Chapter Text
Stiles went home like directed. And then he’d stood in the driveway staring at his stained jeep for at least ten minutes. He’d started trying to clean it up, but with no real luck. Nope, the passenger seat was going to have a bloodstain he’d have to try and explain away for forever.
By the time he gave up he thought he was exhausted. He did. And then he was upstairs, the clothes he’d been wearing in the trash and he wasn’t sleeping. With his Dad not being home he settled for just a clean t-shirt over his gym shorts, not caring if the tattoo on his arm was visible because there was no one to hide it from. Instead of being in his bed he was at his desk, back to doing research again, rereading everything he’d ever compiled on werewolves. Erica’s nuzzling and Derek’s comments on her not being his mate had left him curious and before he knew it he’d been at it for most of the night.
“You’ve been up all night,” a voice behind him said and Stiles jolted out of his skin, turning around in his chair to see a less than happy Derek glaring at him from just inside the window.
“And you’re fucking sneaking in my room again. If I was asleep you’d be creepy watching me do that too huh?” Stiles quipped and all he got was a glare in response.
There! Stiles had it, the upper hand with Derek Hale of all people and with no sleep. Finally. He almost smiled, truly pleased with himself, but then Derek narrowed his eyes more and Stiles found himself rolling back in his chair a little.
“Why don’t you just fucking listen?” Derek demanded loudly. “And then maybe, just maybe do as your fucking told?”
Stiles had no idea where the anger was coming from and for the life of him he wasn’t sure how to react to what was going on at all. “I…You can’t boss me around. I’m not pack.” That was probably poking the wolf with a stick, but it was the first thing that came to mind as a result of reading for hours about just that, werewolves and their packs.
Derek pounced faster than Stiles could have reacted, grabbing the younger boy’s arm and dragging him out of his chair, seemingly oblivious to the panicked noise that Stiles let out. “Then why the hell do you have this?” Derek’s voice was essentially a growl, his hand turning to make the tattoo on Stiles’ arm visible, poking it. “Do you, with all your reading, all your research, all your knowledge, really have no idea what this means? What I see when I see it?”
Stiles was flustered, struggling with what that he wanted to say, needed to say, but he couldn’t actually put together. He had read about something similar, a meaning, but he couldn’t give voice to the words. They hung too heavy in his mind. Out of fear or some sort of self-preservation he found himself trying to pull his arm away but Derek just gripped him harder. “Pack? Does it mean I’m pack?” It could mean something else as well, something Stiles had read just before getting man handled by an angry werewolf, but he couldn’t say it. There was no way it was true.
Derek let out an angry breath, something that was too harsh to be a sigh, but not an actual noise. “More than pack you moron. It’s means you’re mine. I see that on your arm, I know it’s there and I see something that belongs to me. You marked yourself as mine you idiot. This,” he said shaking Stiles’ arm. “This made everyone think you were mine. Everyone. And you did it to impress some stupid girl.” Derek tossed Stiles back towards his bed, not really caring if he made it there or not. “What were you thinking?”
Stiles stared at Derek, eyes wider than Derek actually thought they were capable of getting and suddenly that other smell was there, in the room, coming off of Stiles and it was making it harder for Derek to think. How did he just not know what he was feeling? He wasn’t that stupid.
Stiles continued to stare at him for a moment longer gripping the sheets from where he’d awkwardly fallen on the bed. “Yours? You thought…you didn’t say anything before. I’ve had it for a while. You could have…it’s because you just found out about Annaelise.” Stiles dropped his eyes from Derek’s to the tattoo on his arm, touching the edge of it a little, not surprised to see the red handprint starting to surface on his skin. “Is that what you wanted? Me?”
The scent poured off of Stiles, giving the room a heady feel that Derek was sure Stiles didn’t fully realize he was even doing it, but he had to realize he was doing something. It took a long moment for Derek to get his head under control, the wolf wanting to act out on feelings, not logical thought and right now he needed to be logical. “I’m fucking here aren’t I? I didn’t tell the others they were wrong when they assumed as much.” He ran a hand over his face and put space between them, needing to breath something that wasn’t laden with Stiles. “I didn’t think you were that stupid. Not aware maybe, but not completely dense. But apparently you are an idiot.” Every word was through gritted teeth as Derek struggled to actually say something rather than act. Stiles was the talker, not Derek, though right now he was doing nothing more than staring at Derek blankly.
Derek couldn’t breathe, not with that scent filling the room. It had never been this bad before and if he wasn’t careful he was going to do something that obviously wasn’t as wanted as he’d hoped. That was the problem, he’d hoped that eventually Stiles would figure it out; he’d come around, not just stare at him like he was insane. “I’m going.“
Stiles had no idea what was really going on, but he wasn’t about to let Derek leave. As Derek went towards the window he managed to scramble to his feet reaching for his arm, as if someone his size could slow down a force like Derek. “No. Don’t,” he said tugging at the leather of Derek’s jacket, trying to draw him away from the window. “Why didn’t you tell them they were wrong? Did they ask? Everyone thinks we’re…” That word was too heavy and Stiles had an urge to sit down again as if the actual weight of it had just been tied around his neck.
Derek slowed, turning back to Stiles and trying hard not to breathe in everything that seemed to swirl around the guy. “Why would I? They didn’t ask, until they found out about her.” And because Derek had been obviously brooding as a result. He closed his eyes; really not able to think when Stiles smelled so much like Erica mixed with the arousal. It had him itching to re-mark him, change the scent back to something that wasn’t her. The growl that slipped out was low, almost quiet, but it was enough to have Stiles backing away. “They think you’re marked,” Derek said when he looked up again. “Which you aren’t. I know better now.” He took a step back towards the window. Leaving, leaving now was a good idea.
“What if I wanted to be?”
Derek looked back at Stiles who was fidgeting with the hem of his shirt as he studied the floor under his bare feet instead of Derek. He looked smaller than normal without his collection of jackets and shirts, but where others might have assumed him frail, Derek spotted the lean muscle from years of lacrosse. He was no powerhouse, but Stiles Stillinski wasn’t a shrimp either. “Do you?” Derek asked.
One shoulder raised in a shrug that seemed casual, but the way that Stiles’ heart rate jumped had Derek assuming he wasn’t feeling that way. “When you got shot tonight, all I could think about was protecting you. More than Erica, more than Scott. You. I was willing to block the next one and we know I won’t heal from it. I haven’t…haven’t been that invested in someone beyond maybe my dad and Scott ever, but this was different from that too.” Stiles took a shaking breath and tapped his feet a few times before running his hand over his head, the same way Derek had. “I know I’m not pack. And I don’t really want to be a werewolf, because I don’t need it. I’m strong enough on my own, or I’d like to be and I try to be. I’m not going to be Jackson or Scott because I’m not, but pack, pack would be good because otherwise I’m kind of a loner. Not like a wallflower loner, but like a doesn’t have a lot of good friends beyond the one and he seems to only care about his girlfriend…” Stiles was on a roll, straight babbling, telling Derek things he barely let himself think with no real end to the monologue in sight.
“Shut up,” Derek demanded, moving in closer, eyes fixed on Stiles even if the guy was still staring at his feet. For once though, Derek was granted with Stiles doing as he was told and actually shutting up, biting at his lip as if it might stop the torrent of words. That left Derek softening, just ever so slightly before letting out another hot breath. “You are pack,” he told Stiles, echoing the movement of brushing his fingers across his head. “And mine.” If Stiles wanted to belong somewhere, Derek was more than fine with giving it to him.
It was as if the tension slipped from Stiles’ shoulders and he glanced up at Derek, brown eyes as wide as ever, before closing the distance between them, pressing his head into Derek’s shoulder. Derek hesitated for a moment, confused as to what exactly needed to be done, but eventually he rested his hand against the back of Stiles’ neck.
Without much thought Stiles was reaching forward, arms around Derek’s upper body as he fought to catch his breath. “I was scared. For you, the others, just plain scared. And I feel stupid admitting that.”
“I was too. And I panicked when I thought you were lost,” Derek said, resting his cheek against Stiles’ head as he returned the hug. “Fear is normal you know. And helpful. Keeps you alert, reminds you what’s important. It’s not a bad thing provided you don’t let it take over.” Stiles nodded against his shoulder and Derek took another deep breath. “You need to sleep Stiles,” he commanded, though it was as close to gentle as Derek got. He pulled back from the hug, untangling himself from Stiles’ arms nodding towards the bed.
Stiles let Derek pull back, but held fast to his shirt with one hand. “So do you,” he pointed out and a ghost of a smile drifted across Derek’s lips. That was how it was going to be, with Stiles not being a Beta to his Alpha. He’d take orders when he thought he should, and he’d challenge them as well. And when he wanted something, Stiles was going to be able to make his own demands, something the others couldn’t or wouldn’t. It was different from what Derek thought he wanted, but when Stiles tugged him closer towards the bed, Derek realized he’d been wrong. Being challenged was fine, better for him even. It made Derek feel much less isolated, a feeling that had come up since becoming Alpha. Stiles wasn’t the only one who needed someone to belong to.
Shaking his head at himself he slipped out of his jacket and tossed it on the chair before following after Stiles. There was no way he was leaving now, not with the wolf in him craving contact, craving taking advantage of something that was his. The craving was so much that when he laid down he couldn’t even be annoyed with the way Stiles curled into his back before he could toe out of his shoes. Rolling over he let Stiles curl against his chest before resting his chin Stile’s head. “Sleep,” he ordered again, closing his eyes before touching Stiles’ hair again.
Cool fingers ran against exposed skin in the hole the arrow had put in his shirt. The spot was healed since the arrow had been removed, though the bloody stain was still there. “M’fine Stiles,” Derek pointed out, words muffled against Stiles’ hair.
“I know.” Stiles' hand stilled, but it stayed close, gripping the shirt to keep from gripping Derek directly. “Are we at least safe now?” he asked.
Derek’s hand against the back of Stiles’ neck was firmer than the other touches, something solid and reassuring. “For now,” he murmured. “Sleep.”
Stiles’ nod was just a slight change in the angle of his head against Derek’s chest before he let himself really relax. Derek managed to stay awake until his breathing evened out completely before falling asleep himself.