Chapter Text

The full moon lit up the forest. Not that Derek needed the light to find his way. His eyes were more than capable of seeing in the dark.

There was an itch under his skin, a desire to shift. But along with the shift came the howling that no one would answer. So instead of shifting, Derek ran alone, ran in his human form even though it pained him. 

The wolf needed a pack. 

The wolf was going crazy, slowly, but surely. So Derek needed to suppress it, to make sure it did not do anything stupid. On occasion he would allow a beta shift to happen, to let the wolf surface, but never on the full moon.

Something felt different about the woods that night. It was charged, as if the trees were whispering at him. He could hear heartbeats. It took him moments to localize them to the edge of the forest.

As he came closer he could smell fire and fear and anticipation. Their voices were a murmur, overlapping with the heartbeats in a strange rhythm that had an hypnotic quality to it.

The wolf wanted to run away. It did not like humans, associated them with pain and grief and hurt and fire. But Derek walked closer, careful to not step on any branches, to stay silent as to not alert the humans.

When he came closer it became obvious what was happening. He should have seen it coming - after all, it was not the first time it had happened.

The humans had formed a half-circle around their new victim, a young male judging from his height and build. Their words appeared to be a prayer to some higher power. No one in particular seemed to be in charge.

He watched them.

He had found their victims over the years. The wolf did not like the smell of death that always clung to their skin, and Derek agreed with it on that one. The victims had his family symbol painted on their bodies, just like this young human, a kid.

He sighed. Humans were stupid. The sacrifices they made to him would not make a difference, he was not able to save them. He was about as magic as the stick in front of his right foot, potentially less depending on the sort of tree. He was unable to do the magic it would take to balance out nature and no amount of sacrifices would change that.

It was the first time he had dared being so close while the ritual took place. He had moved closer and closer, sacrifice after sacrifice, learning the behavioral pattern of the humans.

Shaking his head, Derek wondered why he stayed. Why he bothered. The wolf was torn between running and staying. It wanted a pack. Humans could make a pack.

Derek just wanted to be less lonely.

Maybe this time the sacrifice would survive. Just because the last two he had brought home with their hearts still beating had not it did not mean that this one was bound to the same grim fate. 

At least they had not died alone, he reminded himself.

If nothing else the human deserved a better burial than his fellow species was willing to give him. If they followed their own patterns they would cut open the sacrifice's skin, presumably for the scent of blood to attract him, then move on. The victim would not be conscious, and judging from the wrong-sweet-bitter-sticky smell of the blood from the ones before him, he would be drugged to keep him from moving.

This one was either less heavily drugged or more resilient to the drugs they used, because his head was not lolling against his chest and his eyes were open. From the distance Derek could not tell what color; not even his vision was that great.

Derek wondered why the humans had not drugged him further.

The humming of their combined voices lulled to a halt, and Derek waited. He knew what was about to happen.

Even his superior hearing could not pick up the words whispered to the kid as his skin was cut up, but it sounded an awful lot like an apology. Either the pain was too much for his system, or the drugs had kicked in properly, because the kid barely screamed out before his head lolled forward in a tell-tale sign of unconsciousness.

Derek licked his lips. Even at a safe distance he could smell the blood, thick and metallic, laced with the wrong-sweet-bitter-sticky stench.

The humans scattered soon after that, leaving the kid alone.

Derek waited a moment. The wolf wanted to run forward, to get the young male down from the tree and out of his bonds and into safety, but he was smarter than the wolf. Better to be sure everyone was gone. Safer.

The wolf was tugging, snarling. The full moon did not help.

Once he was certain that the humans had left and would not come back, Derek left his hiding place. His bare feet made soft sounds as he ran towards the kid, begging for him to be alive.

His heart was not the only one beating in the forest. Profound relief filled his system as he allowed the wolf to surface for long enough to make his useless, blunt nails into strong claws made for ripping and slashing. The bonds that held the kids feet in an awkward, backward angle was the first to go. Derek braced himself against the young human, ignoring the blood seeping into his t-shirt. Certain that the kid would not tumble forwards he cut the bonds that held his arms against the tree.

Had there been any doubt about the drugs in his system, the wrong-sweet-bitter-sticky smell seeping out from his wound and his pores would confirm it.

Even with his strength it was difficult to maneuver the kid into a position where Derek would be able to carry him. At first he slung the kid over his shoulder, but he hated the way his head lulled freely. Shifting to a bridal carry made the kid more difficult to carry, but at least his head could rest against Derek’s shoulder instead.

It took too long to get to the house.

Derek felt anxious, as if the kid would die in his arms if he did not hurry. Or like the humans that had turned one of their own into a sacrifice would return and demand that he handed over the kid. 

The wolf did not like that. The kid was theirs. They had rescued him, which made him theirs to keep. Derek agreed, so Derek ran as fast as he could on his human feet, not caring about the noise he made, not caring that he woke up the hens as he passed them.

Once the door to the house was closed, Derek was at a loss for what to do. The human was cold to the touch, but he was still breathing and his heart was going at a steady rate, even if it seemed a bit slow. He stood in the entrance hall, holding the unconscious kid for a moment, trying to come up with a plan of action.

The wolf was not helpful. It wanted to lick the still bleeding wound, and even though Derek’s medical knowledge was limited at best, he thought the wolf was wrong on that one. What it was right about, though, was that the wound needed attention.

He closed his eyes. The human was not capable of standing or sitting, so he would have to lie down. The couch was the nearest surface where the kid would be somewhat comfortable.

That decided, Derek pushed open the door to his living room, careful not to bang the kid’s head into the doorframe as he walked through.  

He did not mind if the kid bled on the couch. It could be washed.

Derek looked at the unconscious human in front of him a moment. He looked comfortable enough, everything taken into consideration. The bleeding had slowed significantly, but he still wanted the cut cleaned and dressed. Humans were fragile, susceptible to things such as infections. And tetanus, but Derek did not have any tetanus shots on hand. What he did have, however,  was a good first aid kit.

He had bought the first aid kit after the first time he had managed to get a sacrifice home alive. At that time he had been underprepared, unaware of what humans needed when hurt. While he firmly believed that no first aid kit would have saved the girl, he still mourned the loss of her life.

He had buried her and the man that followed in the garden in marked graves. He wished he had known their names.

Seconds later he was back at the human’s side, first aid kit in hand. He rummaged through it until he found what he needed, antiseptic. It smelled foul.

Derek followed the instructions written on the flask, first cleaning out the wound properly with a diluted salt water solution, then with antiseptic. He should have covered the couch in towels or something, but he realized that too late. He would have to move the kid after the cleaning, there was not much point in rescuing him from the forest just to leave him on a wet couch.

The wound was still bleeding, a slow oozing. The wolf found it fascinating that the human had not healed himself yet. And it still wanted to lick the wound clean.

Derek, being much more rational than the wolf, tried to figure out the best way to bandage the wound. It was long, stretching from one side of his chest to the other, and deep enough that it could have caused damage to the underlying muscle. The kid was skinny, on the verge of unhealthily so, and there was not much fat protecting his muscles from the knife.

After trying to cover it with bandages and cut-it-yourself band-aids, Derek was ready to give up. The wound had a hopeless placement unless he wanted to severely restrict the humans upper arm mobility, and he had a feeling that it would not be appreciated.

Then he figured out that he could place a layer of sterile gauze on top of the wound to take the bleeding and use the sticky, but too small sterile gauzes to keep that down. It was not pretty, if he had to be honest the kid looked like a small pup had tried to fix him, but the bandages seemed to keep the wound somewhat dressed and closed off from the surroundings.

So far so good.

Next thing on the list was to get the kid warm. That would not happen on a wet couch.

The wolf wanted to take the kid to their bed. Their den. It was warm, safe, and smelled like them. It was a good place to hide him until he got stronger. Derek was unable to understand his own emotions on the matter. On one hand he wanted the kid there, in the bed, for safekeeping. On the other hand it felt awfully intrusive to have a stranger there, even if underneath the sticky-sweet-bitter and coppery tang of blood the kid had a good scent. And then he was not entirely sure the human would appreciate waking practically naked up in a bed beside a stranger.

No, that would not work out.

His house however was big enough to contain several guest rooms, one of which was right beside his own room. He could leave the doors open, that way if the kid moved around he would be able to hear it straight away.

It seemed like the best solution.

The wolf was not happy. He wanted the kid in their bedroom, not in the guestroom. It was cold. No scents. Not for pack.

And Derek was left to wonder if the wolf really craved a pack so much he was willing to accept the kid just like that. Searching within himself was unnecessary, he knew the answer already. He just did not like it, was all. 

Chapter Text

Derek woke late.

He stretched, working out the kinks in his joints. Yawned. He was not in pain, per say, but even a werewolf got stiff sitting up and sleeping in a chair.

Derek had been unable to leave the kid on his own. Even though he could hear his heartbeat easily from his own bed it had not felt safe. The wolf had not been happy staying there.

So after less than five minutes, Derek had given in. He had felt creepy, sitting in the office chair he had grabbed, looking at the kid. His breathing had been even, his heartbeat strong.

At some point it had lulled him to sleep, he assumed.

He listened. The kid’s heartbeat was still thrumming strong. He liked that. The wolf liked that. The human had survived the night. Looking at the guest bed he had not moved an inch. His eyes were still closed, lips parted as he breathed heavily in and out.

Derek sniffed the air. The bitter-sweet-sticky-wrong had subsided some, so he assumed the drug was slowly wearing off.

For a moment he considered if he had acted wrongly, if he should have brought the kid to a hospital instead. The wolf growled. Bad idea. Derek agreed. The kid had no ID, and Derek would have been unable to give a reasonable explanation as to why he had an unconscious, tied up, drugged kid with a knife wound in his arms.

Hopefully it would turn out to be the right decision. To keep the kid in his home, make sure he was safe that way.

Derek rose from the chair, his back popping in protest. If he could help it, that would be the last time he slept in a chair like that. The floor might have been a more comfortable choice.

He needed a shower.

He smelled like blood and dirt and sweat. It was not a good combination. The kid would likely be out of it for a while longer.

Derek decided to use the bathroom upstairs. His wolf hated the idea of moving too far away from the kid, wanted to be near him, to make sure he was safe and sound.

Derek hurried through it. The sound of water somewhat drowned out the kid’s heartbeat, and it made his skin crawl. He wanted to know if it changed, needed to know if he was about to wake up.

Unsurprisingly, there was no change when he emerged from the shower.

So Derek did what the wolf wanted, and paced. Back and forth in the hall outside the kid’s room, trying to figure out what to do next. The medicine should wear off, the cut had not been deep enough to cause any major blood loss, and while it had been cold for a human to stay outside without wearing clothes, he had not been out long enough to cause anything but mild hypothermia. Or at least Derek thought so. 

How long he paced, he had no idea.

There could be magic involved, but he did not think so. Magic usually left a scent trace, something he could detect, and there had not been any on the kid. The sacrificial ritual had not taken place over ley lines or near the Nematon either, which further decreased the chance of magic. 

Derek sighed. He was hungry, restless and frustrated. Maybe the kid would die too. The idea made him sick. If the kid died, he would be alone again. Hell, even if the kid survived there was a chance he would not stay once he was well. Derek chose to ignore that train of thought. It would not lead anywhere good.

After pacing he decided to check on the kid’s wound. Mainly just to do something.

He tuned into the sound of the steady heartbeat. If the kid followed the same patterns as the others his heart rate would pick up, as if he were running, then continue into a dangerously high rhythm. After that, the heart would flutter in an unsuccessful attempt at pumping blood out, just to stop all together. Derek had tried CPR to keep their hearts going, but without medical intervention it had been in vain.

So hearing the kid’s heart go steady was calming. Derek really wanted him to stay alive.

Rolling down the covers he removed the bandages to check on the wound. There was no sign of infection, no raised edges or redness or warmth. Derek was satisfied, even if humans healed awfully slow. How they stayed alive with such bad healing abilities he could not fathom.

Looking at the human in daylight, it was clear that he was skinnier than Derek had first thought. Lean muscle had added quite a lot of weight, but other than that he was skin and bones. He was pale in a way that made Derek guess he had spent quite a lot of time indoors. Dark-ish hair, but lighter than his own. He had moles dotted around randomly, breaking the paleness of his skin.

His wrists and ankles still had angry red marks where the ropes had been holding him up. Derek traced the redness with his finger, wondering if the kid was in pain. His face was slack, mouth slightly open. There were no frown lines suggesting that the kid was in any sort of agony.

Derek blew air out.

Then why was the kid not awake? It made no sense, none at all. The scent of bitter-sweet-sticky-wrong was faint, it should not be enough for him to stay in a deep sleep like that.

Derek did not like it. The wolf agreed.

It was unsettling. At least he was breathing, at least his heart was going strong. He had yet to die on Derek, which made him hopeful that the kid could make it.

“Huh,” he said, hopeful that the kid would stay alive. He had placed a hand on the kid’s forehead to find it warm. His knowledge of human temperatures were outdated, but he faintly recalled that they usually ran colder than werewolves. Could the kid be running a fever? Was that the reason he was still unconscious?

That warranted research.

The computer took long to start. Derek’s stomach was rumbling in protest as he watched the old thing work itself back to life. He used the computer so rarely it had seemed a waste to upgrade it, but now he regretted it. The internet connection was at least decent, but it barely made a difference when the computer took more than ten minutes to start.

Derek glared at the computer as if that would make it work faster.

His stomach grumbled again. The clock in the corner of the computer told him it was in the middle of the afternoon, no surprise he was hungry then. He would usually have eaten both breakfast and lunch.

Food, however, had to wait.

Google told him that most humans ran a core temperature of around 98.6 F, with small variations potential. Everything above 100.4 F was to be considered a fever.

Derek wondered if the first aid kit had a thermometer. Otherwise he felt certain that he would not have one. Werewolves never got sick so it had seemed a waste to invest in one.

As it turned out, the first aid kit did indeed have a battery operated thermometer. The batteries were long dead, which sent Derek into half an hour rummaging through the cupboards to find the box he had spare batteries in.

Finally!

The kid was still out when Derek entered his room. 

Derek stared at the manual for the thermometer. This type was to go inside the ear. Okay, he could do that. Gently placing the thermometer he waited. At first there was no reading, and upon further inspection of the manual, he was to press and hold the button on top of the thermometer around 10 seconds for it to read.

Derek grumbled. They could have led with that.

The next reading was not much better, claiming the kid’s temperature was too low to read. The manual told him that it was likely he had not placed it far enough inside the human’s ear to get a proper reading.

Sighing Derek tried again. He had not wanted to damage the kid’s ear by pushing the thermometer in too far.

102F, the screen read.

So he had not been wrong. The kid had felt too warm, he was running a fever.

Derek frowned at the thermometer, then at the manual. Nowhere did it say what to do if you had an unconscious human being in your guest bedroom with a fever.

Maybe the situation was too unusual to be covered in a manual.

Back to research.

His stomach grumbled again. Maybe some food, first, then. It would not do the kid any good if he did not take care of himself.

Unsurprisingly Derek found himself eating his sandwich by the computer.

According to Google 102 was a fever, but not particularly worrisome. Derek still read the list of things to watch out for religiously. Dehydration was the trickiest one, seeing as he had no way of getting the kid to drink.

The wolf was restless. It did not like the ‘wait and see’ approach Google suggested.

It took all day before Derek saw signs that the kid was about to wake up. Around the time the sun went down he started frowning.

Derek wondered again if he was in pain. Placing a hand on his skin, allowing the pain to flow into his own body confirmed that he was. The kid’s face evened out again, and he sighed, presumably in relief. His heartbeat went steady.

Derek watched like a hawk. Every time the kid’s face scrunched up, he was there, drawing out the pain. He only left to relieve himself, and even then he felt guilty.

The human started moving a few hours after that, restless. He could have nightmares. Derek did not know, and nightmares were not exactly something he was equipped to handle. Trying to wake the kid up resulted in nothing, so Derek continued to do what little he could. Watching and relieving the kid’s pain. His heartbeat had picked up from the movement, but not rabbit-fast-scared like the others had been before theirs had stopped.

The wolf was scratching, begging to be let out. It wanted to curl against the kid, take the pain away and provide comfort.

Derek almost let it, if nothing else to maybe lessen the heavy feeling of guilt low in his stomach. But if the human woke up, he preferred not scaring him by having shifted. He knew his shift could be unnerving to humans.

The kid tossed and turned.

Derek sat patiently beside him, waiting it out, drawing out his pain. Trying to shake him awake proved fruitless, the kid was still too far gone.

But at the least he was alive.

Then the kid stilled. Derek kept his hand on him, continuing to draw out the pain. Brown eyes were looking at him, shining with fever.

“Hello, handsome.” 

Chapter Text

Oh god, he had to be dreaming. Or dead. Or both. There was no way someone that handsome would stare at him with concern. Hell, even in death that seemed unlikely.

So dream it was. Which left Stiles to wonder a) when he would wake up b) what kind of dream it was and c) how the hell he had dreamed Dream Dude up. He was pretty sure he’d not seen that face around anywhere, he’d have remembered that. Yeah. He would’ve.

Looking down at his hands to count his fingers, Stiles noticed that Dream Dude was grabbing his right underarm. And that there was a bandage over his chest.

He squinted.

Yeah, no, so not a sex dream, then. Then the touch of dream-dude would have been way less innocent, and the bandage made no sense whatsoever.

Stiles looked up at Dream Dude again.

“Hello, handsome,” he said. His voice was raspy, like he hadn’t talked in a while.

Dream Dude’s eyes widened comically, his mouth half open. Then he let go of Stiles’ arm, stood up and left the room without a word.

“Hey, dude!” Stiles called, not caring that he sounded like an old drunk. He yelled some more, mainly trying to get Dream Dude to come back and explain what was going on.

It was too weird to be a dream.

Stiles tried to sit up. Whatever the bandage hid hurt like a bitch when he tried. The room was spinning.

Closing his eyes, reality came crashing down.

The sacrifice.

How he’d landed himself there in the first place.

God, he was going to be sick.

He really, really was going to be sick.

A gentle hand was placed over his forehead. Cool and a bit clam.

Stiles opened his eyes, looking into Dream Dude again. He looked worried, dark eyebrows pinching over the bridge of his nose, grey-green eyes filled with concern. Dream Dude smacked his lips together, but the worry didn’t ease up, so Stiles suspected he wasn’t happy with the state of Stiles forehead.

Dream Dude handed him a glass of water. With a straw. Stiles supposed that was pretty smart, considering his inability to sit up proper.

“Thanks, dude,” Stiles croaked as Dream Dude held the straw to his lips.

It felt awkward drinking while lying mostly down, but Stiles was grateful. The cool water felt like bliss against his tongue and throat, and for a moment he focused on nothing but that.

Dream Dude took away the glass when Stiles was about halfway done with it, placing it on the table beside the bed.

Stiles looked around in the room. It was plain, walls colored off white. There was a closet, but nothing personal. A guest room, maybe?

But just exactly had Stiles ended up there?

“Dude, not that I’m not grateful and all, but who are you? Where am I?” Stiles asked.

Dream Dude looked around the room as if he too needed to think about that before answering. Then he got up again.

“No, don’t go! I just, please!”

But nope, Dream Dude just, like, walked out the guest room. Judging from how quickly his steps stopped, Stiles got the distinct feeling he was just outside the bedroom. Great. So he’d already scared Dream Dude away.

Stiles groaned, letting his head fall to the pillow. The water had helped his thirst, but made him aware that he was indeed hungry too. And tired. So tired. His stomach rumbled. When was the last time he’d eaten? How long had he been out of it? There were so many questions, and the only one with a remote chance to answer them was Dream Dude. Who refused to talk to Stiles.

Stiles closed his eyes, resting his head against the pillow. What a mess.

Shuffling from the hall confirmed that Dream Dude had been standing out there. Stiles listened to his quiet steps disappearing. Great.

Why had he rescued Stiles from the sacrificial ritual if he had no intentions of talking to him?

Trying to make sense of it all gave him a massive headache. His chest hurt, as did his ankles and wrists.

Stiles slowly tried to sit back up. This time it went better. As long as he kept his movements slow and controlled he could avoid too much pain and dizziness.

The duvet didn’t follow his movements.

Stiles stared at his own junk like it was a foreign concept to his brain. He’d seen it before, touched it even. But being naked in a strange dude’s house just seemed like a whole new level of wrong.

Which, now when Stiles’ brain was catching up to it… Dream Dude had not worn any clothes either, had he? Just a pair of tight fitting boxers that had not left much up to Stiles’ fantasy.

He hurried to cover up his naughty bits.

What the hell?

Had Dream Dude rescued him to keep him like some sort of naked slave or what? It made no sense. Not that Stiles had been particularly dressed for the whole sacrifice ceremony. But like, Dream Dude had removed the strange loin-cloth skirt thing he’d been wearing, why not add boxers now that he’d already seen what Stiles was carrying around? Made no sense. No sense at all.

And as if he were able to read Stiles’ mind, Dream Dude appeared in the doorway, looking insecure. He was holding another glass of water and what looked like a sandwich.

Stiles' stomach rumbled in approval.

Dream Dude’s face scrunched up as if Stiles smelled bad or something. Which, maybe he did, to be fair, he’d been just a bit too occupied with the whole naked situation to pay any attention to his personal hygiene.

And Dream Dude was indeed not wearing anything but boxers. Stiles hadn’t remembered that one wrong.

And boy was Dream Dude a wet dream walking around. Had Stiles ever questioned his sexuality, seeing Dream Dude in all his glory would have shut up any doubt. His mouth went dry as he took in the whole sex-god on legs.

Hell, even his feet looked decent. Clean, well-kept nails. Not hairy, which, from Dream Dude’s very dark eyebrows and hairy legs, Stiles had sort of anticipated. And oh wow, someone should write a poem about Dream Dude’s thighs, because those were massive and powerful and so muscular Stiles wanted to lick them. And other places, but he was so not thinking about other places being naked in a stranger’s home, nope.

Stiles almost asked Dream Dude to turn around so he could figure out if his ass was as good as his legs hinted it should be. Very deliberately Stiles refused to check out Dream Dude’s groin area, instead he took in all of the glory that was his torso. Dream Dude’s stomach belonged in a men’s underwear magazine, as did his beautifully sculpted chest. And god, those arms? Stiles had always been a sucker for well defined arms.

Maybe it was a dream, actually. Maybe not a wet dream, because again, hello.

Very rationally Stiles held out his hand, counting his fingers. 5 on the right, 5 on the left. Maybe the article he’d read on extra fingers had been wrong. And while he had never felt physical pain in a dream before, who said he couldn’t now?

Like. A dream seemed like the most rational explanation.

Dream Dude looked at him puzzled, before placing the sandwich and new glass of water down on the small table.

Then he leaned forward. For a moment Stiles thought he was leaning in for a kiss, which would have been all sorts of awkward, but no.

Dream Dude sniffed him.

Okay. Okay, so Stiles had to acknowledge that not even he would dream up something that strange.

Dream Dude made an unhappy sound, withdrawing a bit. He was still way, way too close for it to be strictly socially appropriate. Dream Dude grabbed Stiles hand, holding it. He looked focused.

And then the strangest thing happened.

All the pain, the headache, the ache from underneath the bandage and his wrists and ankles, it disappeared. Just, drained out of his body leaving him feeling warm and fuzzy.

What the fuck.

Dream Dude grunted, face scrunched up in pain this time around. Looking at where their hands touched, Stiles could see black veins writhe beneath Dream Dude’s skin, from Stiles to him.

“Okay, seriously dude, what the fuck are you doing? What is going on? Like, don’t get me wrong I appreciate your touch being like morphine in a handshake, but dude, what?”

Dream Dude gave him a ‘shut up Stiles’ look that was so much like the way his dad would sometimes look at him that Stiles' train of thoughts stopped dead in its tracks. The pain that made it hard to breathe, made it feel like his heart would break,  was not a pain Dream Dude’s morphine-hands could remove.

Stiles gasped for air. He wasn’t going to cry. It was just that look. No one had looked at him like that since his dad died.

No one had really looked at him.

God, it was pathetic.

Stiles tried to focus on how handsome Dream Dude was, get his mind and emotions back under control. There was no way he could be sure Dream Dude wasn’t some sort of psycho, Stiles could not let his guard down just because someone wanted to shut him up with their gaze.

Dream Dude made a whiny, sad sound. He sounded as pathetic as Stiles felt. Heck, he sounded more like a lost dog than human at that moment. His face moved closer, and before Stiles had had time to understand what was happening, Dream Dude was bumping his forehead against Stiles’, still whining low in his throat.

Yeah, okay.

Stiles closed his eyes, breathing in. Dream Dude kept close, their heads touching, breath mixing. His strong hand was warm against Stiles’.

It wasn’t until Dream Dude withdrew that Stiles was left to wonder how strange that was. Dream Dude’s behavior was a whole new level of odd, and Stiles had dealt with his fair share of strange people over the years.

He wanted to say something. But for once he found that he did not have the words.

Dream Dude let go of his hand to give him the sandwich. White bread, peanut butter and jelly. Yeah, everybody liked that, alright? Stiles as much as the kid next door.

Then he moved backwards, looking an awful lot like he was about to sneak off again. Nope, not on Stiles’ watch.

“Dude!” Stiles said.

Dream Dude stopped; eyes big like he had been caught red handed. He looked like he wanted to say something, but instead of words he whined again. The sound was more frustrated this time.

And Stiles kind of felt like an asshole. Maybe Dream Dude couldn’t talk. Maybe there was a reason he kept quiet. Maybe he just didn't want to talk to Stiles. Pressuring him didn’t seem to do the trick.

Dream Dude slinked out of the guest room, leaving Stiles alone with his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

It wasn’t until the pain started to return that Dream Dude re-appeared. Stiles hadn’t made a sound. It was honestly a bit creepy that Dream Dude seemed to know just when Stiles was in pain. Like he was telepathic, or something.

Dream Dude grabbed his hands again, face pained as he drew out Stiles' pain.

“Are you magic?” Stiles asked.

Dream Dude lifted a brow at him.

Okay, so not magic.

“Healer?” Stiles guessed.

Dream Dude lifted both his brows, amusement coloring his features.

Not a healer either.

“But if that ain’t magic, I don’t know what is,” Stiles said, nodding at Dream Dude’s hands.

Dream Dude huffed at that, clearly still amused.

“I’m Stiles, btw. Figured it was getting rude not to introduce myself.”

Dream Dude nodded at that, which was the first real communication form Stiles had seen from him. He was not meeting Stiles’ eyes, but had his gaze fixed on their hands. The black veins were fascinating, sure. Stiles frowned.

“Can you talk?” he asked, wondering if that was rude in case Dream Dude couldn’t. Like, pointing out people's disabilities didn’t seem like the nice thing to do. But he sort of really needed to know, too.

Dream Dude nodded, then frowned, as if he thought he should be able to but didn’t quite know how.

“Cool, what’s your name?”

Dream Dude looked up then, blinking at Stiles, mouth slightly open as if Stiles had asked something he was entirely unable to answer, or like the question was so foreign he didn’t know what to answer. Which. Strange. Again. Stiles got a feeling that Dream Dude maybe was a bit odd. Like the whole walking around in underwear not talking hadn’t given him away already.

Maybe Stiles was a bit slow. He could have hit his head. That would explain a lot.

Dream Dude placed a hand over Stiles' forehead. Again. What was up with that? Dream Dude clicked his tongue. Clearly he wasn’t satisfied this time either. Stiles had yet to figure out what the hell was up with his forehead.

Aaaaand how Stiles had not noticed the big ass ear thermometer on the bed table he had no idea, but Dream Dude grabbing it and handing it to him made it painfully obvious that it had been there all the time. Wow, selective vision too? His ability to zone out during chemistry or econ was one thing, but not seeing stuff right in front of him?

Dream Dude waited until Stiles grabbed the thermometer from him.

“Want me to take my temp?” he asked.

A nod. Okay then, Stiles could do that. He’d used an ear thermometer before.

Dream Dude almost snatched the thermometer out of his hand before he could read the result. He breathed out heavily, as if he’d been worried about the result. Sure, it was a bit above Stiles’ normal, but nothing to worry about. Really nothing to get all worked up about.

“Derek,” Dream Dude rasped.

“No, Stiles,” Stiles responded, amused.

Dream Dude gave him another ‘shut up Stiles’ look. It hurt less this time. “Derek,” he repeated, pointing at himself. There was more power in his voice now.

“Oh,” Stiles said. He couldn’t help but smile. “Nice to meet you, Derek.”

And Derek lit up in a smile that transformed his already handsome features into something that surely had melted hearts in the past. Bunny teeth and dimples. Like the guy could have been any more dreamy if he tried.  

Stiles couldn’t help but smile back.

“You don’t happen to have any clothes?” Stiles asked. “That I can borrow, perhaps?”

Derek squinted at him, as if the concept of clothes was entirely foreign to him. But if Stiles had a body like that, he would not want to cover it up either. Hell, he appreciated very, very much that Derek didn’t cover his.

Stiles watched him as he turned around.

Stiles took in Derek’s backside much the same way he’d appreciated the front. From the feet up, admiring the way the muscles in his calves moved as he stepped towards the door. His thighs were great from all sides, yeah, and god that ass was to die for. Thank whatever had made Derek decide to prefer tight boxers.

Stiles' gaze went upwards as he fully intended to enjoy the view of what had to be a broad and strong back.

It took his brain a second to catch up with his eyes.

The swirl symbol was on Derek’s back, the same symbol they’d drawn on Stiles before dragging his sorry ass into the forest.

What the fuck was going on?

His mouth went dry, but not in the good ‘appreciative of a good ass’ kind of way. Why? Why did Derek have that mark? Had he been a sacrifice too?

That made no sense.

All the sacrifices had, as far as Stiles knew, the mark painted on their chest, marking them to the werewolves. 

Oh God.

Stiles felt cold.

Derek’s non-verbal language had been more that of a canine than human, hadn’t it? The whining, the way he touched rather than talked.

He made a choked off sound that made Derek turn on his heel, more elegant than any human should be able to.

Stiles tried to find his voice. It was stuck somewhere. Derek looked concerned again. Maybe, maybe, they’d changed the placement of the sacrificial markings. Maybe it was permanent on Stiles too. Derek could’ve been among the first.

God. He wanted to believe that so bad.

Derek was crouched in front of him again, worried. His entire being radiated the same fear Stiles felt. Like he was mirroring Stiles.

Derek bit his lips, whining again. Like a terrified dog. Not like a human being.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Stiles took his gaze off Derek for a moment, seeking confirmation on his own chest, where the marking had already started to fade in places. Not permanent then. There was no way Derek would have been able to draw the marking on his back himself, and Stiles had seen no evidence of other people.

“Stiles, air,” Derek whined.

Stiles coughed, trying to get air into his lungs. Painful. He tried again. His focus was on Derek. He didn’t seem dangerous, had done absolutely nothing to threaten Stiles or eat him. But hell, Stiles was aware that he was skin and bones and not a very delicious meal. Maybe the PB and Jelly had been to fatten him. What if Derek wanted to plump him up like a wicked forest witch?

“Air!”

And why did Derek’s voice sound more like a bark than a human yell? Why did he sound so scared just because Stiles couldn’t wrap his dumb brain around breathing? Stiles felt lightheaded, trying to breathe as well as understand what the hell . Nothing made sense.

When Stiles' brain finally started to come back online, the first thing he noticed was that Derek was making small, sad sounds low in his throat. He looked terrified. That made no sense, didn’t fit in with the wolf-monster eating humans that he had gotten into his head. If Derek wanted to eat him, why had he bandaged Stiles up? Why not just start gnawing at him?

So many questions. No answers.

Once Derek realized that Stiles’ breathing had turned more even, he stopped whimpering. The crouched position made him seem small and insignificant, no small feat for someone of his size.

“You’re not human, are you?”

Derek flinched with every word, crouching into himself even more. Stiles hated asking. Hated how Derek got smaller and even more terrified looking.

Then his eyes flashed red. A glimpse short enough Stiles would have written it off to his brain playing games at any other time. Derek whined again before moving. Stiles flinched, but Derek wasn’t coming for him, instead he was backing out of the room on all fours.

A door smacked.

The lonely howl that filled the night was soul crushing. 

Chapter Text

Coward. 

Coward. 

Coward. The word filled his brain, his being, as he ran from Stiles’ room and out into the forest. The cold air hit him like a brick wall, hair standing up in response, trying to shield him a bit. His wolf form was more meant for this weather than his human.

Stiles knew. His heart had beaten so fast Derek feared he was about to succumb to whatever had killed the two before him, the scent of fear pungent in the air.

Of course Stiles feared him. Of course he thought Derek was a danger. There was a reason the humans sacrificed to him the way they did, leaving as soon as blood was spilled to attract him. They were terrified of the wolf-monster, terrified of what he could do. The sacrifices were their way of protecting themselves, their young.

How they had gotten the idea that he would eat human flesh he had never understood.

The wolf was clawing underneath his skin.

There was no point in resisting, was there? Derek allowed the shift to take place, crying out in pain as his bones transformed, lengthening and shortening at will until four paws replaced two legs.

They howled.

Howled out their pain, their fear, their loneliness.

Then they ran, sadness turning into energy fueling their paws through the forest. Derek let the wolf take over, let the wolf control the running. Once he realized the path it had chosen, he hated himself for giving in.

The wolf was seeking its pack. Pack that was long burned, dead, buried.

The scent of smoke was still in the air. The scent of charcoal, of burning flesh. Of bodies destroyed beyond recognition, even for someone with his scent ability.

The wolf stopped at the graves. Man and wolf howled out their sorrow. They were alone. Packless. Doomed.

The feeling of being left behind was still overwhelming. He should have died with them. Instead he had been the one to dig out their graves, using his human hands. He had been bleeding faster than healing halfway through the first. But his family deserved better than to be left out for scavengers. They deserved proper burial.

So Derek had kept digging.

They were whining at the graves. Like pups trying to get attention.

Derek had not known he could full shift until his human hands turned to paws, digging into the ground. His mom had been able to.

She would never see that he could too. How much his wolf was like hers.

How long they stayed in the moonlight, howling, whining, crying out their pain in the only way Derek knew, he had no idea.

Too long, judging by how the horizon had started to lighten up.

Derek forced the shift again, knees hitting the hard ground with a painful thump. The cold air was the only reason he noticed the tears running down his face.

It took too long for him to get back on his feet. 

Too long before he started walking back towards his own house — mansion, Laura had called it in a teasing manner when she saw the building. But she had been happy, knew that the size meant that Derek was better. The place was built for having a mate, pups running around. It was meant for a family.

Sharp stones penetrated the soles of his feet.

Derek ignored it. 

Derek ignored the cold as well. Ignored the wolf's calls to be let back out again. Changing would not help Stiles’ fears. Running would not convince him that Derek was not dangerous.

He opened the front door quietly, stepped into the warmth.

Balancing on the doormat Derek picked out a sharp stone from the sole of his foot. He waited until the wounds had stopped bleeding before he walked into his house, feeling an awful lot like an intruder in his own house.

He could hear Stiles heartbeat, thump-thump-thump in an even rhythm.

So, he had chosen to stay.

Derek walked into the kitchen, wincing every time he put down his right foot. He had cut that one particularly deep, and the wound was not healing as fast as the others.

Stiles was there, sitting on the kitchen counter, eyes gleaming in the dark.

Derek stared at him.

Stiles turned on the lights, forcing Derek to blink until his eyes had adjusted.

“Are you going to eat me?” Stiles asked.

Derek would have laughed if the human had not looked so serious. Instead, he found himself mirroring Stiles’ grim expression before shaking his head.

Stiles breathed out, an even sound of relief.

Had that been what his panic was about? That Derek would eat him? It was almost insulting. Derek did not eat humans, nor had anyone in his family.

“You are a wolf-creature.”

Werewolf, but yes, the gist of it was that Derek was not human. He nodded.

“Are you dangerous?” Stiles asked.

Derek huffed. That depended on what Stiles meant with dangerous. A danger to him? No. A danger to someone trying to burn his house down? Yes.

Stiles did not look happy with that answer.

“Are you going to hurt me?”

That one was easy. Derek shook his head without any hesitation. What in his actions had made Stiles think he had any interest in hurting him?

“Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?” Stiles asked, demanded.

The wolf found it funny. That Stiles was all puffed up, trying to look dangerous in the room with a predator that could take him down before he could even lift a hand to defend himself.

Derek dismissed the wolf.

He shrugged. Words was not his strong suit, and he felt off using his human voice. The few words he had uttered had made it feel scratchy.

Stiles sighed. Derek could understand the frustration, the wanting answers. He too, had answers he desired.

“Am I a prisoner?”

Derek whined, then shook his head. No, Stiles was not his to keep, but he also really, really did not want Stiles to go. He wanted Stiles to stay, Stiles to be happy. Stiles to be pack.

“So I could just walk out of here?”

“No.”

“But you just said I’m not a prisoner!” Stiles argued. Stubborn human.

“Danger,” Derek growled. Stiles had to understand that the forest was not a place for a human to be walking around. He was vulnerable to the cold, to the animals hiding out there. Even if Derek was the only werewolf around, natural creatures such as cougars could put an end to Stiles easy enough.

And then there was the two-legged animals.

The humans. Who had chosen to sacrifice Stiles. Where would Stiles go? He was safe now. Derek would keep him safe and fed and happy.

And clothed, if he wanted that. It should not have been a surprise that Stiles was wearing clothing now. He had probably rummaged through the closets, finding a pair of soft worn jogging pants and a t-shirt too big for him.

No socks though. Derek despised socks. 

“What am I here for?” Stiles asked, with a sigh. “Am I your sex slave or what is going on?”

That almost made Derek laugh. “No.”

“Okay, super, but why was I naked then? I know I was wearing something at the ritual?” Stiles asked.

And that was going to require more explanation than Derek was currently comfortable talking about. How he had destroyed the fabric that had provided Stiles some modesty because it had smelled like the bitter-sweet-sticky-wrong medicine and fear and blood. How he had shredded it into pieces along with the rope that had held his wrists, angry at the humans for sacrificing another one of their own.

How fear had played a big part. If Stiles had to die, Derek had wanted him to do it not marked as a sacrifice.

“Smelled. Bad.” He settled for the simplest of explanation.

“What, did I piss myself?”

Derek rolled his eyes at the human. Like something like urine would set him off. Sure, old stale urine had a nasty smell to it, but he would have washed the cloth before it reached that stage of unsanitary.

“No.”

Stiles sighed, mumbling something about the uselessness of monosyllabic answers. Derek ignored that. He was hungry, again. Deeming that Stiles did not present a danger to him or to himself by running, Derek turned his back to the human to open the fridge.

“What do wolf-creatures eat?” Stiles asked from the counter.

Derek did not bother answering that one, instead he found eggs, bacon and sandwich bread. He placed it demonstratively on the counter beside the stovetop.

“Nice,” Stiles commented. “I like my eggs sunny side up.”

Derek glared, wondering if Stiles knew the concept of quiet. He usually preferred his mornings like that. Quiet. Alone. Had preferred it like that even when living at home. Derek had usually been the first one up for the same reason, sipping black coffee in the quiet hours before his family woke up.

The lack of sleep did not help his mood. Instead of answering Stiles, he simply handed him the pack of sandwich bread and pointed to the toaster. If the human was well enough to be walking around, rummaging through Derek’s closets and demanding his eggs a certain way before the crack of dawn, he was well enough to toast them some bread.

Stiles grabbed the toast with a raised brow.

Derek decided to start the coffee machine before continuing with breakfast. He had a feeling Stiles would talk enough that he needed his coffee. His metabolism would go through the caffeine fast, but if he drank it in large enough quantities it might still provide the kick he needed to get through the morning.

“Derek?” Stiles asked.

Derek turned around, looking at the human.

“You are really not going to hurt me, are you?”

“No. Won’t hurt,” Derek promised.

Stiles grinned. For a moment Derek thought he was going to tease him with the amount of words he had put into a sentence, but he just continued to smile.

To make sure Stiles understood, Derek added: “Safe.”

Stiles smiled at that, a small thing with just the left side of his mouth. “Yeah, I guess I could use somewhere safe,” he said.

His tone made something inside Derek hurt. It could not have been fun for Stiles to be sacrificed like that. It had to be people he knew, after all it was not that big of a city. There was no saying what would happen if Stiles walked back there, now. Maybe they would sacrifice him all over again, thinking he had made it out of the bounds alone. Maybe they would kill him. Maybe they would accept him back into their midst, though Derek had his doubts about the latter.

And even though Derek had spoken more in the past 24 hours than he had since he found his family burned to death, there was one very important question left to ask. He needed to know. The wolf needed to know.

“Stiles, stay?”

Stiles swallowed heavily beside him. The toaster ticked rhythmically as Derek waited for the human to answer. He was nervous, the wolf anxious. They wanted Stiles to stay, to start rebuilding their pack. Stiles could be an honorary human member, it did not matter. Humans could be pack, it was fine.

Stiles licked his lips as if they were too dry to talk.

“Yeah, Derek, okay? I’m going to stay, so stop looking like a lost, worried puppy I just kicked, okay? I don’t kick puppies.”

The wolf was beside itself with happiness.

Derek yipped in happiness, a playful, victorious sound. He wanted to run, the wolf wanted to run. They wanted to yell their relief to the forest, to let everyone know that they were no longer alone.

Then the grumble of Stiles stomach disturbed his celebration.

The kid shrugged awkwardly.

So Derek did what a good alpha would do and went back to cooking. Stiles was hungry, Stiles needed food, Derek would provide. The wolf approved. Derek wondered if Stiles would like the wolf, or if his other form would scare him. The short flash of his eyes had seemed to be terrifying enough, but considering how fast the kid had come around, maybe he was more resilient than Derek gave him credit for being. 

Eggs and bacon sizzled on each pan. Stiles had wanted two, Derek made his usual five for himself. Werewolf metabolism and all meant he had to eat a lot more than the average human male to stay healthy.

“Where do you get eggs and bacon from?” Stiles asked, pointing at the pan. Derek gave him a flat look. The bacon had clearly been bought in a store, wrapped in generic paper and all. The eggs he harvested himself, from the hens out in the coop.

“Hunts,” he deadpanned.

Stiles laughed.

Derek was secretly pleased that Stiles had understood his joke. There were no pigs in the forest he could hunt to get bacon. And even if there were, Derek did not have the facilities to turn said pig into bacon.

They ate in silence, thankfully. Stiles turned out to be a quiet chewer, something Derek could appreciate.

Derek wolfed down his food fast enough that Stiles raised a brow at him. But he was hungry, having been out most of the night.

Halfway through his second piece of bread, Stiles started to look a bit pale. He pushed the plate away with a look of disgust on his face. It could not be the eggs, Derek would have smelled it way before Stiles had the eggs been off.

Derek watched as Stiles leaned back into his seat, groaning low in his throat. His brows were moving closer again, lines deepening.

Derek knew that face.

In one smooth movement he leaped over the table, standing beside Stiles. He placed a gentle hand on the side of Stiles’ neck, drawing out pain. It hit him like a punch to the gut.

How had the human been hiding that much pain from him? Derek had seen no signs that Stiles was in pain while they cooked or while they ate.

“Oh, god, yes, magic hands,” Stiles moaned, leaning into Derek’s touch. How long had Stiles been in pain? Since Derek ran? Usually the effect lasted a bit, but there was no saying what happened when he was not in the near vicinity.

Derek swallowed. He was used to pain, but feeling it like humans did was a new thing. Stiles felt warm, skin damp and sticky to the touch, and Derek was quite certain that he was still running a fever. From his googling on fevers he knew that those in themselves could cause pain, albeit to the joints usually.

Stiles sighed as the pain finally left his system. Derek let his hand linger for a moment longer, just to be safe, just to be certain that Stiles was okay.

Leaning in he took a deep breath through his nose. Stiles smelled like sweat, human, a bit sickly-sweet, Derek assumed that was the fever, and a bit like him. The wolf liked the latter. A lot.

Even though Stiles did not smell like infection, Derek still wanted to make sure that his wound was not infected.

Stiles’ amber eyes followed his movements as Derek tried to pry off his t-shirt.

“Hey, big guy, stop that!” he protested.

Derek frowned at him. He could not check the wound when Stiles was dressed.

“Nope, dude, you can’t just go around undressing people!” Stiles said. “That is all kinds of wrong, unless you have their permission, which, just to be clear, you don’t. I like wearing clothes, and I get to do that even if you want to walk around naked.”

Derek scowled. He needed to see the wound.

He poked just below the wound, trying to explain without words why he wanted Stiles to undress.

The human glared at him, eyes small and suspicious. “I just think you want to see me naked again,” he said.

Derek rolled his eyes. That was the only proper response to that. He did not care if Stiles wore clothes or not, not when the clothes happened to be his. There was something in that both him and the wolf appreciated greatly. Derek chose not to think further on that.

Then Stiles finally removed the t-shirt so Derek could pry off the bandage. Stiles complained the entire way through, about the sticky situation that would rip at his chest hairs, about the part where someone had cut him open in the first place.

Derek wondered if Stiles ever shut up.

The wound looked fine. Everything had scabbed over, and nothing suggested that there was any infection going on.

Stiles looked down as if would be able to see something that was close to his collarbone without a mirror.

Derek huffed in amusement as Stiles almost went crossed-eyed in his attempts.

“God I smell,” Stiles said.

Derek shrugged. He did not particularly mind people’s body odors. It was better on his sensitive nose than perfume. But Stiles could do with a shower, no doubt about that.

“Do you have a shower?” Stiles asked, hopeful. “Like, with hot water and stuff? Not just some kind of hose In the backyard, but an actual honest to god shower, preferably with good water pressure?”

Derek rolled his eyes. Why would he not have a shower? Did Stiles think of him like some kind of wild animal? Wild man? Of course he showered. Of course the house had functional plumbing. The water pressure was up for debate, though.

“Is that a yes or a no?” Stiles pressed on.

Derek nodded, which made Stiles squint in annoyance. Just because he talked excessively it did not mean that Derek had to share his enthusiasm for words.

“Duuude,” Stiles complained. Like he had not found the bathroom in his search for clothing, and with the bathroom, the shower.

Derek wanted to point out that Stiles’s wound probably was better off if he kept it out of water, but seeing as Stiles had yet to see the thing, maybe showing him would be a better way to make him realize that. Now that his pain was gone he did not seem too affected by the fever.

Derek motioned for Stiles to follow him, which he did with scrambling movements. How the kid had not hurt himself seriously walking around the house was a mystery considering that he almost fell off his chair on his way up from it and stumbled over the doorstep.

At the bathroom Derek grabbed Stiles’ to maneuver him in front of the mirror. Stiles made a yelp in protest, but quieted as he saw his reflection. Somehow Derek had not anticipated that Stiles would react so strongly to his own mirror image. 

Chapter Text

When Stiles saw the wound the first time it shocked him. It had scabbed over for the most part, leaving a few places to look open and vulnerable. It wouldn’t heal pretty, that much was for sure. Should’ve been sewn in that case, and Stiles wasn’t sure Derek had the stuff for that.

Derek looked at him all serious in the mirror, but Stiles had showered with way worse injuries. At the least he thought so. While moving his shoulder made everything ache uncomfortably and his arm mobility was limited because of that, he could still shower, right?

Then he thought about it a bit more. How was he supposed to wash his hair without moving the skin on his chest? How could he wash beneath his arms? Maybe the wound was not all that deep, seeing as it had started healing without help, but if he opened it up by moving his arms around too much…

Stiles sighed, realizing that maybe putting on a t-shirt had been overkill. That had been painful as hell too.

“Fine,” he grumbled. Derek sighed, looking relieved. He still had his hands placed on Stiles’ shoulders. “Fine, dude, I get your point, okay? But don’t think I’m not going to google and find right out how long I should keep this out of water.”

Derek nodded, seemingly satisfied. Even though he clearly could talk he sure didn’t do it very much.

Good thing Stiles talked enough to talk plenty for two. He could fill out the silence no problem.

“Would you mind helping me back into the t-shirt?” he asked. Maybe there as a line, but Derek had seen him naked so getting him dressed couldn’t be it.

Not that he looked happy at the prospect of Stiles getting dressed. Or that he was particularly skilled at helping another person dress. But hey, Stiles got clothes on! That was what counted! Derek could walk half-naked around for all Stiles cared. As long as he didn’t mind some ogling. Dude had to know that a body like that begged to be looked at.

Which totally reminded him! “Are you like a werewolf?” Stiles asked. “Can you turn into an actual wolf? Because daaaang that would be so cool!”

Yeah, okay, Derek looked lost at Stiles as the stream of words left his mouth. Maybe one question at a time to not overwhelm the dude. After all he was probably used to being alone in his mansion of a house.

Derek blinked, as if trying to process what had happened.

“Is it like, not voluntarily? Do you turn on the full moon?” Stiles asked.

Derek sighed.

“Stiles, see?”

Oh hell yes! Yeah he wanted to see Derek turn into a wolf, because yeah, that was cool as fuck!

Derek bit his lip, as if nervous about showing Stiles even though he’d just offered.

Maybe it was because of Stiles’ reaction to the tattoo on his back. So that had not been his best reaction ever, but how else had he been supposed to react to seeing the mark on Derek’s back? After all the last place he’d seen it had been his own chest, marking him as a sacrifice.

“Dude, Derek, my man, I’m not gonna freak out, okay? I know I did with the tattoo, and sorry ‘bout that, but to be fair I am prepared now and I wasn’t then.”

Derek sighed, face tugging into a frown.

Then his face transformed. Right before Stiles’ eyes. If he hadn’t been seeing it himself, he would’ve thought it was fake.

“Where did your eyebrows go?” he asked. Derek had grown an impressive array of sideburns, skin of his brow furrowing down over his nose in a more wolf-like manner. His ears grew longer, pointier. More hair appeared on his body too, Stiles noticed. Derek also had claws.

Derek growled at him, showing off an impressive array of sharp pearly whites. Gone was the cute bunny-teeth smile, replaced by that of a predator. His fangs were long enough they dug into his lip.

“Okay, I won’t ask about the eyebrows then.” Apparently that was a sore spot for the werewolf.

And in about the same time it took Stiles to blink, Derek had shifted back into human. He had a worried look in his eyes, as if he was fully expecting Stiles to run out of the room.

“Can you turn into an actual wolf too?” Stiles asked.

Derek nodded. It was a stiff movement, his face twisted in pain. But well, changing your body into that of an animal had to hurt, so that made sense.

“Awesome!”

They were standing awkwardly close in the bathroom, close enough to touch. Or, lean forward and sniff one another, apparently. Because that was exactly what Derek was doing, sniffing along Stiles’ neck. Stiles swallowed. The warm huffs of breath tickled.

And for a moment Stiles thought that Derek was going to kiss him.

Which, under other circumstances he would have been entirely on board with, because holy hell, Derek was every wet dream he’d ever masturbated to.

But no. To both his great relief and disappointment Derek rubbed his face against Stiles’, rough stubble. It would have felt hot if Stiles hadn’t been so profoundly confused by what was happening.

“Derek?” he asked.

Derek made a soft, rumbling sound before withdrawing.

“Was that another wolf-thing?” Stiles seriously had to google wolf behavior at some point. See if Derek matched up with that.

Yeah, and of course Derek didn’t answer that one, instead he just stalked out of the bathroom. Heck, for all Stiles knew that had been the most awkward mating ritual ever, and if that was the case he’d have left the bathroom too.

Sniffing people. What was up with that?

Not that he would admit to having enjoyed it a bit. Derek was warm and solid and so, so hot that part of him still wondered if it was a dream. The part where it had been a mating ritual probably was just his fantasy, to be fair.

Stiles decided to do the responsible thing and take a nap. He was tired, had spent most of the night awake, waiting for Derek to come back, and he had felt pretty off until Derek had done his touch-pain-free magic thing.

It was easy enough to find back into the room that Derek had put him in, even easier to collapse on top of the bed, curl into the covers and fall asleep.

…

Judging by how the sun hit the wall, it had to be early afternoon when he woke again. God he missed his phone and the ease of telling what time it was.

Stiles stretched his legs, and started stretching his arm before the painful tugging over his chest reminded him exactly why that was a bad idea.

Derek was lurking awkwardly in the doorway. It was impossible to tell how long he’d been standing there. He was holding a sandwich in one hand, as if Stiles no longer could walk down the stairs to the kitchen or dinner room to eat there.

“You don’t have to bring me food in bed.” He yawned. Maybe he should’ve gone for two naps.

Derek shrugged, but clearly took it as a ‘come on in’. He placed the sandwich on the bedside table before turning around to stalk out the door.

“Nope dude, that’s not gonna fly with me,” Stiles said.

Derek turned around, a neutral mask on his face.

“Come on, keep me some company m’kay?” He wasn’t sure it would work, but he had to try. He’d go crazy without company.

Sighing, Derek sat down on the floor. The movement was elegant and in full control. If Stiles had attempted the same thing he would likely have fallen on his ass and knocked his head into some sort of furniture. Yeah, better leave that to Derek.

“Why are you not talking?” he asked. Which, potentially rude, but so far Derek hadn’t minded when he spoke his mind. Could be a sign that Derek didn’t want to use his sparse words to tell Stiles to shut up. But he’d managed that fine with a gaze already, just like his dad had used to.

Stiles swallowed, grabbing the sandwich. Derek looked mildly concerned at him.

“No, we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you!” Stiles protested. Could Derek smell his emotions or what was going on? The dude seemed more in tune with the fine shifts in Stiles’ mindset than he was himself.

“Hard,” Derek told him.

“Yeah, you’ve already said that,” Stiles replied. “Why is it hard though?”

Derek seemed to think about that for a moment. “Alone…” he hesitated, moving his fingers and lips as if counting back. “ss…s.. Years.”

And there was so damned much pain in that one word that Stiles could feel it in the air, almost. So yeah, clearly Stiles was not the only one who’d lost someone. He wanted to ask Derek to talk more about it, but he had a feeling that it would probably overwhelm the poor dude.

Slowly his brain turned into working gears. It took longer than he’d ever admit. Derek was a werewolf. There’d been, yeah, the sacrifice was there for a reason.

“There were more like you, right? Werewolves?”

Derek nodded, a pained expression on his face.

Of course Stiles had asked that in the least sensitive way he possibly could. It wasn’t that he was an insensitive person, contrary to popular belief, but his mouth quite often ran faster than his brain, which was saying something.

“Your family?” he asked.

Derek looked like a kicked puppy. Stiles got the distinct feeling that the only reason he wasn’t more upset was down to either mad self control or that he’d anticipated the question somehow. There was no need for pressing him more – his facial expression was all the answer Stiles needed.

It explained the symbol tattooed on Derek’s back, why it was painted on Stiles’ chest as well. It’d been what, six, seven years? Someone had burned the werewolves in town, killed an entire family, burned them to a crisp. Stiles’ dad hadn’t been sheriff then, but he’d been on the case so Stiles remembered that part well enough. How his dad was frustrated about the lack of resources that went into the investigation, just because they were werewolves.

Stiles didn’t think they ever found who did it. But most of the town seemed to be fine with it. The family had been powerful, tied to magic and a lot of the townsfolks hadn’t liked that. Didn’t help that they mostly stuck to themselves. Stiles didn’t think anyone, human or not, deserved to be burned alive. 

And then the drought came.

After the drought, the storms.

With the storms came massive amounts of rain the dry ground couldn’t absorb, leading to floods and massive damage. So yeah.

Basically at some point down the line, someone reached the conclusion that killing the werewolves had been a capital-B Bad move.

And then they decided that the sacrifice was the way to go. Sending out fresh meat or whatever to the werewolves or their spirits or whatever to appease them. Stiles had never understood that part very well – if they were dead, what use would human meat be? And if they were alive, why would they want to eat people? Like, they’d never done that prior to the fire, had they?

There was a lot that had never made sense.

“S-Stiles?” Derek asked, interrupting his thoughts. Stiles wondered how long he’d been standing there, lost in his own mind.

“You’re really living alone?” Stiles asked. Again with the insensitivity. But he’d not seen any evidence of other people in the giant house. No sounds, no clothes lying around. No nothing that suggested that anyone but Derek had survived.

Derek’s shoulders slumped. He swallowed, unable to look at Stiles. “Yes.”

“Me too,” Stiles said with a sigh. “Me too, dude.”

Derek stayed quiet.

Stiles allowed the silence, trying to figure out if his theory was in fact right. He didn’t think Derek ate people, so what had happened to the other sacrifices? Eyeing the other man made Stiles think better than to ask him. He had a feeling that nothing good had happened, and that Derek did not need a reminder of that right then.

The silence, the way Derek looked, made it all too easy to fall into thoughts of his dad, and that wasn’t happening. So far he’d done fine suppressing what had happened, thank you very much. Stiles knew better than to think he could pretend it hadn’t happened forever, but it had worked pretty fine the past 24 hours.

“Dude, sorry for bringing stuff like that up,” Stiles said. “I know it sucks, believe me, I get it.”

Derek moved one shoulder in an awkward shrug as if to say that it didn’t matter. Maybe six-seven years later it was easier to have lost one's entire family.

Stiles somehow didn’t believe that to be the case. He’d learned to live with the death of his mom, but those who claimed that time would heal all wounds could stick it up where the sun doesn’t shine. The only thing time had taught him was that he’d learn to live and laugh again, that the wound would get easier and maybe a bit smaller and less oozing and gross with time. But it would damn well always be there.

Like a stubborn diabetic ulcer with bad circulation, wherever he’d read that.

Stiles shook his head, trying to bring his head back on track. He really needed his meds, god. Where was the nearest pharmacy? Was his prescription even valid, now that he’d been sacrificed? It was a whole mess.

“Would you mind showing me your house?” he asked instead. Because why not go with the full ‘hey see a squirrel!’ ADHD mode? It was either distracting himself or going down the route of wallowing in grief and he was not in the mood for that.

Light grey-green eyes blinked at him, wide, clearly confused by what was happening. Then Derek nodded, thank god for small mercies.

Yeah, so if Stiles couldn’t follow his own train of thoughts, how the hell should Derek have a chance at the same thing?

“Bathroom,” Derek told him. The fucker was smirking. It was tiny, but it was clearly there. So clearly Stiles had not been the only one who needed out of his own mind.

“I can tell that, smartass,” Stiles replied with a roll of his eyes.

Derek stalked out of the bathroom. Stiles ogled at his phenomenal ass, very much appreciating his own idea. 

The smile on Derek’s face was even more obvious when he opened the door to Stiles’ bedroom, announcing ‘Stiles’ along with it.

Like Stiles didn’t already know where he was staying.

“Derek,” Derek announced by the next door. The room looked a lot like Stiles’ did, spartan, impersonal. Like Derek didn’t really live there, but more that he happened to need a space to sleep. So yeah. That was sorta sad, considering that the dude had lived there a while.

There were no family pictures. The most personal thing was a book.

“Do you own a phone?” Stiles asked. Clearly Derek wasn’t carrying it on his person if he did.

“Yes.”

“And do you know how to use it?”

Even though he could only see the back of Derek’s head, he got a distinct feeling that he was rolling his eyes. Rude.

Derek opened another door, shrugging as if he didn’t quite know what to call that room. It looked a bit like an office, with a spacious desk, a comfortable chair and oh wow, that was a massive bookshelf! Skimming over the titles the room presented him with everything from mythology to balcony gardening. It was quite a collection, too, stretching over the wall at the right side of the desk and the back of the room as well.

“Do you have any fiction?”

Derek nodded, so Stiles assumed that he would show him where later in the tour. He’d noticed books in the living room too, but had not paid very much attention to the titles.

Once his brain had finished processing the amount of books on mythology and supernatural creatures Derek owned, Stiles noticed the computer on the desk.

He laughed.

“Dude, when was that last updated? The 90s?”

Derek rolled his eyes.

“Does it even work?”

Another evil glare. He really had his eyebrow communication down to a T, hopefully he’d start talking more later. Stiles wanted someone to talk with. Needed someone, if he had to be honest. It was nice that Derek was quiet and listened too, but considering that he communicated ‘shut up’ fairly clearly through his angry eyebrows, well, it didn’t really work as well as Stiles would like it.

Demonstratively Derek walked over to the computer and turned it on. So yeah, it did work, it was just slower than a grandma crossing the street when Stiles was really, really busy. “Do you mind if I use it?”

Derek shook his head in a go-ahead motion.

“I’d like to get the rest of the tour first,” Stiles told him.

The werewolf shrugged before turning the computer off. Stiles was pretty sure it belonged in a museum or something like that. It looked older than… heck, he didn’t have something to compare it too, that was how ancient it looked.

Derek continued down the hall, showing him another two spare bedrooms on the left. Stiles couldn’t help but think that the place was clearly built for someone with family in mind. For someone who liked having people over, someone who wanted them to have the option of sleeping over.

“How could you afford this?” Stiles asked as they walked back to the stairs to go downstairs.

“I build,” Derek said, moving his hand in an all-encompassing motion.

“Duuuuude!” Stiles exclaimed. “Did you really build all of this?”

Derek nodded, looking a bit shy. “Had help.”

“Yeah, I’d expect you to, I mean, still! You don’t look like someone who goes around building houses, but I guess I shouldn’t judge a book by it’s cover and all that,” Stiles said. Derek did have the physique of someone who could lift houses, it didn’t mean he could build them. Stiles knew plenty well-built people who’d smash themselves in the face if handed a hammer.

Stiles already knew the layout of the kitchen, the hallway and the living room. Derek showed him a smaller bathroom, another guest room (how many people had he planned on having over at a time? Like, who needed four spare bedrooms?) and a door that led into a workspace. There was a faint smell of sawdust and oil in the air Stiles found calming.

Tools of all sorts of sizes were neatly hanging along one wall, clearly sorted by kind and size. Boxes were filling out the shorter wall far off, a neat handwriting declaring what was in them. There where everything one could possibly need, including not just one but two workbenches. It was clearly a room of someone who enjoyed using their hands.

Derek waited patiently while he took it all in before leading him towards another door that led to a garage.

“That is one sweet ride!” Stiles said. A sleek, black Camero was parked there, not a speck of dust in sight. There were tools in the garage as well, clearly meant for taking care of the car.

“Is there anything you can’t do yourself?”

Derek grinned, clearly pleased with Stiles' reaction. He moved towards another door, that, judging by the light streaming in, would lead them outside. Then he hesitated and started leading Stiles back into the house.

At first Stiles wondered if Derek had lied. Maybe he was a prisoner? Maybe someone outside was not supposed to see him. Or maybe it was like, super muddy just outside the garage door and Derek didn’t not mud between his toes. Stiles could relate to that.

Derek motioned for him to stay in the hall inside the house. Considering that Stiles was not the best at standing still or following orders it was a good thing that Derek returned a moment later, arms filled with clothes.

He placed a beanie on Stiles head. It was soft, red and when Derek adjusted it the movements felt soft and almost like caresses. Yeah, okay, so maybe he did lean into that a bit.

Derek touched down Stiles cheek, soft fingers running along his neck.

Then Derek snapped out of it with a huff, wrapping Stiles in a scarf. It was as soft as the beanie, albeit the flowery pattern did very little for Stiles' feeling of manliness as he let Derek dress him. Honestly he was not as helpless as the werewolf thought, but when he bent to get into the shoes himself, Derek straight up growled at him, teeth and all! So Stiles decided it was probably better to just let him do his thing.

Once Stiles was covered from head to toe in an outfit more appropriate for an arctic winter than a chill day in the late autumn in California, Derek was satisfied. He huffed, placing a hand on Stiles forehead like he was a kid. Yeah, if Stiles was running a fever that clearly was from overheating in the mad amount of clothes.

Derek seemed satisfied, though, as he opened the door for Stiles to step outside.

The air was crisp, a faint smell of rain still hanging in it as if it had poured down a few hours earlier. Not quite freezing.

Derek looked a bit like an overjoyed puppy. Like he’d really wanted Stiles to see the house, and looked forward to showing his garden. 

First they walked to what was clearly a vegetable garden. Clearly Stiles’ idea about vegetables only growing in the spring and summer was wrong, as plenty of crops were still standing proud in the dark soil.

“Food,” Derek told him.

“And you do this yourself too?” Stiles asked.

Derek nodded, clearly proud. It was adorable. Maybe it was knowing that he was a werewolf that made Stiles think of a dog someone had praised.

Not that a dog would’ve been able to grow a garden like that, not considering that opposable thumbs were sort of a requirement for effective gardening, but the point still stood.

Especially as Derek dragged him off to the greenhouse. It was an explosion of tomatoes in all sorts of colors and sizes. Purple! And cucumbers.

Derek picked off a tomato and put it in his mouth, a childish glee on his face. When he pressed a tomato against Stiles lips, he understood why. The tomatoes were sweet and ripe in a way the store bought never would be.

It was almost like eating candy. Except in tomato form.

Out of the greenhouse Derek made a yelling sound that Stiles had not heard him use before. To his surprise he was answered – by a flock of hens. And a cock. Stiles snickered at that. Who’d come up with naming a rooster a cock too? It was hilarious.

Derek glared at him.

“Oh no, I wasn’t laughing at you!” Stiles said. “I was laughing at the idea that roosters are also called cocks.”

Derek did not look amused. Sourwolf. Stiles was hilarious, no discussion about that.

“Are they walking freely?” he asked. “Doesn’t the fox take them, then?”

The smile spreading across Derek’s face could best be described as predatory. “Fox hates wolf,” he said.

“So what, you go around peeing your territory to keep the fox out or what?”

Derek shrugged and refused to answer his perfectly reasonable question. Stiles decided that maybe he didn’t actually want to know. If Derek wanted to pissmark his territory that was his thing to do. Without Stiles, and preferably without his explicit knowledge as well. He had no need to know that, nope.

“Are you self-sustainable?” he asked, squinting. Derek was showing him some boxes by the south side of the house. They had transparent lids, and Stiles had a feeling that Derek was wanting to explain something to him he had yet to find the words for.

He was making a lot of progress already, though.

Derek shook his head. Which, considering that he had served Stiles lasagna and there were no cows on the land, Stiles could maybe have guessed.

Derek was in his space again, sniffing, before placing a hand on the nape of Stiles’ neck. His calloused hands were warm and gentle. Stiles almost melted into the touch as his pain was drained again. He’d not even realized that everything had started to ache before Derek made it stop.

He couldn’t find it in him to protest when Derek guided him back inside and helped him out of the clothes. Moving his arms made his chest move, and that hurt. A lot. Plus he was pretty sure that the whole werewolf pain magic caused Derek pain, as if the pain he took from Stiles was transferred directly to him. So yeah, letting Derek undress him like he was a toddler did seem like the best option, if he didn’t want to cause him unnecessary pain.

Stiles leaned against the wall, closing his eyes for a moment. Derek huffed somewhere close by.

“Stiles, sleep,” he said.

And if he hadn’t been so goddamned tired, he would have protested. He didn’t need to sleep half the day, hell, he’d already had a nap. There was no need for two naps in a day. Wasn’t like he was sick or anything like that.

And maybe he’d rambled all that out loud.

Stiles frowned. Judging by the way Derek looked at him, all eyebrow-y and judgy, he had.

“Sleep,” Derek repeated.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Stop it, worry wolf.”

Derek looked torn between annoyance at the nickname and relief that Stiles was behaving like a responsible adult.

To keep his dignity just a bit, Stiles decided that sleeping on the couch was totally more adult than in the bed. If he grabbed a book he could even pretend to have fallen asleep while reading, which was a totally legit plan.

He never got the book.

It had been a dumb idea anyway. 

Chapter Text

Stiles filled the house in ways Derek had never anticipated someone could. His scent was everywhere .

It made him feel a lot less alone.

The human had been living there almost two weeks. They had grown more comfortable around one another. Derek felt less insecure about talking, it came more naturally. Except when Stiles inevitably asked questions that made Derek’s chest constrict. Then it became difficult again, the concept of using words for communication.

He had a feeling that Stiles knew about difficult feelings. He could smell the grief, the sorrow and sadness clinging to him, the way it had clung to his own skin too. It was the scent of someone who had lost too much too early.

Sometimes Derek wanted to ask what had happened. What had caused Stiles to be sacrificed in the forest, why his fellow humans had chosen him out of everyone.

But he never did.

Stiles still seemed like a kid in Derek’s eyes, but his lanky building and overall attitude did give him a young impression. The big, amber eyes did not help either with the youthful impression, neither did the upturned nose. For a lack of a better way to explain it, Derek would say Stiles landed somewhere between cute and beautiful. 

And noisy.

“What’s this for?” Stiles asked, holding up tool number three hundred and fifty that day. Derek sighed. How many times did he have to tell the human about tools he clearly was too clumsy to use before he gave up?

“Wood,” Derek replied, grabbing the tool to show Stiles how it would peel off strips of wood if a hammer was gently banged against the head.

“Cool,” Stiles said, looking around for the next thing to question Derek about. Then he hesitated, maybe sensing that Derek had an increasing need for quiet. “Mind if I use the computer? I wanted to do some research.”

Derek replied by shaking his head.

Stiles grinned. “Sweeeet!” He dragged out the vocals.

Derek watched him stalk out of the workshop, banging his shoulder into the doorframe on his way out. Stiles swore. Derek continued to listen as he tripped up the stairs before his heartbeat settled in the office. Then he tuned out, focusing on what he was about to make.

Derek had noticed that Stiles tended to run cold. Even without a fever, the human liked to curl up on soft blankets.

While Derek was partial to not wearing any clothes as often as possible, he knew how to create it. His mom had taught him how to knit years ago, and while his skills were rusty, he could relearn.

Laura had teased him mercilessly about the knitting. Until he had made her a set of home knit socks of soft wool yarn. As a werewolf the need for socks could be debated – Derek had worn them as little as possible even then, but Laura liked everything fluffy and soft around her feet.

How the knitting patterns had survived the fire Derek had no clue. They should have burned along the wool and knitting needles.

But his mom’s handwriting was neat on the pink paper, step-by-step explaining how to knit the socks, heel and toes included.

Derek spread out a blanket on the floor. Bare concrete could get chill, even for him, before sitting down with his five knitting needles and the yarn. He had chosen red. When Derek had said he could just take whatever he needed from his closet, Stiles had favored that color in particular.

Derek started knitting.

At first it was wobbly and awkward, but muscle memory soon took over, making his movements smooth. He unraveled the first bit, to make sure everything was even and nice to look at. The second attempt turned out a lot better than the first.

Zooming in on the soft click-clack of the needles allowed him to relax. There was no need to focus on everything but what he had in his hands.

Maybe there was a reason he had gotten so creative after the fire. It was the perfect way to avoid the memories of what had been, the thoughts of what could have.

Derek continued knitting until he heard Stiles’ steps down the stairs, heartbeat thumping fast. For a moment he considered showing the human what he had made, telling him about his plans to make socks and sweaters if he could get a simple pattern from a store or website.

Then he decided against it. Maybe Stiles would laugh like Laura had. Maybe knitting would turn out horrible and wonky and not at all worth gifting to someone.

So Derek hid his knitting gear, making sure to push the box in extra far into the shelf, just as Stiles pushed open the door to the workshop.

“Duuude, your computer is so slow!” he complained. “When did you buy it? The stone age? You don’t look that old, to be fair, but oh my god, my patience is not for slow electronics!”

Derek smiled. Stiles did not have patience for anything, which was yet another good reason to not tell him about the socks before he finished making them. Currently he was to be considered a very slow knitter.

“I have no idea how I’m supposed to do any research when it takes longer to load than… you know what, I don’t even have a good comparison! That’s how slow it is!” Stiles exclaimed.

Derek rolled his eyes. The computer was slow, yes, he would be the first one to admit that. The internet connection was not the best either, not even with an ethernet cable. But the house was placed in the middle of the preserve, and being that far outside the city severely limited his options. 

“What research?” Derek asked.

Stiles looked at him funny. He had a tendency to do that when Derek said something not monosyllabic, which he did more and more often. Hopefully Stiles would stop with the looks once he got used to it.

“On werewolves, what else dude?”

Why he kept being ‘dude’ instead of ‘Derek’ he had no clue.

“Books?” Derek suggested.

“Books, yeah, of course, like, werewolf books are a thing! Google is my man, okay? I’m a super googler, like, my skills are extraordinary. I used to –“ Stiles stopped in the middle of the sentence.

Derek made a face. The smell of upset and sadness and grief was all of a sudden thick in the air, and he still was not quite sure what to do with it.

The wolf took over. Derek stalked closer to Stiles, whining low in his throat. Scenting Stiles’ upset never seemed to get any easier for either of them, and Stiles smelled like that too often to be healthy.

“Stop looking so worried,” the human said.

Derek clicked his teeth together before sighing. “Stiles, sad.”

“How do you know that?”

And that was a long explanation, one that Derek was not sure how to give just yet. He wanted to tell Stiles, it was not a secret, but stringing together full explanations was not something he felt ready for.

Derek tapped his nose.

Stiles looked scandalized.

“Are you trying to tell me you can smell that I’m sad?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Oh. My. God.”

Stiles was quiet for a moment, then his face turned beet-red. “Can you smell, like, everything?”

“Mostly,” Derek replied. Sometimes he wondered if it would be easier to write things out.

Stiles muttered something under his breath. It took Derek a moment before his brain processed the words mumbled out. Stiles was worried that Derek would be able to smell if he masturbated. Which he would be. It was just something he would ignore.

“You want books?” he offered. Clearly Stiles needed to know more about werewolves, and Derek figured that reading about it would be the next best thing.

Stiles nodded, mouth open in a small o. Derek huffed. Clearly Stiles’ brain was still stuck on the whole masturbation thing. 

Together they walked to the office. Derek only had to reach out and steady Stiles once to stop him from face planting onto the floor.

Then he picked out a few, handing them to Stiles who sagged under the weight. Even though the wound from the knife had healed, he still needed to put on muscle mass. The books were heavy, but not that bad. At least not in Derek’s opinion.

Stiles took the books to his room, leaving Derek in the hallway. He wanted to step in there, follow Stiles, make sure he was alright. While the worry about Derek being able to scent his private time had clearly distracted him, the sadness was still thick in the air around him.

He wanted to reach out, to touch, to fix. He wanted to make Stiles feel better. Ask him to talk.

Stiles placed the books on his bed table with utmost care. Derek appreciated that.

He could still smell the sadness when Stiles threw on a big smile. It looked fake, frayed at the edges like worn cowboy pants that should have been tossed. Derek wondered how long Stiles had gotten away with his fake smile, how long ago that should have been trashed.

The wolf was clawing at his insides, trying to get out, trying to get him to listen. it wanted to comfort, to do something that would make the human smile for real.

He bit his lip, trying to figure out what to say, what to do.

In the end he left the room.

He knew Stiles had a weakness for food, junk food in particular. So Derek did what he knew how to do, and provided. Food he could do. Emotions, not so much.

Stiles’ soft steps did not follow him down the stairs. Derek wondered if he had made the wrong decision. But there was not much to do about it. Walking back would only make everything seem more stilted and awkward. 

Mac and cheese was easy to make, and delicious. At least the way Derek did it with both cheddar and parmesan, bits of broccoli and roasted, crisp bits of pepperoni it was. And of course, toasted panko breadcrumbs. The latter was roasted in the pepperoni fat from the pan. 

It was by no means a healthy dish, but Derek’s metabolism meant he did not have to worry about indulging himself every once in a while, and Stiles was still too skinny for Derek’s liking. Maybe he was a worry wart, or worry wolf like Stiles liked to call him. 

At the least the human ate decent portions.

Stiles appeared in the kitchen around the time Derek popped the mac and cheese into the oven.

“Smells wonderful,” he said conversationally.

He still smelled sad. As if the time alone had not done him any good. “Stiles, sad,” Derek replied.

“Yeah, I know. Sorry, I’m not sure how to stop it.”

Derek shook his head. “Not stop… tell me?” He said. He wanted Stiles to talk about what made him sad. If he was sad, he probably had a reason to be so and forcing him to pretend he was not would help no one.

Stiles spluttered, then he grinned. “You? You of all people are telling me to talk, that’s rich, Derek,” he said. From anyone else it would have been mean. For a moment the smile had been genuine. 

Derek wanted to wipe off the fake smile. 

Stiles seemed to realize how his words could have sounded. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be a jerk,” he said. “I just don’t want to talk about it right now, okay?”

“Okay,” Derek replied.

“So, back to the important topic at hand! What’s for dinner?”

Derek huffed. Stiles clearly had priorities.

…

Stiles stared.

And then he stared some more. First at Derek, then down at the package in his lap, then back up at Derek. Then at the package. 

Derek shuffled nervously, clearly not sure where in the room to be.

It was not until Derek started backing out of the room that Stiles reacted.

“No, no! Derek, stop, this is great! I’m not upset, there’s no reason for you to run off!”

Derek stopped, trying to take a breath in to gather the mood in the room. It had taken him days to get the computer for Stiles. First ordering to pick up online, then he had to find a time to go where Stiles would not notice he was gone, seeing as that would ruin the surprise. He had thought the human would appreciate it.

So far he had just stared at it like Derek had handed him a severed head.

“Dude, you didn’t have to go out and buy me a computer!” Stiles told him. “Like, that’s crazy, okay? I figure you were loaded, having this place and a car like that, but like, this? You just randomly bought me a computer because your old piece of junk is too slow for my liking?”

Dumbfounded, Derek found himself nodding. That was about it, the gist of it. He had wanted to do something that would make Stiles happy, and buying him a new computer seemed to be an easy thing to do. Derek liked new things every once in a while, so he figured Stiles would as well.

Honestly he was ready to do whatever needed to get him to smell less sad. Even if he seemed to function on the surface, ate and bathed and entertained himself with a stupid amount of werewolf research, the scent of sadness and grief was there constantly. And well, maybe a computer was not the greatest idea of all time, Derek knew better than to think things could replace whatever Stiles seemed to have lost, but he was not sure what else to do. With a new computer Stiles could do research more effectively and that did seem to be the thing bringing him most joy.

“I don’t know what to say,” Stiles told him.

“Thank you?” Derek suggested.

It made Stiles huff, but also smile. It reached his eyes. The wolf was pleased. “Yeah, that’s probably right. Thank you Derek. You really didn’t need to do this, you know?”

Derek nodded, because yes, he knew.

“Internet’s bad,” he warned.

“Yeah, like, I figured that,” Stiles told him. “But I can still take notes and stuff even if the internet is crap, you know?”

Stiles looked at the cardboard box for another moment, seemingly lost in thought.

“I really mean it Derek,” he said. “Thank you.”

The wolf preened. Derek did too. They were satisfied that Stiles liked the gift, that Stiles was smiling.

“Are you ready for the amount of questions this is gonna result in?”

Probably not. Derek shrugged, what else could he do? Stiles had already asked him so many questions, including some he had not been able to answer.

Stiles rolled out of the bed, grabbing the computer box. “Come on, big guy.”

Derek followed him down into the living room.

“I won’t say no to grilled cheese or whatever you fancy while I get this bad boy up and running,” he said.

Derek had expected to be alone in the kitchen while cooking grilled cheese for them both, but no, Stiles grabbed the cords for the computer and followed him, chatting away as the computer ran the needed updates and setups.

Derek listened with half an ear, seeing as most of what Stiles said was random facts from the user manual.

“Did you notice this? Nah, your computer is probably too old for user manuals, but like, dude, Derek, it says here that you should keep liquids away from the computer, avoid drying it in the oven and that a vacuum cannot be used for cleaning it. And like, how am I supposed to put it into the microwave? When would I ever do that, I mean? Do they think I’m stupid? Or that if they don’t write it, I’m gonna sue their asses for my own stupidity?”

So yes, Derek tuned out a lot of it. The computer was buzzing low in the background as the delicious smell of cheese and browned bread spread in the air.

Stiles’ stomach rumbled.

“God, updates take forever!”

Maybe Derek should have set up the computer before giving it to Stiles.

Stiles was sprawled over the kitchen counter, head hanging down when Derek turned around.

“I don’t have patience for stuff like this,” he said.

Like Derek had not already guessed that. Stiles rarely had patience for anything. He never sat still, always moving. A foot bobbing, a hand tapping. Biting his lips, biting his nails, running a hand against a surface. Only asleep he seemed to still.

Derek sometimes could not help but listen to Stiles’ even breathing when he slept. He wanted to make sure Stiles was still alive and well on the other side of the wall.

“God, that smells amazeballs!” Stiles exclaimed as Derek held a plate with a perfectly grilled cheese sandwich towards him.

Derek patiently waited until Stiles had turned around into a seated position. It almost involved him knocking over his new computer with his left shin as well as him almost tumbling down the countertop. How Stiles was still alive was either a miracle or sheer luck.

Stiles smiled foolishly as he grabbed the plate with grilled cheese.

Derek had also noticed that the human could be surprisingly agile and precise when focused. The clumsiness seemed to mainly be a concern when he was having his mind anywhere but on what his body was doing. Which, to be fair, seemed to be most of the time.

Stiles moaned his appreciation around a bite of the grilled cheese. Derek served up his own on a plate before starting two more. Experience had taught him that one sandwich would not satiate Stiles or himself.

“Dude, you’re spoiling me,” Stiles said around his grilled cheese.

Derek huffed, biting into his own to avoid answering.

The wolf was surprisingly quiet. It seemed that providing for Stiles kept it quiet. Derek suspected the new moon and having someone akin to a pack around was also contributing.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ve had good grilled cheese before but yours are next level. What’s the secret, like, I mean! Yum!”

Derek chewed. “P… parmesan?” he suggested. He did not know if everyone used parmesan in their grilled cheese, but he found that it gave an extra layer of flavor and saltiness. Combined with an aged cheddar and full-fat butter for grilling it made for an amazing combo. He also added a bit of garlic powder too for an extra layer of umph.

“Hm, might be it.”

“Garlic?”

“Yeah!” Stiles agreed. “Yeah, now that you say that I can totally taste the garlic!”

Derek was not sure human taste buds could be that sensitive – it was barely a pinch, but what did he know? After all he had never been human.

The rest of the day passed quietly. Stiles joined him for feeding the hens, but otherwise he seemed content to play around with his new computer while Derek read on the other end of the couch, their feet moving into each other’s space from time to time.

It felt good. 

Chapter Text

Stiles had had the computer for about four days before he made a decision.

He’d been using it to research werewolves – a lot. Derek had rolled his eyes a lot at his questions. He’d also neither confirmed nor denied the idea that his dick had a knot, which, thinking about it was probably an invasive question to ask.

Stiles was just curious, okay?

And maybe he also used all his terrible research, aka reading werewolf fanfiction (there was a lot. Some of it was really hot too. Stiles still too vividly remembered that Derek could smell his emotions) among other things, to avoid dealing with the options the computer gave him.

Trying to do anything on Derek’s older than old piece of grab computer had been futile. He’d given up before even reaching the log-in page. He’d turned it off.

But even though the internet was slow, bandwidth somewhere between horrible and shitty, the computer was still running fast. All in all it meant that most internet pages, most of the time, loaded pretty decently even if he had to wait for pictures (the illustration of what a werewolf knot penis would look like had been worth the wait, especially the look on Derek’s face when he’d shown him. Stiles never found out if that was a thing with real alphas).

So there was really no excuse not to check…

Stiles bit his lip.

Derek was outside, probably, or in the garage. At least far enough that he’d not reacted to the way Stiles’ heart was hammering in his chest.

Yeah, so, maybe he also didn’t want to, maybe…

Stiles opened Facebook.

It took a few tries before he remembered what email he’d used to sign up, and from there another few tries before he figured out which of his passwords he’d combined the email with.

Everything looked normal.

Looking over the messages there were none.

Hell.

There was not even an obituary on his page. Like, okay, to be fair maybe Scott had not been able to remember which of the 17 versions of Stiles’ password to use, and therefore he hadn’t been able to write one, plus obituaries on Facebook were total lame… but… Scott could have written one on his own, and tagged Stiles, maybe?

Stiles swallowed.

Maybe they were not so lame. Maybe he’d really have liked to see someone write something, considering how he was supposed to be dead and everything. And maybe it would have meant a lot to have people write in the comments of said things how he should rest in peace and how he would be missed and stuff.

Breathing in felt difficult, like his chest was constricting. Oh god.

There were not even any messages.

It was like he’d disappeared from the surface of the earth and no one had even noticed.

Stiles checked again. Nope. Updated the page. Nothing.  

He closed the computer with a soft click, not bothering to log out, not bothering to shut it down properly. With careful movements he placed it on the table beside the couch, not trusting himself to handle anything.

He wanted to throw the computer across the room. Wanted to yell at Derek for having given him the opportunity to find out that no one missed him. Wanted to scream and yell and trash things.

Had no one noticed that he was gone?

Did his friends not miss him? They hadn’t been there at the whole shitty ritual, so how did they know he was dead for sure? Heck, even the people present had clearly not been aware, seeing as he was still very much alive.

How had they not written a sad message to him? Or just, a random, ‘dude wanna hang out’ followed by a ‘oh fuck I forgot for a moment there’. Stiles had so often been on the verge of texting his mom after she’d passed. Or calling her. He never deleted her number.

So that his friend had not even thrown him a single message on Facebook? It made him feel like shit. Made him feel like… No, he didn’t have words to describe the whole new level of shitty he had not previously known he could feel.

“Stiles?” Derek’s voice was a soft whine again, one that Stiles knew all too well. The werewolf sounded like that whenever he could smell that Stiles was upset. Go figure.

“Stiles, sad?”

And fuck no, Stiles could not deal with that right now. He didn’t have mental capacity to explain to a werewolf that it was creepy as fuck that he listened to Stiles’ heartbeat or sniffed out his emotions like some weird dog on a drug hunt.

“Go away!”

Stiles listened to the springs in the couch creak as Derek got up, to the footsteps as he left Stiles alone, exactly like he’d just asked him to do.

God.

He hadn’t wanted Derek to go. Not really. It just cemented the feeling of being alone, left, worthless. He didn’t want to be alone. He wanted his friends to miss him and care about him. He wanted them to know he was alive and to come look for him.

He wanted his dad to be alive. If he’d been alive Stiles would never have been a sacrifice. No one would have dared sacrifice the sheriff’s kid.

But the dead sheriff… his kid, yeah, his kid was another thing entirely. It wasn’t like Stiles had gotten time to process anything before he’d found himself practically naked in the forest. It had been what, a few weeks?

His dad would’ve turned in his grave if he’d known.

A soft clink caught his attention along with the smell of grilled cheese. His vision was swimming as he looked at the perfectly grilled cheese sandwich on the table. Derek was already taking a step back, writhing his hands nervously, eyes big.

Oh yeah, leave it to Stiles to be an ass and for Derek to provide for him still.

His jaw was wobbling at its own accord.

“S-sorry,” he whispered.

Derek sat down on the couch, placing a hand on Stiles’ knee. “No, no sorry.”

Stiles wanted to point out how grammatically incorrect that was, but all that came out was a watery laugh.

His nose was congested, his eyes burning with tears.

“They don’t miss me,” he told Derek. “I just checked my Facebook account, and it’s like no one even cares that I was fucking sacrificed to magic wolf creatures in the forest.”

Derek made a face at that.

“It’s just that, whenever I imagined an untimely death it always included a lot of sorrow for those left behind, you know? But there are no messages from anyone asking where the hell I disappeared off to, no ‘dude I wish you were around still so we could hang out because I miss my best friend and why did you die so early?’ you know? It’s just… I thought I’d made a difference, left an impact or, you know, something? And okay, fair maybe they couldn’t guess my password or whatever to make a statement, I get that and all, but no messages either? It feels like I didn’t matter.”

The hand on his knee tightened as if Derek tried to say that he did matter, just without so many words.

“And like, I know I’m not dead and all, but how should they know? They don’t know that you refuse to eat people.”

Derek made a heavy breath out, almost like a sigh but more forceful.

“It’s just, I miss them, you know?”

Derek nodded, so Stiles continued.

“And I thought they would miss me too. I regret checking. I should have just let it be. Like, it shouldn’t matter this much, what matters most is that I’m alive and well and all that, but I really thought they would care more. I mean, not even my best friend has written. We’ve been joined at the hip since kindergarten. I feel like that warrants some sort of ‘dude, miss you’ after I’m no longer in his life.”

Derek nodded again, worried eyes on Stiles. He really had expressive eyebrows, and those were currently mirroring the sorrow and sadness Stiles felt.

“Maybe it hurts a lot because they were basically my family, you know? My mom died when I was a kid, and my dad not so long ago, and there was just me left. And I guess they didn’t need me as much as I needed them. I guess it was all in my head, then. I just, Scott – you know, my best friend? Who didn’t write? He told me that I could come and stay with him. Not like they had the space. He lives with his mom, and their house is tiny, but he said we could share a room and stuff. That’s not something you do for someone you don’t care about, is it?”

Derek shook his head when Stiles looked for confirmation.

“And I mean, yeah. I dunno, he might be back to crushing on Allison even though she doesn’t seem all that interested, and that has fried his remaining brain cells. It would honestly explain a lot…”

Stiles sighed.

“I guess it was just upsetting to see, you know? I’m considering deleting my profile, just, erase that I was ever there, but that also feels wrong. How are they then supposed to come into contact with me, like, if they should want to do that? If they notice that I’m gone? I mean, it’s not like I have a phone or my old number, so I can’t be sure that they’ve not tried to contact me.”

Like him and Scott ever texted one another. There was no reason Scott would have texted him when his Facebook profile was still active. Made no sense.

But Stiles was grasping for straws. He wanted to not be forgotten, for messages of sadness and desperation to wait for him somewhere.

For someone to miss him.

Did that make him a horrible person?

He really hoped not.

Derek was petting his knee. It was awkward, but so was the werewolf a lot of the time.

Stiles looked over at the grilled cheese. It was probably lukewarm and thereby not as delicious anymore. Derek had made it to him, even after he’d told him to go away. Derek had come back.

So maybe Scott was a shitty friend, and maybe so was all his other friends too, but at least he was not alone.

Derek was in his space, a second hand on his shin now. The dude was tactile, and Stiles appreciated that. It gave him something to focus on, something grounding to focus on instead of his own mind. Derek was solid heat. Stiles knew from experience that those hands were calloused and strong, and how they would feel against his naked skin.

The werewolf didn’t say anything as the grilled cheese cooled beside Stiles.

He wished he had an appetite for it, but some things were just not very well solved with sandwiches.

“I considered checking other social media. To see if they’ve, I dunno, forgotten that Facebook exists? Maybe someone has missed my snarky comments on Twitter?”

Derek shook his head.

“I know, Derek, I know. It’s just, self torture at this point, ain’t it? I don’t even know what has happened to everything. Am I dead officially? Like, what happens after you’ve been sacrificed in a forest by the town officials? Like, faking a death certificate wouldn’t even be that hard I guess.” Stiles shrugged, not sure where he was going with that train of thought.

Derek rubbed his shin in a calming pattern.

“I guess it’s dumb. To be this upset about something where I don’t even have all the facts, you know? For all I know they might have held a ceremony in my honor.”

Derek shook his head again, a soft movement. He still looked sad, mouth turned down in a frown. It was clearly a ‘you are not dumb’ kind of headshake. At least Stiles thought so.

“Alone’s bad,” Derek told him.

He got closer and closer to speaking normally, even if his sentence record was still somewhere around three simple words in a row. Stiles figured that being alone for that long had meant speaking was unnecessary. It wasn’t like it was all that needed. While Stiles was curious as fuck, Derek communicated clearly with body language and the few words he chose to use.

“Alone is bad,” Stiles agreed. “I just didn’t think I was as alone as I clearly am. Like, go figure, as a sibling-less orphan with no family to speak off, that sucks, but I had a lot of friends. So while I was alone in some aspects, I wasn't in so many others.”

Derek pinched his lips, hesitant.

“I know I got you now,” Stiles added.

That made the pinched look go away. Clearly Derek didn’t want to overstep or put too much into their budding friendship. Everything considered, Stiles could’ve ended up in worse places.

Stiles moved his left leg into a more comfortable position.

“Mind handing me the computer?”

Derek squinted, hesitant once again.

“Dude, I’m just gonna log out of Facebook and close the thing properly. It’s not good for the hardware to be on standby.” He had no idea whether the latter was actually true, but he’d read somewhere on the internet that on standby the hardware was still firing, both draining the battery and making it more susceptible to damage. And considering the catastrophe Stiles could be on his own with electronics, he took the care he could.

The werewolf sighed demonstratively before handing him the computer. Stiles swiftly logged out, not bothering to update the page to see if someone should’ve messaged him in the time that had passed. There was no reason for prolonged self-torture.

Stiles had a strange feeling that it had been too easy to push down the feeling of sadness. Just like the loss of his dad, he’d been able to bottle it down somewhere.

Looking over at Derek, he couldn’t help but wonder how long he could keep that up. He’d done it a bit after his mom had died, resulting in frequent panic attacks when the emotions ran too high. So far he had been surprisingly cold, barring the initial shock. His appetite had hit the gutter after his dad died, and for a few weeks he’d been alive thanks to caffeinated sugary drinks and Adderall. But that had also been about it. He had a feeling it wouldn’t last, and that when shit hit the fan, it would hit hard.

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” he asked.

Derek nodded, leaving it to Stiles to choose a movie. While Stiles got the old DVD player up and running with an equally old movie, the grilled cheese disappeared from the table. Loud popping noises from the kitchen suggested that Derek was making popcorn.

Stiles felt pretty certain there had to be a porn movie starting with a dude as smoking hot as Derek walking into a room with food. It was a good thing he was comfortably bisexual, because otherwise Derek sure would’ve made him question everything.

His mouth watered at the sight of Derek with two big bowls of popcorn. He was not quite sure if it was the popcorn or Derek that made it happen.

The werewolf threw himself on the couch, a bit closer to Stiles than necessary. But well, all the emotions had left Stiles tired, and tired meant cold, and Derek was a walking furnace, so who was he to complain?

Derek handed him a bowl of popcorn. It smelled buttery and perfect. Derek’s bowl gave off a faint scent of rosemary and garlic. Fancywolf.

…

After the movie Derek looked at him judgmentally as Stiles started the computer back up. Honestly, he looked like someone who really regretted giving him the computer in the first place.

Which… “See, it says so right here!” Stiles pointed out, having scrolled all the way down to the bottom of the Wikipedia page on werewolves. “The Nazis did have a werewolf operation during World War II!”

Derek looked offended by that.

Which Stiles supposed was fair enough. Had he found out that there had been an Operation Stiles (which, awesome naming, thank you very much) or Operation Stillinski in relation to the Nazis, he too would’ve been offended.

“I’m guessing I won’t become a werewolf if I wear the skin of a wolf or drink water from a paw print?” Stiles asked.

Derek sighed. His eye roll this time involved his entire body which Stiles found hilarious.

“Okay, so then how?”

“Alpha bite.” Derek looked thoughtful. “Claws?” He shrugged, as if that was not a fact as much as something that was potentially true.

“Alpha? That’s the leader of the pack, right?”

Derek nodded.

“So what, are you the alpha?”

Yeah that had not been the right thing to ask about judging from the look on Derek’s face. Maybe turning into an alpha was painful as turning into an actual wolf. Which Stiles had yet to see.

“Yes.”

“How do you know if someone’s the alpha?”

“Eyes,” Derek replied. “Red, alpha.”

“You got like, grey-green-ish eyes,” Stiles pointed out before remembering: “Oh, oh! Like when you did the shift where your eyebrows went away? Your eyes were red then!”

Derek flashed his eyes red.

“Yeah, like that!”

It was pretty cool that Derek could choose to change just parts of his features. Like a Tonks from Harry Potter, except…

“Hey can you turn your haircolor too?” Stiles asked.

Derek shook his head.

So a bit less cool than Tonks, then, but still pretty cool. “Do you lose control on the full moon? Do I like have to lock you into the basement or chain you up or something?”

Derek pointed at himself. “Good control.”

Which, fair point, seeing as he could change his eye color at will. “So you won’t turn all ARG and bitey bitey Stiles?”

That made the werewolf look offended.

Which. Fair. No bitey bitey Stiles. Maybe unless he asked for it. Honestly Stiles would not mind Derek’s mouth or teeth on his skin all that much, but maybe in a more sensual and less like, wolfy-turny-bitey manner. But Derek had not really shown any interest in Stiles like that, so, probably the bitey wouldn’t happen anytime soon if ever. 

He was getting tired. His mind was acting all over the place, which for him was the usual, except he didn’t have his meds to keep it just an itty-bitty tiny piece under control.

He had saved the werewolf knot penis in his Onenote folder on werewolves. There were facts confirmed by Derek, common legends, along with links or book titles, and then there was all the fandom stuff he’d found on Tumblr. He had a feeling he should keep most of the latter to himself, seeing as that overwhelmingly seemed to be fantasies about werewolves and like, spank bank material. If one were into insanely hot dudes walking around in their underwear. It should get old at some point, but Stiles found himself equally impressed by Derek’s body every time he gazed upon it.

Stiles shot down the computer. “I’m gonna hit the hay,” he told Derek.

Derek leaned into his space, rubbing his face against Stiles’. Once he’d gotten used to it, it was actually quite nice. Like a French kiss, except with more stubble and less kisses.

Knowing himself he likely would end up reading more about werewolves in the books Derek had lent him instead of sleeping. But hey, new facts to question Derek about!

Stiles was asleep before he opened the book.

Chapter Text

Considering what had happened earlier in the day, Derek maybe should not have been terribly surprised that Stiles was screaming out in the middle of the night.

He had suffered nightmares before, but never violent enough to make him scream like that. His heart was hammering like he had been sprinting, and he was panting.

Derek was in his room before he had even processed what he was doing.

Stiles was whimpering now, tossing in the bed. Derek was by his side in seconds.

“Stiles, wake up!” He tried shaking the human to get him back into consciousness.

“No, Dad, no!” Stiles yelled.

Derek shook him harder. The sounds Stiles were making was breaking his heart. He did not want him to suffer like that. It sounded so familiar, the cries for a family that was no longer there.

“Stiles! Wake up!” Derek yelled.

And slowly Stiles started showing signs that he was leaving dreamworld. His breathing was hitching, terror still evident in his body language and smell.

God.

Derek should never have given him the computer. Not if this was the result of that.

Stiles breathing did not even out.

Derek knew the sound of sobs held back too well. He had not allowed himself to cry after the fire, and Stiles sounded exactly like that now.

“Stiles,” he whispered.

Stiles shook his head. Derek did not need super senses to know how the human was struggling to hold back emotions he should let out. So Derek did the only thing he could do. He hoped it was not overstepping, hoped that Stiles would forgive him if it was… he leaned forward, into the humans space and placed his arms around him, holding him in a tight hug.

It made the dam break. Derek could almost hear the emotions tumbling over as Stiles started sobbing against his shoulder, breathing uneven and too fast to be healthy. The human was shaking violently in his arms as if he were cold, hiding his face against Derek’s shoulder. He could feel warm tears against his bare skin.

How long they sat in the dark room, Stiles crying against him, Derek had no idea. It did not matter. Nothing was more important than to make sure Stiles felt safe and like he was not forced to deal with his emotions alone.

Stiles breathing evened out at some point, heavy huffs through his mouth. It sounded wet still, and Derek had no doubt that a small push could set off the human again. When Stiles pushed away, Derek let him do so.

The wolf did not like it.

Stiles rubbed his eyes, mumbling a watery excuse for having snotted on Derek.

“Shush,” Derek told him softly. Tears did not matter, neither did snot. He could wash himself. The important part had been that Stiles had allowed himself to feel.

And when had he gotten so wise? It was probably easier when not applied to himself. He had yet to talk to Stiles about his family, yet to show any kind of outward sorrow or grief, even if he carried it around in his heart every day.

Derek assumed he had made a protesting sound because “- I’m just gonna blow my nose, worrywolf.”

Derek wondered if it was creepy if he got up from the floor and followed Stiles into the bathroom. To be fair he did want to dry off the shoulder Stiles had cried on, but maybe he wanted a moment to gather himself alone?

Like it was any less creepy, Derek tuned into the sound of his heartbeat. It was steadier. The lights to the bathroom clicked on, there was a rustling of paper, a nose blown and water splashed on a face. Stiles stood a moment, just silently. Derek had to assume he was in front of the mirror.

Then he shuffled back into the bedroom.

“Go ahead, the bathroom is all yours,” he said.

Derek nodded even though Stiles was unlikely to see it in the low light in the bedroom. He had not drawn the curtains, and Derek wondered if he did not like the dark. Sometimes he did not. It made him feel more alone.

Washing the tears and snot off his shoulder made him wonder if Stiles wanted him to come back into the bedroom. He was hard to figure out, sometimes. Maybe he wanted to talk about his nightmare, maybe he would much rather go back to sleep and ignore that it had ever happened.

Derek could not blame him if he chose the latter. He just knew from experience that not talking about things tended to make it worse.

He snorted at himself. Like he was doing so well with talking about his emotions! He could barely string a three word sentence together without feeling insecure and wrong.

Shaking his head, he grabbed the towel to dry off the water. Stiles' heartbeat gave away that he was still awake. The wolf did not like the idea of leaving him alone. Contemplating for and against, Derek decided to go back into his room, to give him the option of not being alone and talk about what had just happened. After all, Stiles could always tell him to go away and he would respect that.

Stiles was sitting on his bed, arms around his knees. He looked small and vulnerable in the dark. Derek sat down on the end of the bed, figuring that it was okay.

“I dreamt about my dad,” Stiles told him.

“Yes,” Derek agreed. He had to use words so Stiles knew he was still listening. Humans could not see well in the dark.

Derek watched as Stiles rubbed a hand over his face in frustration. “I dunno, I’m not really awake enough to talk about it, but I also, everytime I close my eyes I can see him, you know? And it’s not how he looked alive, it’s how he looked when he died, and I can’t get the image of dead dad off my retina and it’s driving me crazy!”

“I know,” Derek told him. The wolf wanted to move closer, to touch and provide comfort in the most primal of ways. Derek did as the wolf wanted. The way Stiles held himself suggested that he was in need of the comfort, to know that he was not alone. He moved slowly, giving Stiles time to move away should he wish to do so.

Stiles sat perfectly still as Derek placed himself against the wall beside him. The wolf wanted more. Hesitant, Derek placed an arm around Stiles shoulders.

The human melted into the touch.

Smart wolf.

“Does it go away?” Stiles asked.

And that was so much more complicated than just a simple yes or no answer. Sometimes Derek could still sense his parents walking around, or hear Laura tease him for being a softie, or Cora’s laugh. The stench of burned flesh, the horrid burned out bodies… he could also sometimes still see those. Smell them.

“Gets better,” he settled for. That was not a lie, nor an answer that required so many words he still had to find the courage to speak.

“When?” Stiles demanded.

Derek sighed. “Time. Talking… M… memories,” he tried to explain. It was difficult. Would have been difficult even if he did not feel like speaking was foreign and something he had to fight every step of the way.

Stiles sighed. Heavily. Forceful.

Derek squeezed his shoulder.

“I miss him.”

“I know.”

Derek wanted to ask him to talk more, tell him stories about his dad. But in the middle of the night was not the time, and Stiles would likely do so at his own time. Derek could not rush the process of grief for him, but he could be there to support Stiles the way he had wished for someone to be there for him.

Stiles was so quiet only his heartbeat gave away he had not fallen asleep. His breathing was even, rhythmical even. Derek liked listening to his breathing and his heartbeat. He liked not feeling alone.

“I miss my mom too,” Stiles added.

Derek squeezed his shoulder again in response.

“I also can’t help but feel responsible. Not for mom’s death, so much, anymore. But for Dad’s. He wouldn’t have been out if it wasn’t for me, and like… I know I wasn’t pulling the gun that killed him, you know? But I feel like I might as well have. That he would’ve been here otherwise.”

“Not your fault.”

“Yeah, except it kinda is,” Stiles said. “I called him. I was the reason he was out on the streets that night, okay? If I hadn’t called him, he would’ve been safe at the station and not dead.”

Derek wanted to ask him what the reason had been that he had called. He got the distinct feeling it had been important. At least important enough for his dad to drive out and get him.

Stiles swallowed heavily. The sadness was heavy in the room.

“I was drunk, okay? I wasn’t old enough to drink, I shouldn’t have been out clubbing in the first place. And a cute guy started paying for my drinks and I thought what the hell, I’m eighteen, I’m legal, fuck this, I’m gonna drink, you know?” That Derek did not know. “Like, I knew I was not legal to drink, but whatever man.”

“And so I figured I would shoot Dad a text that I was out with some friends, maybe go home with the guy. He was cute, he’d paid for the drinks, we had danced and flirted and kissed and yeah, I could tell he wanted more and so did I in the moment. Until I went to the bathroom and came back out and he was all over someone else. I dunno, maybe he thought I was gonna be easy or something because I look young? Or that I would be cool with a threesome? I was pissed. And to make matters worse, he like, grabbed me when I was trying to get out of the club and was all like ‘where are you going, you owe me for the drinks, come have fun’.” Stiles took in a deep breath. Derek was left to wonder if he should feel envy over anger. Envy that the dude in the story got to kiss and touch Stiles. Madness that he would treat anyone like that.

“And like, Dad had always told me that no matter how late or how much I had fucked up, he would come get me. He would hold the right to tease the living shit out of me the following day, mind you, but he would always pick me up. Or I guess, pay for a taxi if he had been drinking too. So I called,” Stiles said. He rubbed another frustrated hand over his face, hesitating. “And I dunno what happened. Dad was at work, but he came to pick me up, and it was a mess, and it happened so fast. And suddenly there’s this guy with a mask and a gun, who wants my money, and my dad arrives at the same moment I’m pulling out my wallet. And I don’t know, fuck, he should’ve had his gun on him, and maybe he did, and he… he shouldn’t have been there in the first place, you know? Had I called a moment earlier or later, the robber would’ve been somewhere else. And Dad would not have been dead.”

Derek swallowed. “Not your fault,” he repeated, voice certain. Stiles’ father had done what any good parent would do. Derek knew his parents would have done the same thing had he been the one drunk.

“Except it is, don’t you see that? I should’ve been dead instead of him.”

“No.”

“Yeah,” Stiles sighed. “I just, I know I didn’t pull the gun on him, but I was the one being mugged, not him. I can only assume he didn’t shoot the scum because he was afraid of hitting me, and that when it came down to it the robber was just faster or whatever. Bad luck. Shitty timing.”

Derek squeezed Stiles again, unable to say anything that would make it easier for him.

“Or maybe if I was better at first aid. I dunno. The EMT’s said that there was nothing to be done, that the bullet had torn an artery or something like that. There was so much blood, Derek. Do you have any idea how slippery blood is? When you’re trying to keep inside someone's body?”

Derek did not know that.

“Very slippery. It was like, no matter how much pressure I kept on that wound, my hands kept sliding off. No matter how much I begged him to stay alive and awake and how much I yelled for help, it didn’t matter? In the end, it just didn’t matter. Because it took too long for someone to find us and call for help, and I couldn’t keep the pressure and my hands just slipped and slipped.” Stiles’ voice was odd and monotone. Like he was reading a statement about something he did not particularly care about. Hitching in breathing gave away the emotions he tried to keep down, as did his rapid heartbeat.

Derek wanted to tell him he had done the best he could. But he had a feeling that the words would not matter very much. Stiles would still feel like he had failed his dad, even though arterial bleeding was often fatal. Honestly Derek had no idea when it was not. Maybe if one had already been open on the table in a hospital with doctors ready to save their life?

“Not your fault,” he ended up repeating.

Stiles laughed. It was wet and bitter, and Derek had a feeling he would have to tell the human many times before he would start believing the words.

If he ever would.

They sat in silence, breathing in sync. Stiles’ breathing hitched sometimes, but it was okay. Derek was there to remind him he was no longer alone.

“What happened to your family?” Stiles asked.

And Derek wanted to tell him, but those words were too big and scary.

“To… tomorrow?” Derek responded. It would be a lot easier to show what had happened than to explain it. Derek was not sure he would ever have words for that.  ¨

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed.

He sounded tired. Derek was tired too. Maybe it was time for sleep? He started to move, but Stiles grabbed his hand.

“I know this is a lot to ask,” he said. “But I… would you mind staying? I don’t want to be alone right now.”

“I’ll stay,” Derek agreed.

“Yeah, yeah thanks.”

Derek got up to get a blanket. “Be back,” he told Stiles. While the bed was plenty spacious for both of them to stay there comfortably, there was only one blanket. And he felt certain that Stiles’ request did not include cuddling like that.

The wolf thought it did.

It was a good thing Derek was more rational.

Stiles was still sitting upright, eyes big and round, when Derek reappeared a moment later with his own blanket and a pillow. Like he had expected him to maybe change his mind in the 20 steps to his own room. But Derek understood the need for comfort, understood why Stiles needed the safety of a warm, living person breathing beside him instead of the room next door.

Derek had needed that a lot. Probably still did, considering how the wolf was craving a pack. That need had quieted down a lot after it became clear that Stiles wanted to stay.

Stiles squirmed down underneath his own covers.

“Sleep tight, Derek,” he said.

“You too.”  

Chapter Text

Stiles couldn't remember the last time he’d slept so well, but it had to be before his father passed. The house had been too big and cold and quiet. It had been a different quiet from the nights where his dad had worked the night shift. Like the house too knew he wouldn’t return home.

Derek looked at him over breakfast, probably sniffing out his mood. He’d been unusually quiet, and for someone who used as few words as possible, that was really saying something. He had also served up a mountain of food so big that Stiles legit wondered if an army was about to swing by.

Chewing on a pancake, Stiles wondered if he should tell Derek that he already had an idea of what had happened to him and his family. He’d heard the stories, of course he had, but how much of that did Derek know? Considering how isolated he lived the answer was probably none.

But he deserved a chance to tell his story himself. And he deserved to do so without having it tainted with what Stiles thought he knew.

Just like he’d listened to Stiles.

“Where are we going, big wolf?” Stiles asked. It was fun to watch Derek preen at the big just to look sour, as if he hated that reaction.

“Forest, my old house,” Derek said. It was the first thing he’d said all morning. And the longest sentence Stiles had ever heard. Had it not been for the grim look on Derek’s face, Stiles would’ve teased him mercilessly.

Another day, maybe.

“Eat,” the werewolf ordered.

So Stiles obeyed. Maybe Derek had a secret feeding kink or something. It sure would explain why he kept feeding Stiles so much and so often. If Stiles didn’t start working out or something he would balloon out.

Maybe he could also just eat a bit less. But the food was delicious.

Derek packed the leftovers in neat Tupperware containers, stacking them in the fridge, ready for when they came back. Then he looked at Stiles’ feet, apparently trying to figure out what to do with them. The boots he had borrowed for walking around the mansion and to see the hens had been a bit big. Fine for that purpose, not so much for tracking in the forest.

Yet those were exactly the boots Derek handed him a moment later.

It was a relief that he at least got to dress himself. Much less humiliation, though a lot more flailing trying to keep his balance.

Derek handed him a coat and scarf too. Stiles wondered why the heck he had so many clothes when he seemed to hate it so much himself. He’d have to ask, one day. But maybe it was like the rooms, meant for people to come over and stay and borrow. Except no people came.

It was sad, really.

Derek led the way, walking slowly on bare feet. It was cold outside. Stiles was glad he was wearing a coat, boots, scarf and a full body of clothing underneath. Derek was wearing his undies.

It had to be cold. Even for a werewolf.

They walked through the forest, steps quiet on the dead leaves. Stiles felt like he was waking the entire forest every time he tripped or stepped on a branch, interrupting the silence with a loud snap.

By his best estimate they had walked maybe ten, fifteen minutes, by the time the forest changed. Stiles couldn’t say for sure what was going on, but it was like the entire atmosphere changed. It wasn’t like there had been a lot of birds before but now it was dead quiet, like not even the animals wanted to be there.

Derek led him through bushes and into a clearing.

What was left of a giant house loomed there. It was burned dark, windows cracked. Stiles swallowed. It looked like death. It was like the faint smell of smoke was still in the air, as if the house was ready to burn once again.

Derek looked like he was ready to fight or flee the scene.

He did neither, though. Instead he grabbed Stiles’ hand as if he too needed the comfort of the touch and led him around what was left of the house. The backside was even worse, walls crumbling in on themselves.

It had taken a lot of heat to cause that level of destruction.

He swallowed.

Four crosses, made with thick sticks bound together by twine, stood, marking the graves of Derek’s family.

“Dad, Mom, Laura, Cora,” Derek told him, voice thick. He was still holding Stiles’ hand.

“You buried them?” he asked.

“With paws.”

“Oh.”

“Didn’t… I wasn’t a wolf…” Derek tried to explain. “Until then. Wasn’t.”

Stiles squeezed his hand.

“Digged the graves by hand, first.” Derek swallowed, tried to clear his throat. “Hands turned to paws. As I digged.” 

Even if the words were hesitant and insecure, it wasn’t hard to imagine. Derek desperately trying to dig graves for his family, providing them some dignity in death, turning into a wolf for the first time.

“Hurt,” Derek told him. And Stiles wasn’t quite sure if Derek was talking about the emotional pain of burying his family with his bare hands or if the turn had been painful. Both, probably. He had no idea if grief could trigger a full on transformation like that, didn’t know enough about werewolves to be certain.

They stood quietly by the graves.

“Mom was the alpha. And wolf,” Derek said. “Knew it was bad… knew they died wh-when I turned alpha.”

Stiles couldn’t imagine that. Knowing that his family was dead, his body changed like that.

Derek opened his mouth again, closed it, as if he wasn’t quite sure if he should continue or not.

“Was late. Was supposed to burn.”

Stiles stared at him. Derek’s face was hard. He wasn’t quite sure if Derek meant that he had wanted to burn with his family at that time, that he was suffering from hardcore survivors guilt, or if whoever had killed his family had actually been after him.

Derek’s jaw was working, teeth grinding so loudly against one another Stiles was pretty sure they would turn into dust if he kept at it.

“I was too late,” Derek ended with.

Stiles didn’t know what to say? What do you tell a man who watched his family burn to a crisp, unable to do anything about it? What do you tell someone who buried them himself?

Stiles wondered if the bodies had ever been brought in for investigation, but maybe they’d not looked too hard for them. According to his dad it had not seemed like anyone had cared too much about the fire, back then.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said. It was probably too little, too late, but Derek nodded as if accepting it nevertheless.

It occurred to Stiles how similar their stories were, in turn of their families being ripped from them in traumatic and sudden ways. He’d not even had the option of seeing his dad’s headstone or place flowers there before he'd sacrificed.

He hoped Scott would do that.

They stood quietly in the chill air, hand in hand. Derek felt warm, even though that defied all logic.

Derek swallowed again. “Miss them. Wish… I wasn’t alone… meet you. See the house.”

And Stiles understood. There was so much he wanted to show his dad too. And his mom. And waking up and realizing that it wouldn’t happen was equally painful. Sometimes he still dreamt his mom was alive and well. It sucked.

“Wanted to kill. After. Her. Humans. Wanted death.” Revenge was probably the word Derek was searching so hard to find. But it felt wrong to interrupt him to tell him that.“Wanted not to be alone.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed, squeezing his hand. He wasn’t sure which of them he was trying to remind that they were no longer alone, they had one another, had someone to share their grief with now.

Maybe it was his fantasy playing him, but he was pretty sure Derek leaned into the touch.

…

“Do you hate humans?” Stiles asked, once they were back inside and Derek had showered.

Derek looked thoughtful.

“It just sounded a lot like it… And I couldn’t help but wonder why you rescued me if that was the case.”

“Wolf needs a pack.”

“Yeah, but in case your inner wolf or whatever is a bit slow in the uptake, I’m human, not wolf. Nor wolf-related, at least not as far as I’m concerned,” Stiles replied. He had not quite figured out the whole pack ordeal from his research either. Some sources suggested that pack was born, blood family, others that pack could be those chosen by the alpha. None of the sources had said anything about whether or not humans could be pack.

“Doesn’t matter,” Derek said.

“Can humans be pack?”

“Yes.”

Stiles couldn’t help the smile spreading on his face. “Good,” he said, and found that he meant it. Derek was a good man. Stiles didn’t have much reference for judging werewolves, and so he held Derek up against the ‘would Dad have approved’ scale. And aside from the lack of clothing, he felt pretty dang sure his dad would’ve loved Derek. Derek was always respectful, always ready to listen. He took good care of Stiles, made sure he was clothed and fed and cared for. That he had someone to talk to. He even pretended to care about all Stiles’ random rambling, even if he sometimes stalked out of the room when Stiles asked too many questions about werewolves. Or private. But that was probably more on Stiles than Derek, to be fair.

Yeah, so if Derek wanted Stiles in his little makeshift pack, Stiles was more than happy with that.

“Does that mean you have to bite me?” he asked.

Derek rolled his eyes. “No bitey-bitey Stiles.”

Satisfied, Stiles returned to his book. It was another one on werewolves – surprise! This one Derek did seem to agree with more of the content than he had with Wikipedia or Tumblr. Which, fair enough, neither of those were to be considered particularly good sources per se.

Derek couldn’t quite hide his smile behind a scowl as he sat back down with his own book. There was a strange sense of calm between them, like talking about the shit had happened to both of them had… yeah, well, Stiles didn’t quite know what had shifted, but it was like the last bit of tension was gone from the air.

Derek was close enough that they touched. Stiles had gotten quite used to that.

“Hand me my computer?” he asked.

It made the werewolf squint, but he also got what he wanted. Stiles had the funniest feeling Derek blamed the computer for upsetting Stiles the other day, though that fault was entirely on Stiles himself. The computer hadn’t opened Facebook after all.

Stiles started researching. On real wolves, this time, instead of werewolves. It was just an assumption he operated under, but he figured that what Derek did probably stemmed from wolf behaviour, especially considering he could turn into one. Stiles couldn’t wait for Derek to show him that one.

According to the all-knowing Dr. Google, Derek was scent marking him when he was rubbing his face or hands against Stiles’ face or neck. Which, maybe Stiles could’ve figured that one out all on his own if he had thought a bit about it. It was probably a pack thing, making Stiles smell like Derek and stuff.

Not that he minded.

He found a page on wolf courtship. Though a lot of Derek’s behaviour was consistent with that of a wolf courting another, Stiles found it unlikely. Partially because outside of touching and head bumping, Derek had yet to show any interest towards Stiles. But even more so because Derek probably was so starved from touch and affection it seemed unlikely that he even knew what he was doing.

Maybe werewolves were more tactile, too. Some sources had suggested that werewolves ended up being more tactile than both humans and wolves. How reliable they were was another matter. Stiles didn’t really feel like asking Derek, though to be fair, it wouldn’t be the strangest question he’d given the guy…

Derek looked over at him, as if reading his thoughts.

“Are werewolves very tactile?” he asked.

Derek nodded. “Pack.”

Okay, so they were back into one-sentence words. Considering how much Derek had talked at the burned down house, that was fine. Stiles understood well enough at this point. He was growing fluent in eyebrows and eyerolls, which were impressive on their own. 

He went back to his research. 

Chapter Text

Derek listened to Stiles’ heartbeat again. Maybe it was creepy to listen in like that, but he had smuggled the knitted socks into his bedroom to knit in the evening after Stiles had retreated to his own bedroom, or in the morning before he woke up. He recalled being a much faster knitter, but that was years ago and he had to work slower and more carefully to make sure everything was nice and even. The first sock was finished, completed with loose strands sewn nicely so they would not annoy Stiles’ feet, and Derek was working hard on the second one, trying to get them to match the best he could.

There had not been any more nightmares. Derek was grateful for that, though both him and the wolf mourned the loss of opportunity to sleep with Stiles.

The bed was cold and empty in a way Derek had not realized it was before.

The needles clicked rhythmically in his hands. After showing Stiles the burned down Hale house it had gotten easier to talk. He still felt awkward and stilted doing so, but his pronunciation as well as his ability to string multiple words together was improving. It still sounded too much like a child talking, but there was nothing he could do about that. Stiles did not seem to mind.

Stiles who wanted to be part of Derek’s pack. At least his words had suggested that. Derek was not so sure the human knew what he wanted. After all, how could it be Stiles’ choice when he did not have other options? His family was dead, his friends had abandoned him, so he had Derek and no one else. How could he make a decision based on this?

The wolf was unhappy too. It wanted Stiles as a pack. Derek did too.

Stiles’ heartbeat changed, suggesting that he was about to wake up. Derek had managed to knit half of the shaft for the sock and he felt satisfied with that.

He changed his underwear before walking downstairs to start preparing breakfast. Stiles was, impressively enough, even more of a klutz before his first cup of coffee, so Derek did not dare leave the kitchen to him before then. Or ever, if he had to be truly honest. The first aid kit was better not used.

And as always Stiles came into the kitchen as the coffee was finished brewing.

He looked beautiful in the warm light streaming through the windows. He yawned, stretching his arms over his head so a strip of skin was exposed over the waistband of his jogging pants. He had gained a bit of weight, Derek noticed with satisfaction.

“How come you’re always ready with food when I get up?” Stiles asked as he poured himself and Derek coffee. He let Derek’s be black before pouring too much sugar into his own.

Derek smirked, tapping the air beside his ear. “Wolf hearing,” he explained. The more he used his words, the better he would be at them, right? “Hear your heartbeat.”

“Creepy,” Stiles said, blowing on his coffee.

Derek shrugged. 

“But hey, if it gets me breakfast I’m not gonna protest too much.”

Derek bowed his head, smiling at the scrambled eggs.

“So what are we up to today?” Stiles asked.

Derek considered that a bit. “Shopping?” he suggested.

“Shopping?” Stiles asked, as if the concept were foreign to him.

“Yes. Shoes, jacket for you?” Derek suggested. It was getting colder, and in a while he would have to start wearing more clothes as well, at least outdoors when he was not in full wolf shift.

“Oh,” Stiles said. “How do we go shopping? I mean, we are in the middle of a forest.”

“Yes,” Derek agreed. “Go by car. To the city.”

The smell of fear filled the room, and Stiles looked very, very uncomfortable with the cup of coffee in his hand. “To Beacon Hills?” he asked, voice small.

Derek hurried to shake his head. “No, no! Neighbor city! Further!” he explained.

Stiles breathed out heavily. “Oh god, good. I dunno how I would explain being all alive and with a hot piece like you if I ran into someone I know, and like, everyone knows everyone in Beacon Hills.”

“Not Beacon Hills,” Derek replied, barely keeping a growl down. After all the town had been the reason he had to bury more people than just his family, trying to sacrifice to him. He had never figured out the reason for the sacrifices, but it was fairly clear from the triskele painted on them that they were meant for him.

“Good,” Stiles agreed. He took a sip of his coffee, making a face when it was clearly too hot to drink still. Derek had yet to attempt his own, and he had werewolf healing powers.

Derek looked at Stiles thoughtfully before taking the eggs of the heat. Maybe Stiles knew about the sacrifices and the whole reason for them, but Derek was not quite sure he wanted to know for certain. There had to be an explanation, but he had never heard it.

He proceeded to plate two plates for them. They ate sitting on the countertops in the kitchen. It was so domestic it almost hurt.

Maybe Stiles would want to leave once he was back among humans again. Maybe he would prefer to be with his own kin. Derek would not blame him, if that was what he wanted. But he would be sad. And alone.

The wolf would blame him.

Derek tried to suppress the negative thoughts and instead he focused on the taste of bacon on his tongue. Salty, crispy and perfectly cooked should he say so himself.

“Need groceries too,” he told Stiles.

“Are you saying you haven’t figured out how to grow bacon?” Stiles asked with a grin.

Derek rolled his eyes. Of course he had not figured out how to make bacon grow in trees, though it would be cheaper that way. Stiles loved bacon and would talk poetically about it whenever he had the chance. Derek was glad he had had a solid stash in his freezer before Stiles’ arrival, but it was getting low. As was fresh produce that was not in season.

And meat. The hens were still producing plenty of eggs, so there was no need to buy that.

Derek licked the fat off his lips, watching as Stiles’ amber eyes followed the movement of his tongue.

He knew Stiles found him attractive. He knew Stiles was of age. He knew his wolf approved. He did not know what to do with it.

Maybe it was a bit of Stockholm syndrome. While Derek had not kidnapped Stiles, the human also did not have anywhere safe to go but with Derek. It was bound to give some of the same emotional response, was it not?

Derek did not feel quite certain, but the idea left enough doubt in his mind that he was very careful to not do anything around Stiles that could make him think the attraction was reciprocated. Partially also because he was not quite sure what he felt himself. Or why.

Not that it mattered. It had only been a few weeks, and just because his wolf felt very strongly about Stiles and he was easy on the eyes it did not mean anything.

Stiles coughed and continued to eat his breakfast. As soon as they were finished, Derek went upstairs to get dressed. He chose a soft pair of worn jeans along with a black t-shirt that went perfectly well with his black leather jacket and the only pair of shoes his feet felt okay with wearing.

He could hear Stiles shuffle in his own room. Likely none of Derek’s clothing fit him very well, after all they were quite differently built. Another reason Stiles needed his own wardrobe. Even more so than Derek did, considering how he seemed to prefer being dressed where Derek did not. Had it not been for the one time a mosquito had bit his dick and made it itch Derek would likely be naked most of the time too.

He could hear Stiles emerge from his bedroom and shuffle downstairs. He tripped down the last step, cursing, as always. At that point Derek had simply stopped reacting to the last step, because otherwise he would not do anything but rescue Stiles from the stairs.

He would learn it one day, right?

Derek ran a hand through his hair. It was in need of a trim, he found. He would have to go by a hairdresser soon enough.

He heard Stiles breathing hitch as he walked down the stairs. The human stood with his mouth open in a small o, eyes big, clearly taking in what Derek looked like dressed.

Derek scowled at him. There was no need to make a big deal out of clothing.

Stiles' jaw snapped shut and he hurried to put on the sneakers Derek had found him. Like the boots they were sizes too big for Stiles, but since they could be tightened Derek figured it would work. They would attract less attention than hiking boots would for sure.

Derek grabbed his leather jacket, and Stiles breathing hitched again. If that was Stiles reaction to Derek being dressed, maybe he would start wearing clothes more often.

They walked in silence out to the car.

The Camero was not practical by any means, and driving her through the small forest road was a slow process.

“Dude, why don’t you have an offroad car?” Stiles asked. “I inherited my mom’s Jeep. Like, it was a piece of garbage for sure, and let’s not talk about the amount of gas she could swallow, but for roads like this? She would’ve been perfect and a lot better than a sports car. Like, I appreciate a sexy ride, lemme be real here, but it’s not very practical, is it?”

Derek refrained from rolling his eyes. Barely. “Gift from my Dad,” he replied.

That shut Stiles up.

It was also the primary reason Derek had not changed it for a more practical car. That, and once they hit the roads it was pure bliss to drive.

“Oh my god, I never thought we would see an actual road!” Stiles exclaimed ten minutes later when they rolled from the dirt roads in the preserve and onto actual pavement.

Derek looked over at him, smirking, before he pressed the gas pedal.

Stiles laughed.

It sounded free and happy and easy.

Like for a moment Stiles had forgotten about his dead parents, about being sacrificed to a werewolf, about his friends. The wolf took great pride in them having been the reason for such a carefree laugh.

He eased off on the pedal to a more reasonable speed, driving just below the limit. Stiles chattered happily beside him, talking about having seen Jesus in a tree once, and about how it was strange how nature could resemble faces, and how it was still better than the dude from Glee who had seen Jesus in a toast.

Derek zoned out. He enjoyed the sound of Stiles’ voice, but he did not understand many of the actual words.

“Have you not watched Glee?” Stiles asked, once he realized that Derek was in no way able to follow his conversation about how Rachel and Finn were an odd pairing in the first place, and how he liked the voice of Mercedes the best.

“No,” Derek said.

“Oh my, you are really missing out! Like, not that I would ever admit to watching it out loud, you know, but it is a really good guilty pleasure.”

Derek was not sure if it was worth pointing out that Stiles had just admitted out loud to liking it, even cared enough that he had spent the past ten minutes ranting about the couples in the series.

“But like, I do think it’s marketed for teenage girls or something. I also don’t get why they always have adults play teenagers in high school series? Like, what’s up with that? My body at 16 did not look anything like what I saw in movies, I was waay, way too scrawny,” Stiles continued as Derek turned left.

“Not that I’m not still scrawny. After Dad died I guess I forgot to eat for a bit. It was like food tasted wrong, I guess? But you’ve changed that, I might end up becoming fat instead from all the delicious grub you’re feeding me.”

Derek sighed, resigning for a trip listening to Stiles rambling about stuff. He had a feeling the human did not come with a stop button. The few times Derek had stared at him to shut up, he had smelled so sad he quickly stopped doing that.

Another 20 minutes and Stiles was going over the rules for lacrosse. Derek did not care.

Turning into the city Stiles was starting to talk about training at home so he could keep in shape.

“What do you do to stay so fit?” he asked Derek.

“Run in the forest. Push-ups?” Derek answered, not really sure what the different exercises he did was named.

“We should totally get matching workout gear.”

“No.”

“Come oooon Derek! It would be like super adorable or something.”

Derek almost regretted bringing Stiles out for shopping. He had never worn clothes while working out, and he had no intentions about starting now.

“I would need running shoes, if I were to start running,” Stiles said. Then he turned awfully quiet.

“Huh?”

“Running shoes are expensive.”

Derek sighed. “Not a problem.”

And it really was not. How had his house not given away that he was well off? All his parents money had become his once the shitty excuse for an investigation was over. Derek had more money than he knew what to do with in a lifetime. Spending a bit on having a running partner would be the least of his worries.

The wolf liked the idea. Derek almost snorted out loud. Of course the wolf liked the idea of running in the forest with Stiles.

“Clothes first,” he told Stiles, turning right down to the mall. He parked in the basement parking, wrinkling his nose at the stench of gasoline in the air down there.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“And shoes. For outside.”

Stiles sighed. “I don’t want you to spend a fortune on me, Derek.”

“Not a problem,” Derek repeated.

“I should have money somewhere, I’m just not sure how to get to them, you know? I’m not sure if I’m dead or missing or anything in the public system, either. It’s weird.”

“Stiles,” Derek said. The human turned his head. “Not a problem. I’ll pay.”

Stiles opened his mouth as if he were about to protest again, then closed it, jaw setting. Derek took it as acceptance, even if Stiles was not too happy about it. He could hate it, for all Derek cared. He needed clothes and shoes that fit him, and if he wanted to run in the preserve with him, Stiles needed good running shoes too.

Derek entertained the thought of running in full wolf shift besides Stiles as they walked towards a menswear store.

He felt like an awkward intruder as the young store clerk helped Stiles try on different outfits, figuring out his size and what styles looked good on him and which did not.

Stiles looked so much better in clothes that were in his size. When he emerged in a pair of sinfully tight jeans, Derek’s mouth went dry. He would never be able to focus if Stiles wore something like that at home.

Stiles grinned at him as if he knew exactly what Derek’s slack-faced response to his question about the jeans meant.

Stiles ended up deciding on 5 colored t-shirts and an extra black one because there were three for the price of two offers, and three pairs of jeans along with three packs of boxers and socks. Derek hoped he would appreciate the homemade socks as much as he seemed to appreciate the clothes they had just bought.

“Shoes now?” Derek suggested. The suggestion was met by a big grin, so he assumed Stiles was on board.

Walking down the mall the sweet scent of donuts hit his nostrils. Derek could not for the life of him remember the last time he had eaten a donut, but it was way before Stiles moved in. He rarely ate sweets, but when he did he could down five donuts in one sitting no problem.

“Like donuts?” he asked Stiles.

“Are you kidding me? Like, who doesn't love donuts? Everyone loves donuts, Derek, of course I love donuts too!”

And that was how they ended up with twelve donuts to go, six different kinds. Derek’s mouth was watering just thinking about eating them once they got home.

Stiles already seemed hyper enough without the sugar. But he was generally crawling the walls, so there was no news there.

Getting Stiles a pair of every-day sneakers and a pair of warmer boots went without a hitch. He protested about the price, Derek rolled his eyes.

The lady behind the desk commented something to Stiles about it being nice that his boyfriend was happy to spend that much money on him. Neither of them corrected her. It was just easier that way.

Stiles' stomach grumbled as they looked for a store that would carry good running shoes. Derek thought an actual running store would be the better option, Stiles insisted than any sports store would be plenty fine.

“Lunch?” Derek suggested.

“Oh god yes.” Stiles petted his stomach as if to emphasize how empty it was.

“What you want?”

“What do you want,” Stiles corrected him.

Derek stopped himself from glaring. Stiles was only helping him improve his spoken language. “What do you want?” he repeated.

He was rewarded by a breathtaking grin. “I saw a burger joint. I could really do with a greasy burger. With curly fries, oh my god, yes, I hope they have curly fries.”

“Curly fries?”

“Dude, Derek, my man! How do you not know about curly fries and their absolute superior to other fries?” Stiles asked.

Derek made a face. How one fry could be better than another he had no idea, as long as they were crispy.

Stiles grabbed his arm and practically dragged him to the burger joint, clearly very obsessed with the idea of showing Derek curly fries. The place thankfully had them on their menu. Derek was not quite sure what would have happened if not, but he had a feeling he would also rather not find out.

They were seated in a slightly secluded booth, by a sweet looking girl, menu cards in their hands.

Stiles looked at it for two seconds before putting it down with a grin. “What are you gonna order?” he asked.

Derek sighed. “Reading,” he responded patiently.

“Nah, come one dude. No one reads the menu at burger joints.”

Derek glared, which did not serve to shut Stiles up. He started back up on the superiority of curly fries as Derek skimmed the menu, finally deciding on a crispy chicken burger with a lot of sides. He was hungry.

The waitress came a moment later to take Stiles' order of a double cheeseburger with curly fries, ketchup and a large cola and Derek’s off crispy chicken burger, fries and a snack basket with different deep fried cheesy stuff. And two aiolis. He loved aioli. And a large Coke as well.

“It’s a good thing we are not actually in a relationship,” Stiles told him as the waitress left.

“Why?” Derek asked, not sure what Stiles was trying to say.

“You ordered aioli. That shit has a ton of garlic in it. And like, that’s something you can taste when you kiss. Especially considering that none of what I just ordered has garlic.”

“Oh,” Derek said. He had not thought about his kissing breath for years.

“Yeah, so like I said, it’s a good thing we are just fake shopping boyfriends,” Stiles said.

Derek nodded, not really sure he understood what was going on in Stiles’ head. He tried, sometimes, to follow the thought process of the human, but he was left unable to do so.

He watched in fascination as Stiles tapped his fingers against the table, running his foot against the other in a rhythm completely out of sync with one another. He did not seem impatient, just restless.

“I know I move a lot,” Stiles said, apparently catching Derek’s gaze.

“Yes.”

“I hope it’s not too annoying. I can’t really do much about it, especially not without my meds.”

Derek blinked.

“Dude, please tell me you know what ADHD is?”

“I do.”

“Yeah, so, that’s what I’ve got. And the hyperactivity is like, way worse when I don’t have my meds. I’m not saying it’s always great on them, but that’s probably because I have a tendency to take too much sometimes and forget it at other times, you know?”

Derek did not know. He had never been on any kind of medication as far as he could recall.

“Do you need your meds?”

Stiles looked at him thoughtfully. “That depends on what your definition of need is, I guess. I mean, I can’t really focus all that well without it. Except if I find something really interesting, then I might hyperfocus and forget everything around me. Executive dysfunction is a bitch and a half too, but I dunno how much you notice that.”

“Execute-t-ive dysfunction?” Derek repeated, struggling a bit with the words.

“Yeah. Like, when executive functions like, functions, you are able to do stuff like cooking in the right order, you know? You’ll read the recipe, get an overview of what to do and get stuff ready in the right time for the dish to be finished at a set time, right? And if there’s multiple components, you’ll finish those so everything is somewhat ready at the same time, yeah?” Stiles rambled as the waitress placed the drinks at the table, telling them it would just be a moment before their food was ready.

“Yes,” Derek said. He understood that well enough.

“Yeah, so the dysfunction is what happens a lot when I don’t have my meds. So I might forget what I’m doing as I’m doing it, not have things ready at time, or like, do it halfway because I get distracted. Believe me, my cooking without meds is a disaster zone. No, ignore that, my cooking is generally always a disaster zone, but it is a freaking apocalyptic mess when I don’t have my meds to help me out.”

Derek nodded seriously. “Good thing I’m cooking,” he said.

“Dude, that was a whole sentence! Woo you!”

Derek did not even need to glare for Stiles to look embarrassed about what he had just said. Derek was not a dog, he did not need to get showered with praise every time he did anything right. But while he would not admit so out loud to Stiles, it was nice to know that someone saw and appreciated his efforts to speak more clearly.

Stiles sipped his Coke. “Not sure the sugar is helping any. Sugar and caffeine are like stimulants, but I think I read somewhere that it’s like having fun effects on ADHD brains. Remind me to research that when we are back home?”

“I will.”

Their food arrived. Derek only felt a little guilty about the mountain of food in front of him. Stiles made him try the curly fries.

“Same-same,” Derek said, pointing at his own straight fries and Stiles’ curly fries. He really could not tell the difference, aside from the shape.

Stiles looked positively offended by the suggestion that fries could be compared to fries.

His burger was awesome. The chicken was juicy inside the crispy coating, the bun was toasted with full fat butter, and the pickles cut through the fat just enough it did not taste like it was eating grease by the spoonful.

Stiles was moaning happily around his own.

Once his burger was demolished, Derek started on the mozzarella sticks, dipping them into the aioli much to Stiles’ amusement.

“So you are dipping your fat filled mozzarella sticks in even more fat?”

Derek nodded. It was delicious, that was all that mattered. Especially with the metabolism he had going on. He could probably eat similar junk food most days without gaining weight.

Stiles stole a mozzarella stick and dipped it into the aioli as well. Judging by the way his eyes went wide and he hurried to re-dip it, he too had found it delicious.

They quickly polished off their meal.

“Maybe we should have gone for running shoes before lunch,” Stiles said. “I feel too full to move. Like, I’m not even sure I can get out from here. Maybe you have to carry me. You could totally do that, couldn’t you?”

“Yes. Carried you through the forest.”

“Oh yeah! That’s right. So you could. If I didn’t wanna move?”

“Yes.”

Stiles smiled as he took another sip of his almost empty Coke. Derek chewed his last fry, hoping that Stiles was not serious about being carried around the mall. While it was not a problem for him to carry Stiles’ weight, it would be awkward with the shopping bags and donuts as well.

Considering that the burger joint was not all that crowded, they stayed for another fifteen minutes, just relaxing and talking and digesting the massive meal they had just consumed. Derek figured that maybe 12 donuts had been overkill for dessert, but considering that he could not remember the last time he had eaten donuts, it did seem fair enough.

“Alrrrrighty,” Stiles said, rolling the R obnoxiously. “Time for running shoes!”

Derek paid for their food and drinks and left a generous tip as they left the place.

“Feel up for the test?”

“Test?” Stiles asked, looking pale all of a sudden.

“Running test,” Derek clarified. It had been years since he had last had running shoes fitted, but that part of the process he could remember. It was back when his parents had still tried to insist he should wear some kind of footwear when he was out running in the forest. Probably to pass for human if he met anyone when he went jogging.

“Oh, yeah sure. I might puke if I’m pushed too hard, but honestly that has more to do with my shitty physical shape than anything else.”

“Please do not.” Vomit was one of the things Derek really had a difficult time handling. Blood, fine. Urine less fine, but he could deal. Feces, preferably not would manage. Vomit? He did not stand a chance.

Someone had once named him a sympathetic vomiter. While he could not remember ever being sick himself some of the humans in their pack had from time to time. Derek had not been able to deal with that without vomiting himself.

“No need to look so pale, I won’t,” Stiles said. It did not sound very reassuring.

Derek gave him a ‘you better not’ look.

Stiles grinned.

The running test went fine. Derek paid the overprice for shoes he could have ordered for half the price online, but he did so happily because it meant he could go running with Stiles.

Maybe they would run together on the full moon. One day.

The wolf loved that thought.

Chapter Text

Derek had been acting agitated. Stiles had no clue what was going on, and the werewolf was refusing to use his big boy words and talk about it. He was acting more like the Derek Stiles had gotten to know the early days, except way, way more protective.

It was odd, seeing him take steps back like that. Stiles wanted to know what had caused the behavioural change. His best guess from the books he’d read on werewolves and the documentaries about wolves he’d made Derek sit through was that Derek felt as if his territory was threatened.

But they were alone in a big ass forest!

It made no sense, none whatsoever that Derek was acting all big and growley and fangs ready to slice and invisible enemy.

If it wasn’t for the fact that Derek’s behaviour honest to god scared Stiles shitless, it would have been comic. The dude was growling at the front door for crying out loud! His own front door!

But the past few weeks Stiles had seen nothing from Derek that suggested that the werewolf was not in full control of himself, so it was unsettling, to say the least, that Derek acted like that.

“Dude, what’s up with you?” Stiles asked when Derek re-emerged in the living room. He was clearly patrolling.

Derek grumbled something. It could have been words, it was potentially just another growl.

Then he stiffened, standing perfectly still.

“Humans!” he hissed, words slurred by his fangs.

Stiles scrambled to get up from the couch. Humans could mean many things, but Derek was having neither of those. He grabbed Stiles by the arm and dragged him towards the garage as someone knocked on the front door, and an all too familiar voice called Stiles’ name.

It took him too long to process, wasn’t until Derek basically had him pinned in the garage, heaving and growling and sounding all too much like a rabid dog that Stiles’ brain caught up.

“That was Scott!” he told Derek.

Derek growled.

“Dude, dude, that was Scott! Okay, I’m telling you, that was Scott, okay? Lemme up! I need to go see if it’s really him!”

The growling intensified.

“Okay, okay, I get that you don’t trust him. You have no reason to trust humans, that’s fair enough man, but come on! That’s my best friend, out there, who thinks I’m dead or something!”

Derek continued to growl.

Stiles got the feeling that he was listening still. The tone and stance had shifted, from something protective into something terrified. Had it not been for the glowing eyes and giant fangs being pinned down by Derek would actually have been kinda hot. Scratch that, even with red glowing eyes and fangs it was damned hot, but Stiles was focused on something else, dammit! Derek really had the worst timing ever!

“Scott isn’t gonna burn your house down,” Stiles told him, running a hand over Derek’s bicep in what he hoped was a totally calming pattern. He didn’t know much about angry wolves or werewolves, or dogs for that matter, but touch had always seemed to be a good plan with Derek.

Derek looked at him as to say ‘how the fuck would you know that’. It was a good thing Stiles was fluent in eyebrows.

“We met when we were like, four, dude, I know Scott okay! And maybe he should’ve written on Facebook to say that he missed me or whatever, but maybe he also had a good reason, you know? I need to go talk to him, okay? I cannot let him continue to believe I’m dead. That’s not cool, not cool at all! Like, what if I were someone you loved and you were Scott searching for me? Wouldn’t you want to know that I was okay?”

Derek huffed at that, growling subsiding some.

“I promise Derek, Scott is about as dangerous as a potted plant. I mean sure, they can kill you but you kinda have to bring that on yourself, if it does that, you know?” Okay, maybe that had not been the wisest choice of words, but it did seem to do the trick.

Derek’s fangs slowly receded in a way that had to be painful, his red eyes bleeding into grey-green and light like Stiles was so used to.

“Leaving?” Derek asked. There was so much heartbreak in that one word that Stiles’ heart ached with it.

“No, Derek, god no. I’m not leaving. I just want to tell them that I’m okay, okay? We can go from there, you know? Figure out what to do then? But I’m staying, okay, I’m not leaving you.”

Derek stared at him, eyes burning into Stiles’ as if he tried to figure out if that was the truth or what was going on there.

Then he started to move, giving Stiles space to breathe and notice exactly how close they’d just been. Stiles got to his feet, awkwardly, accepting a hand from Derek.

“I promise,” he added. Derek looked so afraid and so sad that Stiles would do almost anything to make him look happy and safe again. Except maybe letting his best friend think he was dead.

That was just cruel.

But looking at Derek he couldn’t help but wonder if that too, was cruel. Derek was afraid to be alone again and Stiles knew that feeling all too well. There was no alone like having your entire family dead and gone. Nothing compared.

He grabbed Derek by the hands, getting his attention. Then he placed his hands on his scruffy cheeks, running his palms down his face, scent marking him like Derek so often did to him. Stiles had never reciprocated before, and Derek had to know that it meant something.

“I’m not leaving,” Stiles said, just to make sure Derek had gotten the point. He was swaying towards Stiles as if his knees where giving out

A loud bang on the garage door interrupted their moment. Scott had given up on the front door, it appeared.

“Stiles! You in there?”

Stiles looked at Derek. The werewolf looked pained and like he wanted to hide them and wait for the intruders to go away.

Stiles sighed, then he gave Derek a final pet on his shoulder before walking over to open the door.

Scott stared at him with big puppy dog eyes as if he couldn’t believe that Stiles was actually there. He was laughing and crying and belatedly, Stiles realized that he was too. Relief was flooding his system. He had not been forgotten! Scott hadn’t been a shitty friend! He had been looking for Stiles!

“Dude, I thought you were dead!” Scott all but wailed at Stiles. He winced at the volume. For someone with shitty lungs, Scott sure could make a lot of sound when he wanted to.

“You know me, I’m harder to kill than that!” Stiles laughed — or cried. He wasn’t quite sure, the emotions overflowing into one big puddle of everything.

“Oh my god! How did you not die?” Scott demanded.

Stiles hugged him one last time for good measure, stepping back to gesture to Derek. For someone who could look both big and intimidating, Derek stood very small and very awkwardly and like someone who for once felt exactly as naked as he was.

“This is Derek, he saved my sorry ass.”

Scott swallowed audibly by Stiles. “Thanks,” he said, the words clearly directed at Derek who nodded stiffly and awkwardly, reduced back into someone who communicated via face and not words.

“Dude, I gotta tell everyone else!” Scott said.

“Everyone else?” Stiles asked, not quite sure who that would entail.

“Yeah! Lydia and Allison are out looking too! And Erica!”

“Erica?” Stiles repeated. He had always liked Erica well enough, but they could not be considered friends, not really. After Lydia had taken her under her wing she had transformed into someone more confident and with a lot more style, albeit still epileptic. As far as Stiles knew her new meds kept it better under control, but not well enough that she would ever be allowed to drive a car, considering that her seizures tended to happen without warning. But yeah, they weren’t really good enough friends that Stiles would expect her to track the forest thin for him.

“Yeah! Yeah! She insisted on coming when we talked about going looking for you! Like, after you were online on messenger? Nothing for weeks, and bam, online! Like, we knew you had to be alive ‘cause I couldn’t remember your password to save my life!”

“Oh,” Stiles said.

“I’m just gonna call them to let them know,” Scott said. “Is it cool if I come in?”

Stiles looked over at Derek. He nodded. The movement looked almost painful on him.

“Go around and I’ll let you in the front door instead,” Stiles told Scott, deciding that Derek maybe needed a moment and a half to prepare himself for the idea of having a shitload of people in his house.

“Sure!” Scott agreed, smiling at Stiles. He almost felt bad about closing the garage door.

“You okay?” he asked Derek.

The werewolf didn’t look okay, and he really didn’t behave like someone who was okay either.

Derek didn’t reply, just looked at Stiles with huge eyes. He opened his mouth, trying to talk but nothing came out.

“I know Scott can be a lot. I’m sorry dude,” Stiles said.

Derek shook his head, looking upset and frustrated. His jaw was working, teeth grinding against each other in a painful sound.

“I can meet them outside, if that’s better for you?” Stiles offered. He’d read online that werewolves could be rather teritorial and judging from Derek’s reaction to strangers, that could very well be true.

“No!” Derek protested, finally finding his voice.

“Why not? I get why you don’t want strangers inside your house.”

Derek didn’t use his words again, instead found himself with an armful of hot werewolf. He was being hugged so hard the air was pushed out his lungs.

“Ooof,” he protested, trying to make Derek aware that he needed oxygen.

Derek was growling softly. It was not an angry sound. It was sad. And terrified, Stiles realized. He also needed to get as fluent in growls as he was in eyebrows.

“Derek, listen up man. I know I already said this, but I’m not gonna leave okay? Where would I go? I’m happy to live here with you, but I need to see my friends. You understand that, don’t you?”

Without eyebrows to go with, Stiles had to decipher the tone of Derek’s growl. It was not an easy task okay?

He ran a gentle hand up Derek’s back, trying to go for a calming movement again. “I’m not leaving,” he repeated. Hopefully if he said it enough time it would sink in and Derek would understand that he meant the words.

“I know you can tell if I’m lying. So listen to me, Derek. I’m not leaving with Scott.”

Derek’s growling evened out and he withdrew, allowing Stiles to breathe freely again. He still looked like a kicked puppy though, and damned if that didn’t hurt all the soft things inside of Stiles. He’d never meant for Derek to be that upset.

“Go up and get some clothes on, okay big guy?”

Derek whined low in his throat. And while Stiles knew it was probably terrible to compare him to a dog, the analogy was so fitting.

Stiles placed a hand on Derek’s scruffy face. “I’m not leaving. You can go dress yourself before meeting my friends. Not that I mind you in all of your half-naked glory, you know I don’t, but it is a bit awkward to saunter around in front of them like that, don’t you think?”

Derek stared at him. He looked a bit more like the Derek Stiles had come to care about. Eyebrows were back in communication!

They walked through the garage together. Derek was like having a second shadow, glued to Stiles. There was a steady hand when Stiles tripped over his own feet.

“Stiles, please stay?” Derek asked once they were back at the front door. His voice was shaking. God. It shouldn’t do mushy things to Stiles’ insides that Derek was so terrified that he would leave, but it did. Maybe it made him some kind of horrible shit person, but it felt good to be wanted and needed.

“I will stay.”

Derek nodded once, before walking upstairs. Stiles watched his glorious ass flex up the steps. An insisting knock on the front door dragged him back to reality.

He opened the door. It was still just Scott, but considering that Stiles had no idea where the others had been looking, it could be a while before they made an appearance.

Scott hugged him. Again.

Stiles returned the hug, overwhelmed by the familiarity of hugging Scott. It felt so great. A bit like being back home, like nothing had ever changed.

“Come on in. But leave your shoes at the door.”

Scott obediently took off his shoes. “I’ve sent GPS coordinates to the others, they should be here soon.”

“Smart,” Stiles commented.

“So who was that dude with you?” Scott asked. It was a testament to their friendship that he was not asking why Derek was not wearing clothes.

“Derek,” Stiles said. “He rescued me in the forest and I’ve been living here since.”

“Sweeet. This place is ginormous.”

Stiles hummed in agreement, not really sure what to say other than that. While hugging Scott had felt a bit like coming home, talking to him was another thing. He hadn’t known he could feel that awkward around his best friend, but he did.

He swallowed. Even if Derek had said he shouldn’t meet Scott outside, it still felt strange to invite him inside. 

“Come on, let’s make some coffee while we wait for everyone,” Stiles found himself saying. 

Scott followed him into the kitchen. 

It was just a matter of waiting, then. 

Chapter Text

Derek felt sick as he walked up the stairs, leaving Stiles with his friend. He could not shake the feeling that Stiles was about to leave with him, that he would not come back; that he would take the laughs and the happiness with him and leave Derek alone in the big, empty house.

Stiles made the house feel alive, like a place Derek wanted to live. Stiles made Derek feel alive, and now he was pretty sure he had not been feeling that way since the fire.

Derek swallowed as he stepped into a pair of tight, black jeans. They were worn and frayed at the hems and the inner thighs, but it was not like anyone would look there. Then he put on a t-shirt. He could not help the feeling that he was dressing up for a funeral, all black.

Not that he really owned enough clothes to be picky. Stiles was the one with colors. Derek had yet to finish the socks, but considering the bright red wool he had a feeling Stiles would appreciate them for the color alone, even if they were a bit uneven and wonky.

Derek looked at the hiding spot for his knitting, trying to shake the feeling that Stiles would not stay long enough for him to finish the second sock. There was only the toe left to knit.

He shook his head, willing the thoughts away. Stiles had promised to stay.

The wolf was restless, whining inside his head. It too was filled with fear, he knew. Maybe even more so than Derek, the wolf needed a pack, and Stiles had been it. Filling the pieces Derek that had been missing so long. 

He could hear Scott and Stiles talking downstairs. 

Derek scrubbed a hand over his face, willing himself out of his bedroom. He wanted to hide there so bad it hurt, hide from the pain and the fear.

But he was a man, not a scared animal. And not being there might make Stiles think that he did not care, and Derek needed him to know that he did, that he cared so much it hurt.

Stiles' friend, Scott, looked at him. At any other time Derek would have found his face to be friendly, big brown eyes and a smile that reached them. His slightly uneven jawline added character more than anything else. But that moment, Derek hated Scott. Hated that he had come to disturb their carefully constructed peace. Hated that he was there to take his Stiles.

Derek’s jaw was set so hard the muscles hurt with it, and he could not be bothered to return Scott’s friendly greeting. Instead he just stared. He hoped Stiles would understand that he was not trying to be a shitty person, but that he really, really could not in that moment.

“Don’t worry about Derek, he can be a bit shy.”

“Shy?” Scott replied, then under his breath mumbling that Derek looked like a serial killer who had decided on Scott as his next prey.

Stiles laughed at that.

Derek figured it was not meant for him to hear.

“Listen up Scotty, how about we drink that cup of coffee or something while we wait for everyone else? It’s not that I don’t want to tell you what happened, but it is kind of a long story, so I’m saving it for when we are all here.”

“Fair,” Scott agreed. There was a faint smell of antiseptic, animals and medicine to Scott. A vet? No, he looked too young to have finished that amount of education already, but he could be working at a clinic.

“Do you want a cup as well, Derek?” Stiles asked him.

Derek followed them into the kitchen, assuming it was a way to invite him into the conversation. Stiles looked at him expectantly, so maybe it had been a real question as well. He nodded, wondering if he should take over before Stiles had even started.

Most of the time he was successful with the coffee machine.

Most of the time.

Derek leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. He watched as Stiles worked through the motions of the machine, chattering to Scott about the hens and the garden and Derek’s cooking.

Scott looked over at him, like Stiles’ explanation gave him a whole new view of Derek.

Derek continued to lean.

The coffee machine sputtered to life, hot coffee dripping into the pot at even intervals. Derek tuned into the sound, finding the rhythmic parts of it calming.

Stiles sat down at the dinner table alongside Scott.

“How did you find me?” he asked.

Scott looked thoughtful. “I dunno if everyone else wants to be here for that explanation too, it was a group effort to be honest.”

Stiles nodded, seemingly accepting that. Derek wanted to know so he could make sure no one else came by. So he could keep Stiles safe and sound.

The wolf agreed.

They both regretted buying the computer if it meant Stiles would be leaving. For something bought with the intention of happiness, it sure had caused a lot of heartache.

“I’ve missed you,” Scott told Stiles too.

And Derek could hear how Stiles’ heart skipped a beat at that, as if those words meant a lot to him. And considering his breakdown when no one had messaged him on Facebook, it did. Derek wondered if he should say nice things to Stiles more often. If that would make him more likely to stay.

It was maybe too little too late already.

“I missed you too,” Stiles replied softly. His voice was shaking with emotion.

Derek glared at Scott.

The coffee machine made it’s usual ‘finished brewing sound’. Before Derek could start pouring them coffee, Stiles was already on his feet. He handed Derek a cup of black coffee before making his own.

“How do you want yours?” he asked Scott. It made Derek feel a bit better that Stiles knew how he wanted his coffee, but not how Scott preferred his.

“Just milk,” Scott said. Derek watched Stiles pour milk into both cups, adding a generous helping of sugar to his own, before pouring the coffee. He handed Scott the one without sugar, blowing on his own.

They sat in silence, sipping their coffee for a few moments. They smelled content.

Derek looked up as he heard steps in the forest.

“Are there more coming?” Stiles asked, apparently noticing his reaction. Derek nodded. So Stiles got to his feet and walked towards the front door. Derek wanted to tell him it would be another moment before they would arrive. After all he had heard Scott stumbling around in the area hours before he had found the house, but since these people had coordinates to work with, it was likely it would take them a lot less time.

Scott stared at him, mouth half open. “How do you know that someone is coming?” he asked.

Derek wondered if he should bother to answer. The wolf thought no, not considering that Scott was there to take their Stiles.

In the end he settled for tapping his ear.

Scott looked like he wanted to ask more questions, but refrained, opting to blow on his coffee instead. It was a wise choice. Derek was not in the mood for conversation.

A few minutes later more chatter filled the room. It was all female voices this time, and Stiles invited them in with a big smile in his voice. He sounded so happy and relieved to finally see his friends, and how could Derek be mad about that? He wanted to hate them, but it was difficult to hate someone that made Stiles happy. Except maybe Scott, just because he had been the first to show up.

“Derek!” Stiles yelled, as if Derek had not already noticed that he had re-entered the kitchen with his friends in tow.

“This is Lydia,” Stiles said, pointing to a beautiful redhead who was dressed in clothes even Derek knew were too expensive to wear while tracking someone in the forest. “And Allison and Erica.” Allison was a cute, dark haired girl with dark eyes. Like Scott she smiled so her eyes lit up. Erica looked a little more cautious, blond hair styled into curls. Derek did not know why he got the distinct feeling that something was off about the way she held herself.

“They’re my friends,” Stiles continued.

Derek nodded, hoping that would make do as a greeting.

Stiles put over another pot of coffee. Erica declined a cup, and Stiles sent her a smile like he knew something that Derek did not. With all the scents he was unfamiliar with it was impossible to scent if there was anything wrong with her, but he could not help the feeling that there was.

Once everyone had coffee to their liking, Stiles sat down on the kitchen table, leaving Derek alone by the counter.

“So how did ya’ll find me?” he asked.

The bunch looked at one another, then Lydia opened her mouth.

“We were all told that you were dead. But there was no body, and no funeral either, which seemed strange since we all know you want to be buried with your parents… Considering that you were supposed to be dead, it was not really a surprise that your social media went dark. Everyone seemed to think you were too,” she said. Her voice was soft. Derek felt certain she was intelligent. “I paid Danny to do some digging. We found a death certificate, claiming you had died from unknown causes. They put it down to a complication of Adderall overdose. And while I think we all know that even FDA approved amphetamines can be dangerous in high doses, you showed no signs of overusing it.”

Stiles nodded. Derek took a sip of his coffee, listening focused to what Lydia said.

Then Scott took over. “I figured that maybe you had made a sacrifice and that you weren’t really dead! It’s not like we know what has happened to the previous sacrifices, and the timing fit around the full moon!”

Lydia sent Scott a gaze that best could be described as how a big sister would look at their little brother when they said something stupid. Derek would know what that looked like. Laura had given him that look quite a lot. 

“But we still had nothing to go by,” Lydia continued. “Considering that neither of us had heard from you, that your social media was dead and that your phone couldn’t be traced, we did start to wonder if maybe you were dead. It was hard to tell. And then one day, boom, you were online on messenger! I asked Danny to track that, but even his skills have limits. The best he could do was tell us that the computer that had logged into your account was somewhere in the preserve, and that was it.”

Scott grinned. “So we started looking through the preserve. I printed a map, and we divided it into sections so we could search properly. It has taken a while, seeing as we started on the wrong end, but whatever man, worth it!”

Allison was smiling widely. Erica smiled too, though more carefully as if she was not sure if she was intruding or not. Derek knew that feeling all too well.

“But what happened?” Allison asked, clearly directed at Stiles.

Stiles cleared his throat, then took a sip of his coffee. “I can’t remember everything, but I was to be sacrificed as you guys figured out!”

“To werewolves,” Allison said, not sounding like she believed that. Derek found that odd. As far as he was concerned, everyone in Beacon Hills knew about werewolves.

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed. “I was drugged and practically naked, and then they cut me. And after that it’s blank for a while, until I woke up here with Derek. He took care of me and made sure my wound didn’t get infected and that I didn’t get sick. And I’ve stayed here ever since.”

“Why didn’t you write to us?” Scott asked.

Stiles’ smile disappeared. “This is going to sound so horrible. But since none of you had written to me on Facebook, asking where the hell I was or like, stating that you missed me or something, I got it into my head that maybe you didn’t care? I mean, it was not like I had been the best friend lately or anything.”

Everyone around the table seemed to move awkwardly at that.

“Stiles,” Lydia said. “We were not blaming you. Never. Your dad’s death was not your fault. Not a single one of us blames you for grieving. That did not make you a bad friend.”

Derek wished Stiles could hear that she was telling the truth, because it was words he had needed to hear and no matter how much Derek told him that his fathers’ death had not been on him, he still thought it was. Just like Derek still blamed himself for the fire, or at least, on the good days, for not burning with his family.

“But Lyds…”

“No, Stiles. If anything we were the ones who let you down by not looking more after you, not being with you. I should have offered that you could stay with us – and don’t give me that look, I know you would’ve never agreed, but you should have had the offer!”

“Same,” Allison agreed.

“Yeah,” Erica said.

Scott was quiet, but Derek had the feeling that he had offered and had been turned down.

“We shouldn’t have left you alone,” Erica said. “If we’d been there they couldn’t have abducted you.”

“Guys…” Stiles started.

“No, Stiles, listen,” Lydia interrupted. “You were not to blame. We are just happy you are alive and well, and that someone has cared for you. You look better than I’ve seen you in months.”

And if the Stiles that Derek had found in the forest had been representative, Derek agreed with her. He had been too skinny, smelled too much like grief. The scent of grief still clung to his skin, but so did contentment and happiness, and Derek chose to focus on how he had been the one to make Stiles smell happy.

“I can see you’ve some gained weight back on, you have color in your face. You behave like someone who is alive and who wants to be. That’s not how you were when you disappeared.”

Everyone around the table nodded their agreement.

They turned quiet, then. Derek took a big gulp of his coffee. It was turning lukewarm in his hands. He could not stand lukewarm coffee.

“What now?” Derek was not sure who asked, but one of the girls. 

Stiles sighed. “I don’t know, to be honest. I wish I did.”

That was not what Derek had hoped to hear. He had hoped something along the lines ‘I’m happy everyone came to see me, but now go away because I’m liking life here with Derek’. And while Stiles had promised to stay, he had never said how long.

Derek swallowed.

Stiles looked over at him. “For now, I’m staying here.”

“You don’t have to,” Lydia said, carefully, an eye on him, as if she too thought he looked like a serial killer.

“What do you mean?” Stiles asked.

“I may have taken some early measures, in case we found you alive and asked Danny what he can and cannot do. And while he’s not good enough to forge papers, he can fake you an online identity as someone else easy as that. He also has a friend who could set you up with all the papers you’d need. Of course coming back to Beacon Hills is not an option, but if you wanted options for the future, they are there.”

Stiles opened and closed his mouth. Derek could hear the click of his teeth, the way his heart sped up in anticipation.

“If nothing else, having legal papers with your picture and name on them is a good idea,” Allison said. “You wouldn’t have to decide right away.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed. His voice was thin. “I’d like papers.”

Lydia smiled. It was a soft smile, one that gave Derek a feeling that she really cared about Stiles. Of course she did, how could she not?

Someone's stomach growled, interrupting the silence. Scott smiled sheepishly.

“Do you guys want to stay for dinner?” Stiles asked, looking over at Derek for confirmation. And what could Derek do but nod at that? They both knew who would prepare the meal, but he understood that Stiles was not ready to part with his friends just yet.

Derek placed his mug on the counter. Looking into the fridge they had plenty of ingredients for a hearty chilli, and he knew he had nacho chips hiding somewhere too. It would do just fine.

Stiles’ friends stayed too long and made too much noise. Derek was almost worried he would have to accept them sleeping over by the time Scott finally declared they had to leave. It was dark outside.

Stiles looked happy when he closed the door. Happy and exhausted.

He smelled nothing like what he used to.

The wolf hated that.

Had hated the ease between Scott and Stiles too.

If Derek did not know better, he would have claimed the wolf was jealous.

Stiles turned around, and looked at Derek with a soft smile that was just for him. “Thanks for letting them stay,” he said.

Derek nodded, not sure what else to say. If he said it was not a problem would Stiles then invite them again? He was not sure he liked that idea at all. Maybe one at a time he would consider, but not multiple people. It was too much.

“I know it can’t have been easy for you.”

Derek shrugged. The wolf wanted to be closer and for once he could not remember why it was supposed to be him controlling everything. He was too damned tired.

At their own accord he moved into Stiles’ space. The human just stood there, let him, as if he was unaware of the danger Derek could pose if he wanted to. It was as if he did not know he was in the room with an apex predator.

But Derek knew that to Stiles that was not what he was. Stiles did not see a werewolf when looking at him. He just saw another human being.

Stiles felt safe around him. That was the reason he stood, allowing Derek into his personal space like that, even though Derek could kill him with a slash of claws. It was trust at a level Derek was not used to.

Derek breathed in. Stiles smelled all wrong.

“Why are you looking like that, big guy?”

Derek grimaced.

Stiles smelled like Scott most. A bit like Erica, Lydia and Allison too, but since their hugs had been shorter and fewer, it was not as bad. Scott almost smelled like he had a claim on Stiles, and the wolf really did not like that.

Stiles opened his mouth as if to ask another question when Derek crowded him against the wall. He was not thinking. He needed Stiles to smell like his again.

Stiles made a soft sound when Derek rubbed their cheeks together. It sounded like a whimper. Derek withdrew, making sure he had not caused harm.

Aside from a dazed look, Stiles seemed alright. His lips were parted, eyes heavily lidded as he looked at Derek. Derek could not shake the feeling that there was something in that gaze he did not get.

He rubbed his face against Stiles’ again, running his hands up and down Stiles arms.

Stiles swallowed.

“I smell wrong?” he guessed.

Derek growled low in response. Words were truly failing him.

“Do you want me to take a shower? Change clothes?”

He nodded. That was exactly what he wanted. Needed to get the scent of other people off Stiles skin.

It was not until he watched Stiles walk up the stairs that he realized the other scent he had barely noticed underneath the layers of other people.

Arousal.

The wolf liked that a lot. 

Chapter Text

It had been a few days since Scott and the gang had been by. They’d texted pretty much constantly, everyone demanding to know how he was. That Derek was treating him well. Lydia had let him know how the paperwork was coming together, that Danny’s friend was working really hard on everything.

Stiles had also noticed that Derek was unusually quiet. It wasn’t like the dude had been a big talker in the first place, like, ever, but even for Derek he used so few words that it actually had Stiles worried. He thought there had been progress – and quite a lot of it, mind you – in the department of Derek Using His Words. And the visit from his friends seemed to have pretty much ruined that.

Which sucked.

But it wasn’t really Derek’s fault. Of course the dude had been overwhelmed. Stiles’ friends were a lot, even for people who knew them. Like, his dad always seemed relieved to leave for a night shift whenever the whole lot was over.

Derek shuffled into the kitchen.

“Okay, okay, so I know words are not your thing, but there’s stuff I need to talk to you about,” Stiles said.

And yeah, maybe he should’ve not worded it like that judging from how panicked Derek looked.

“Dude, calm down! I’m not leaving, okay? I wanna make that explicitly clear first of all. I’m staying, pack and all that jazz, yeah?”

Derek swallowed audibly, then he nodded. So Stiles moved closer, and closer, until they were basically chest to chest. With everyone else it would have been either awkward as hell or leading straight up to a hot makeout session, which Stiles wouldn’t mind, but that wasn’t the intention.

“If you still want me, I’m gonna stay here for the next long while, okay?”

“Yes,” Derek said. His voice was all rough and hoarse, and shit if that didn’t do things to Stiles’ weak defence against becoming aroused in Derek’s company. After the whole face-rubbing thing that was becoming increasingly difficult. Who knew having a hot guy do that to him was his thing, after all?

“But I also wanted to tell you that I’d like to hang out with my friend more. I know they are a handful, so we can meet up in other places, they can come and pick me up and whatnot.” He could more feel than hear the soft growling rumble in Derek’s chest. “I know, I know. Doesn’t mean I’m leaving, just means that I’m re-expanding my social circle, yeah? Lydia is gonna get me legal papers.”

And when Derek continued to look insecure about that, Stiles did the thing he had walked so damned close to do. Instead of using words, he ran his hands along Derek’s face, scent-marking him like the werewolf had done to him so many times.

Derek gasped as if it was the first time Stiles had done something like that. Maybe he couldn’t remember the whole panic when Scott arrived very well. It didn’t matter very much either.

Then he grabbed Derek’s hands, placing them on the sides of his own neck. “Pack,” he said.

“Pack,” Derek repeated.

It wasn’t a miracle cure. Stiles had never thought it would be, but gradually over the next few days Derek’s words increased again. He would never be a blabbermouth the way Stiles was, but that was fine too.

He was talking. That was all Stiles could ask for. It made it a hella lot easier to communicate when Stiles didn’t have to rely on his own interpretation of eyebrows.

“Why worry?” Derek asked, looming in the doorway like the good old creeper Stiles had come to care about.

“It’s just…” Stiles sighed, not sure how to explain it in a good way. “I dunno if I told you? But Erica has epilepsy. And it’s kinda the bad kind, if there’s a good and a bad kind, with grand mal seizures that don't really respond very well to meds. She was just hospitalized again.”

Derek whined low in his throat.

“Yeah, I know, it sucks.”

“You visit?”

“Visit? Erica? In the hospital?” Stiles asked, dumbfounded that it was even a possibility. Like, honestly he had not even considered that. “Yeah, maybe next time, thanks. She’s back home now. Lydia texted me a moment ago with that.”

Derek nodded, as if thinking about something.

He stayed quiet for so long Stiles focused back on his phone. 

“Need to talk,” he then said.

“About Erica?”

Yeah, no one needed to be fluent in eyebrows to understand the ‘no dummy’ look Derek pinned him to the couch with.

“About the moon.”

“Oh. I thought… didn’t you say that you have control over yourself, that there won’t be any bitey bitey?”

Derek blushed. He looked honest to god flustered. And adorable. Oh god. Yeah, okay. So something was definitely going on with the moon, then.

Stiles patted the couch beside him. Derek moved awkwardly as if they had never sat on the couch at the same time.

He didn’t even look at Stiles when he opened his mouth to speak: “My wolf likes you. It wants you. Not sure control’s good.”

Wow.

Color him surprised. Out of all the things Derek could’ve said, that was not what Stiles had expected to hear. Whatsoever. Never ever.

“What do you want?” He found himself asking. Which. Rude. Probably.

His mouth felt dry as he waited for Derek’s answer.

“Same as wolf.”

Stiles swallowed, trying to get his tongue back into a functional state. “Oh, wow,” he said. Which clearly was not the right thing to say judging from how Derek continued to look at the floor.

“I… you… I need ... in the basement…”

“What’s in the basement?” Stiles couldn’t recall having ever seen the basement.

“Chains.”

“Oh no, nope, no way in hell! Do you want me to tie you up like a mad dog, or what’s going on?”

Derek nodded. He looked absolutely fucking miserable.

“No. Derek, fuck, no, I cannot do that to you!” Stiles protested.

“Have to.”

“Why in the world would I have to tie you up? I trust you, Derek! You have not harmed me, hell, not even when you’ve had the chance! You’ve never laid a hand on me, why would you start now? It makes no sense whatsoever!” Stiles said. The idea of chaining Derek up like that made him feel sick to his stomach.

“I don’t trust me,” Derek said.

Stiles closed his eyes, leaned back on the couch, trying to process what the werewolf was telling him.

“So just to get this straight… because the wolf and you like me, you are not sure you can stay in control tomorrow and that you won’t bite me? Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“But Derek, why the hell would you want to werewolf me? I don’t want to be a werewolf, I didn’t think you wanted me to be either? Is it a pack thing or what’s going on here?” Okay, he was positively rambling, pushing words out of his mouth faster than what should be humanly possible.

Derek looked away again.

“The wolf wants to claim,” he said, slowly, as if Stiles was dumb and needed everything spelled out. Which, okay, fair enough, maybe in the werewolf department he was lacking in knowledge. “It wants a mate.”

Stiles blinked, his brain trying to process this new bit of information and wire it together with what he had read. Very little of the werewolf literature had mentioned mates, but the wolf lore had, and oh boy, that was a whole love declaration in it’s own. Swallowing, he tried to figure out what it meant that Derek said those words to him.

“Do you like, like me?”

Derek gave him a ‘shut up, Stiles’ gaze. Which, also fair. Considering that Derek had probably just declared his undying love or some shit, or at the least his wolfy side’s undying love, and Stiles' reaction was about the emotional maturity of a ten-year old.

“Yes,” he then said.

And fuck if Stiles heart didn’t skip a beat at that.

Considering how Derek’s eyebrows shut to his hairline in surprise he heard that. Yeah, no keeping secrets around a werewolf then.

“I like you like you too,” Stiles said softly. And had it not been for the part where Derek still looked utterly miserable, Stiles would have leaned forward to kiss him.

“What’s going on?” he asked, when Derek continued to look awkward and quiet.

“Wolves mate for life,” Derek said.

“I know.”

And what he wouldn’t have given to know what was going on in Derek’s head in that moment… Stiles watched emotions flicker over his face so fast he couldn’t even keep up. There was hope there. And sorrow. And Stiles knew that one all too well, because dammit, he’d have loved for his dad to meet Derek. Except that his old man likely would have just threatened Derek and asked how old he was and declared that Derek was way too old and it was way too soon.

And maybe it was. “When is the full moon?” Stiles asked.

“Tonight.”

Yeah, so it had been a month. It was way too soon to consider mating anyone for life, which Stiles figured was werewolf for marriage, but… He didn’t have a rational explanation, but he knew, okay? He knew.

“Chain me.”

“You really know how to dirty talk,” Stiles said drily. Maybe with a hint of sarcasm. In another situation it would have been funny. Hell, even hot, Stiles was not opposed to some good old bondage, at least not in his mind, but yeah, tying Derek up in the basement did not sound anywhere near sexy whatsoever.

“Please,” Derek said.

“Okay, okay, fine! But let it be noticed that I’m doing this under protest. I don’t want to do this to you, okay? I trust you, I don’t think you are gonna hurt me, but fine, if it makes you feel safe, I’ll chain you up like a rabid dog.”

Derek kept his grey-green eyes at Stiles throughout the ramble, as if Stiles were saying something actually important and not just rambling his ass off. Again. He did that a lot. Stared at Stiles as if Stiles actually said something worth listening to.

Maybe that was why Stiles like-liked Derek.

“Before the moon,” Derek said.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I understood that smarty pants.”

Derek gave him a flat look.

Stiles could honestly not believe it had been such a short time. It felt like he’d known Derek his entire life, or at least a few years.

“It’s important, Stiles.”

“I know, dude, I know. I don’t want to be turned into a werewolf chew toy, you know?” Even if Derek’s teeth on him did sound like an incredibly good idea. Under different circumstances. Very different circumstances. “Also, are you like gonna turn into a wolf? Or are you going to stay human?”

Stiles demonstrated fangs with his index fingers, opening his mouth wide. Sadly Derek had yet to appreciate the greatness of Stiles’ imitations of werewolves, judging from the look he had on his face. His eyebrows looked like they wanted to maim Stiles. Hopefully in a very, very sexy way, though Stiles also very much doubted that.

He sighed, trying to take his thoughts away from that particular topic.

“Human,” Derek replied. Actually he kind of looked like he considered chaining Stiles up instead.

His dad had had that particular look on his face every once in a while too. Stiles got the feeling that they would have gotten along just fine, his dad and Derek. Maybe too fine, leaving Stiles on the sideline. Yeah. He wished Derek could meet his dad, and vice versa.

“When am I gonna see your wolf form, then?” Stiles asked, not caring that he sounded a bit like a whiny five-year old begging for candy.

Derek sighed. “After the moon.”

“Yeah, yeah, when after the moon?”

“After.”

And with that demonstration of proper communication techniques, Derek rose from the couch as if that was the end of that conversation. Stiles was absolutely not in agreement in that department, but hey, what could he do? Derek’s incredible ass was distracting enough that he forgot about that.

At least at that moment. Because as soon as said ass was out the room, Stiles remembered again. He’d wanted to see Derek’s wolf shift since he found out that was a thing.

With a loud sigh, just to make sure Derek could hear exactly how frustrating Stiles found his lack of a timeline, Stiles opened his phone back up.

Lydia had been awesome at getting him that. Communication was so much faster now that he didn’t have to open up his computer and log into Facebook every time he wanted to tell her something.

His friends left him with another dilemma. He wanted to tell them about Derek. It was likely that at least Lydia already suspected that something was going on, after all hot dudes like that didn’t usually live alone in the forest like that without a reason, but did she suspect that he was a werewolf?

Blowing out air, Stiles realized that there was no way to find out without asking. Directly. And there was no way he was doing that without knowing if Derek was OK with it first.  After all it was his secret that Stiles would give away to someone Derek didn’t know well enough to trust just yet.

Stiles played around an hour on his phone before switching to watching random videos on YouTube.

Derek appeared in the doorway, looking awkward, as if he wasn’t sure Stiles wanted him there.

“Come on dude, the couch is plenty big for both of us,” Stiles said. “And I could show you some wolf videos…” He added an epic eyebrow wiggle for the hell of it.

Derek crept closer.

“Need to talk.”

“Yeah?” Stiles said, not really looking up from the screen. They had the moon talk already, what more could Derek want to talk about?

“About Erica.”

That got Stiles’ attention. He closed the lid of the computer with a snap, placing it on the coffee table. What did Derek want to talk about Erica for? He hadn’t wanted to earlier, when Stiles brought her up.

The werewolf looked troubled, eyes darting all over and never meeting Stiles’.

He was breathing superficially. What had gotten him so troubled? Had Erica died or what was going on? And how would Derek know before Stiles? Was there some kind of supernatural sense for death?

“I can help,” Derek said. “With epilepsy.”

Stiles opened his mouth.

Blinked.

“Wait, what, how?”

“If… if Erica wants it,” Derek explained, still not meeting Stiles’ gaze. “The bite cures human disease. Turn her into a werewolf. Into pack.”

Oh.

Oh.

So that was where the bone was buried. Or wolf. Stiles wasn’t sure what the correct term would be in this instance.

“So you could offer Erica the bite, but in doing so you’d both turn her into a werewolf and your pack?”

“Yes,” Derek confirmed.

“And you’d only do it if she said yes?”

“Yes.” But the troubled look was not gone, and when Derek opened his mouth to speak again Stiles understood. It was not as simple as a cure all. The bite could kill her as well, and since Derek had never turned a human before, he was not certain what to do or when. In theory it should be so simple, and in reality he worried it wasn’t.

He even showed Stiles the books he’d read in while Stiles had been fiddling around.

Showed Stiles the gruesome pictures of what it would look like if it went wrong. Derek didn’t think it would go that way, not when Erica was otherwise healthy, but he wouldn’t guarantee that he wasn’t essentially offering to kill one of Stiles friends faster than the epilepsy ever would.

“I can’t tell you what to do, or not to do, Derek,” Stiles said. “In the end this is not my choice, but Erica’s. And I think she should have it.”

“What if I’m wrong?” And he didn’t need to be fluent in desperate looks to know what Derek was trying to ask him. It didn’t take a genius.

“I could never hate you, not for that. It wouldn’t be your fault,” Stiles said, and he hoped it was true. He firmly believed he wouldn’t hate Derek, but it didn’t mean that he wouldn’t when it came down to it.

“Erica would need… to learn. To stay.”

“Forever?”

Derek shook his head. “A while. And for full moons.”

“Still think she should have the offer.”

Derek nodded.

And Stiles wanted to ask about Scott. He’d not had time to tell Derek about Scott’s debilitating asthma, how he always had to have an inhaler on him and how it could be a death sentence if he didn’t. At least Scott’s meds worked, unlike Erica’s.

He swallowed. He’d gotten the distinct feeling that Derek was not a big fan of Scott. Maybe it was better to bring that up after the full moon?

It wasn’t long before Derek turned to Stiles with a heavy face, telling him it was time to go to the basement.

Stiles tied him up as instructed, hating every clank of metal. It made it seem like was dangerous, like he presented a threat to Stiles, when in reality he was just a big cuddly guy.

“Now go,” Derek said.

“No. No way, Derek. I’m gonna stay here, keep an eye on you. Ain’t like you can get yourself free, if something happens. It could be dangerous.”

For a moment Stiles thought he was going to protest, to tell him that he needed to head upstairs and into the house and leave him there. Then the open mouth turned into a small smile.

So Stiles stayed. 

Chapter Text

Derek was not quite certain how his wolf would respond to having Stiles around for the full moon. As a born wolf his control was great, but he had not been around people for so long that he felt doubts. And doubts were dangerous.

So he had asked Stiles to chain him up in the basement, fully expecting the human to leave him there alone. Maybe it should not have come as a surprise that Stiles refused to move more than just out of Derek’s range. He was exceptionally stubborn.

Derek looked at him in the low light from the basement windows. Even in his wolf form he was not small enough to squeeze through there, but he wanted to feel the moon on his skin, even if it was just for a bit. The chains were heavy and cold against his skin. Not as heavy as the desire to run free in the forest, though.

Stiles looked at him with big eyes in the dark. He would get cold and bored at some point, return to the house.

“Is this really necessary?” Stiles asked.

Derek nodded. He was worried that he could lose control, and that meant he had to do everything in his power not to be a threat to anyone.

Stiles sighed, curling up against the wall.

The moon pulled at the wolf. At him. The wolf had been more quiet, more a part of him lately. They were working in sync instead of being two different minds tearing at one body. Derek was glad that it was better, it made everything easier when he could listen to the wolf and trust it.

The moon finally rose.

Derek swallowed, closing his eyes, fully anticipating the pain as the transformation happened. He could keep it down, if he wanted, but it was at best a waste of energy and mental capacity. Staying in his beta form did not mean he was out of control.

Stiles’ heartbeat speeded up. But he did not look or smell frightened, instead he seemed curious.

The wolf wanted him closer. The wolf wanted to bite and claim.

And god, Derek wanted that equally bad. It was not just the wolf, even if he had tried to tell Stiles that earlier. Derek wanted him to stay, to be his, just as much.

“I know I should find you scary right now,” Stiles said. “I know I should see a monster or something like that. But I don’t, you know?”

Derek didn’t know.

Stiles smiled. “You’re about as scary as a marshmallow, Derek.”

Derek could not decide if he thought it was hilarious or offensive. Marshmallows were not scary in the least, and as someone with the ability to shapeshift, he had to be at least a bit more scary than that. Old ladies always kept their purse close to their bodies, when he walked by in his leather jacket. They thought he was scary.

The wolf felt offended. It wanted to show Stiles that they could be big and scary. Protect him just by how they looked.

Derek thought the wolf was a bit silly.

... 

What Stiles talked about during that night bled into ramble after ramble. He went upstairs shortly, to get himself a cup of coffee and a blanket and to pee, judging from the sounds from the house. But that was it. Derek was alone for less than five minutes all in all throughout the whole night.

Stiles kept him calm.

When the restlessness grew too much underneath his skin, Stiles saw him moving and talked until he calmed down. He sometimes asked questions, as if he expected Derek to join the conversation, but was never angry when he did not.

Stiles was amazing.

Derek could not have found a better mate, even if he tried.

When the sun finally broke the moon's hold on him, Derek wanted to ask Stiles if he really wanted to stay. If he wanted to be his, in every meaning of the word. Mate was probably not the human word, but he needed Stiles to know, to understand, that it was not just the wolf that wanted it. It was both of them. He was not feeling certain he had been clear earlier.

But it was not the time, nor the place for a conversation like that. Stiles looked like he was barely keeping upright, and while Derek did not feel particularly tired, he could appreciate that the human needed sleep.

It was a surprise when Stiles hand clasped around his wrist and with surprising strength dragged him to Stiles’ room.

When Stiles tumbled head first onto the mattress, Derek wondered if he was awake enough to consent to having Derek in his bed. On the other hand… Stiles had communicated quite clearly what he wanted.

Derek crouched down, looking at the human’s face, as if that would tell him anything.

“C’me t’bed,” Stiles grumbled at him, opening one eye just a bit.

“Bathroom, then bed,” Derek replied, running a hand over Stiles hair so he knew that Derek would not stay away for long. He at least hoped a touch could communicate that much, that clearly.

Stiles grumbled something that could have been an agreement or a protest. Derek chose to understand it as the former, because his bladder was killing him.

Once he had relieved himself, he walked back into Stiles’ room. Stiles was sound asleep, his deep, even breathing giving him away.

It felt intrusive to stand there, and intrusive to consider walking the ten steps to Stiles’ bed and join him there. Even if it was not the first time.

Derek stood in the door for a moment, trying to think. Stiles had likely been tired enough that he would not remember his actions once awake, but what if he did? What if he knew that Derek had, after explicit permission, chosen not to sleep in the same bed as him?

He knew he was overthinking it. It was a bad habit. When his mom had been alive she had been happy to let him talk about it, and offer him realistic scenarios. Rationalize the fear away. But she was not there to offer him any advice. He missed Laura teasing him about it too, because she would only do so when his fears were particularly ridiculous, and that way he would know when he was overthinking things again.

Stiles moved in his sleep, and Derek made a decision. Stiles had made it quite clear that he wanted Derek there. Derek wanted to be there. What was there to worry about?

He barely had time to lie down comfortably before Stiles curled himself against Derek, acting almost like a human octopus, limbs all over. Derek smiled to himself. It clearly had been the right decision.

The sound of Stiles’ heartbeat and even breathing soon lulled Derek to sleep. It was even more calming up close.

Derek woke later that day warm and sweaty and with Stiles still pressed against him. They had moved throughout their sleep, Derek was now on his side with Stiles curling against his back. It felt safe. The bed smelled like them. The wolf loved their combined scent.

Derek closed his eyes, and allowed himself to just be. He could feel the rise and fall of Stiles’ chest against his back, the warm huffs of breaths against his neck. It should have been annoying, especially considering the morning breath from hell Stiles currently had.

Derek's stomach grumbled.

He was always hungry after the full moon.

Trying to ignore the hunger usually did not go well. There was no willing it away, not around the full moon. But he did not want to untangle from Stiles either.

His stomach grumbled again.

Derek sighed. There did not seem to be much of a choice in the matter, but getting free of Stiles turned out to be a lot more difficult than anticipated. Stiles had a strong and insistent grip for someone sleeping so soundly.

For a moment he contemplated waking the human to get free. It seemed rude, so he did not. After all Stiles had been up the entire night with him, the least he could do was to let Stiles get a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Finally managing by replacing himself with a spare pillow, Derek snuck out of the room.

Even though the clock in the kitchen told him it was three in the afternoon, he cooked them breakfast. He knew Stiles loved all things sweet as well as bacon, and Derek felt like he owed him a breakfast worthy of a king.

Stiles appeared, as always, as the coffee machine finished brewing. He was shuffling in just wearing the boxers and t-shirt he’d gone to sleep in, hair rumbled. Yawning, he poured himself a coffee and sat on the counter to watch Derek cook with bleary eyes. He looked gorgeous, even with pillow creases on the right side of his face.

Derek swallowed. It felt so domestic, so much like they were already in the relationship he had recently started craving.

“Morning,” Stiles mumbled, blowing on his coffee.

“Morning,” Derek replied, turning to pour himself a cup of coffee.

Stiles smiled at him. It was so soft Derek’s insides hurt with it. It was a smile meant for someone more than a friend, he felt. He wondered if Stiles felt the same way he did.

The bacon was spluttering away on the pan and the waffle iron heating.

“You’re spoiling me,” Stiles said softly.

Derek shrugged. “Thank you.”

“Thank you as in the breakfast is a thank you or as in ‘shut up and be grateful for breakfast, Stiles’?” Stiles asked.

“First.”

“Mhm. No problem.”

Derek ran a hand through his hair, wondering how to explain to Stiles what it had meant that he had stayed in the basement with him last night. It had not been easy, staying as much in control as he had. Not with all the new feelings confusing his system. Not when Stiles could have so easily left with his friends. He did not dare to think what would have happened had he done so. It would not have been good, that much he felt certain of.

“Stiles,” he started, wishing once again he was better with words. Maybe Stiles really was fluent in eyebrows, but how could Derek make his eyebrows say ‘I think I’m falling in love with you’? He had no idea.

“Yeah?”

Derek sighed. “I like you.”

The human curled a leg up to his chest. It did not seem very comfortable to sit like that, but he appeared plenty content with it.

“We established this yesterday, Derek. Your wolf wants me as a mate, and with the danger of sounding like a ten-year old, you like-like me,” Stiles said softly.

Derek sighed again, because what else could he do? Clearly he had not been clear enough.

He was just about to open his mouth to continue talking when the scent of almost-burnt bacon hit his nostrils. He hurried to get it off the heat.

“Don’t burn my bacon,” Stiles told him from the countertop.

Rolling his eyes was the only response Derek could come up with. While he was over at the stovetop he loaded the waffle batter into the now hot machine, listening to Stiles’ happy chatter about waffles with half an ear.

“Stiles… I’m in love with you,” Derek interrupted Stiles’ wordstream.

The human went very quiet at that.

Derek wondered exactly how unclear he had been the day before.

Or how big a difference there was in Stiles mind between like-like and in love.

“Oh wow,” Stiles said. “I had not processed that yesterday, like at all dude. I thought that maybe, just maybe you were interested and that maybe with time it could be more, you know? It kinda sounded like your wolf had decided that I’m the best thing ever, but…”

“Not just the wolf.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sorta gathering that,” Stiles agreed. His eyes were comedically round.

The waffle iron made a low click noise that told Derek that the first waffle was done. He turned to open the iron.

Before the new batter made it into the iron there was a hand on his hip, insistent just the way Stiles had been the evening before.

Derek turned around, ignoring the waffle iron as Stiles crowded his space.

“What does that mean, though?” Stiles asked. His voice was low. Gone was the insecurity from before. Derek could make out desire in his scent, overpowering even the smell of bacon and waffles.

“What do you want?”

“What do you want?” Stiles countered.

“You,” Derek answered truthfully.

That was all it took for Stiles to fully overtake his space and kiss him. His lips were soft, yet demanding. His breath was hot and he tasted like coffee and sugar and Stiles. Derek growled low against Stiles’ lips, hit by a sudden possessiveness. Stiles responded by deepening the kiss.

They were interrupted by a loud grumble from Derek’s stomach. Apparently not all of him was on board with kissing being a bigger priority than food.

Stiles laughed. He looked dazed, lips pink and slick. God Derek wanted to continue kissing more than anything.

“I’m hungry too. We can continue after breakfast,” Stiles said.

Derek nodded, unable to form useful words. He turned back to pour more batter into the waffle iron, a smile on his face.

There was no mistaking that Stiles wanted to stay, or what Stiles wanted. The wolf was thrilled, as was Derek. 

Chapter Text

As it turned out, Erica did want the bite. She also survived (Stiles had fully expected that, Erica was both strong, resilient and more stubborn than Stiles and Derek combined), which was super great. It was a bit odd to have her in the house at first, especially considering that she would complain whenever Stiles or Derek smelled ‘too much like horny teeangers’ which, apparently, they did a lot.

Stiles didn’t feel like they could be blamed very much for that.

Derek also grew less wary of Scott, and especially of Scott and Stiles' relationship. It had been a bit rocky just after him and Derek had become a thing, but eh, Stiles could deal with a bit of jealousy.

“Pack night tonight?” Derek asked. In the three months since he’d rescued Stiles he’d come so far with words. Stiles felt like it was mainly due to his great influence.

“Yeah.” Stiles stuffed another bite of the sandwich into his face. Derek had made club sandwiches, and it was absolutely great. Actually it was damned great that he had any capacity to cook at all, otherwise they would survive on takeout.

Derek looked thoughtful.

“What are you thinking ‘bout?” Stiles asked.

“More pack,” Derek explained.

“More wolves?”

“No. Human pack.”

“Ah, who are you thinking?”

“Lydia?” Derek suggested. To be fair they had invited Lydia to pack night more than once, partially to make Erica more comfortable, but also because Derek knew how close Stiles was to Lydia. For whatever reason that relationship did not trigger any jealousy, not even after Stiles had told Derek about the ridiculous crush he had harbored towards Lydia for years.

But hey the thing with Scott was getting better, so that was cool. Derek wasn’t overly possessive or shit like that, he was just more hands on after Stiles had been seeing Scott. Not that Stiles was complaining at all about that.

It just didn’t make much sense, considering that Lydia had been the one to provide Stiles with real looking forged papers that meant that he was now a person again. Lydia had given him the option to move away, to start his own life. Scott had just happened to show up as the first person.

“What about just inviting the entire gang?” Stiles suggested.

Derek squinted at him.

And that was how they ended up Derek, Stiles, Erica, Lydia, Scott and Allison all curled up on the couch in the living room and the two mattresses Derek had carried downstairs, watching Batman movies and eating pizza.

Life was damned good. 

(And yes, Derek had shown Stiles’ his wolf shift in the end, after much insisting on Stiles’ part. When Stiles declared him the fluffiest thing to have ever fluffed, Derek had walked away leaving Stiles alone in the forest for half an hour. Reappearing he looked grumpier than usual. ‘NOT fluffy!’ he had said. Stiles apologized like the good boyfriend he was, but truth was that Derek was the biggest, fluffiest fluff to have ever fluffed)

(Though probably the biggest surprise of everything about Derek was that he could knit. Knit! Like a grandma! He’d knitted socks for Stiles.)