza and got me curly fries from the best place in town, too. Hell, I didn't even know Stacy's delivered.”
“They don't.”
Stiles' face goes through a range of emotions, too fast to pin one down, until he finally settles on something vaguely fond. “You know, you're actually getting pretty good at this whole alpha thing,” he says softly, and damn him, because he might just be devious enough to praise Derek to throw him off. But it sounds sincere, and Derek... didn't even realize how much he needed to hear it until his stomach swoops with the sheer relief of being told he's doing okay.
“Thank you. But for that to be true, we really do need to talk.”
It makes Stiles look torn, and he fiddles nervously with the zipper on his backpack, eyes darting across Derek's face for a long moment before he finally nods. “Okay. But not tonight. Please?”
Derek hears Scott coming back up the stairs, and takes it as a sign that he might as well accept that the conversation is over for now.
“Bro, you ready to go? You're kinda my ride, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah, just finding all my shit, you know?”
“Later,” Derek says lightly, making it sound like a greeting. But Stiles catches his eye, and Derek knows he got the meaning across.
“Yeah. Later.”