Chapter Text
Derek stood in his flat, looking out over the city, over the small lights in Beacon Hills. A hollow feeling filled his chest, ran through his veins, hurt his soul. He knew what this new arrival meant; he knew what these new people were after, why they had arrived at all. He also knew that he couldn’t tell his pack. He closed his eyes in dread at the prospect, even as his resolution formed.
Then, miraculously, he was saved the job of leaving in the darkness, leaving in the quiet of the night. Someone unlocked his door. He turned around, arms folded, the usual annoyed expression in place. Stilinski. He might have guessed. The kid, more of a young man now, had made copies of keys for all the werewolves he knew. Just encase. For such a small town, there was a surprising amount of danger. You could never know where it could hit, or when. It was hitting home to Derek, and it was here now.
“Stiles. What are you doing?”
Stiles grinned, running a hand to check his hair was in place, before shrugging and flopping onto Derek’s settee. Derek tried not to click his tongue in annoyance. The settee would smell of Stiles but that wouldn’t matter. Derek would be gone by then.
“Cora said you weren’t answering your phone.”
Derek frowned.
“Where is she? And Peter?”
“Fine. Helping Scott train up Isaac.”
Derek nodded, his eyes lost in thought. He still felt bad for losing his last beta, that Isaac had chosen Scott over him, that Scott had chosen winging it over him. Still, Derek supposed Erica and Boyd were both dead and that wasn’t exactly a selling point. He glanced at Stiles, realising that he was being watched intently. Studied.
“You’re going to do something stupid aren’t you?”
Stiles’s voice was soft, his expression lacking the usual enthusiasm and energy. He simply looked concerned, his hazel eyes watchful.
“It’s not stupid.” Derek said through gritted teeth.
Stiles looked at him. It was the kind of look somebody gives you when they know you’re lying but they also don’t want to call you out on it because they know it will be a painful subject.
“I’ve got all night. My dad’s got the night shift. I’m all ears.”
Derek raised his eyebrows, looking towards the door pointedly. Stiles decided to ignore this, staring instead at Derek, his eyebrows were raised too and he was doing a much better job at making the other person relent. After a few seconds of intense silence, Derek sighed.
“You know that new rival hunter family the Argents have been dealing with?”
“Yeah.” Stiles said slowly, nodding quickly for Derek to continue.
Derek shrugged.
“I might know them.”
“Oh god, it’s not the I might know them that means you might have killed a family member is it?”
“They might have killed mine.”
Stiles gawped, his eyes blinking as he processed the information. Derek liked Stiles’s eyes. They were hazel, like leaves in autumn or warm honey. Immediately after Stiles had taken this in, he patted the space next to him on the settee. Derek sighed, rolling his eyes, with his arms crossed.
“Come on big guy. Let it all out.”
Derek fixed him with his best annoyed glare.
“I know you want to tell someone. You may be angry at the world but hey, you still have hope it will cut you a break.”
“Fine.”
*
Stiles was unbelievably and undeniably drunk. It was half one in the morning and he didn’t regret the drink. Derek’s life story was the saddest thing he’d heard in a long time. They were both sat on the settee and so far Derek had explained about Kate, how she’d betrayed him and his family had burned and screamed and it was his entire fault. He had explained how he’d been desperate after Paige, after her death, to redeem himself. He spoke for hours, his voice rough and faint during the early morning. Then, at last, he explained it all.
“When the fire happened, I didn’t care about redemption. I was angry at the hunters. I went to a powerful pack and I asked to join.”
His tone was bitter, his eyes cast down. Stiles, for once, was hesitant to ask.
“What did they say?”
“They said yes. They were starting a new scheme for werewolves. Werewolves whose eyes glowed electric blue.”
“Like you.” Stiles said, pointing at Derek’s face with a grin.
“Like me.” Derek agreed, nodding.
“Why?” Stiles asked, his voice like a curious and loud child.
“To turn us into the ultimate killers. The best pack. They gave us some…funny stuff to drink.”
Stiles nodded, his eyes laughing.
“Like this.” He gestured to the bottle in his hand.
“No. Not like that, Stiles.”
And then, for the first time since Boyd’s death, Derek Hale cried. Stiles watched, silent tear tracks ran down Derek’s face and he glanced up at Stiles.
“I killed so many people. Now they’re back, looking for me. That’s why hunters have moved next to the argents, to keep an eye out. To kill me before I kill others.”
“You won’t.” Stiles said, his voice quiet, sleepy but still sincere.
Derek nodded. A few minutes of silence passed. Derek startled, realising Stiles had fallen asleep. He sighed, closing his eyes as well, leaning his head against the settee. For once, his heart didn’t feel so heavy. Yet, he hadn’t told Stiles everything and he didn’t plan to.
*
The morning light filtered through the window, spilling into the almost barren front room of the flat. Derek stirred, his chest breathing in the morning air, his eyes opening slowly. He glanced around; surprised he was on the settee. He hadn’t remembered moving from the window. He looked to his left and froze.
Stiles was there, sleeping with half his limbs dangling off the edge of the settee and the other half at uncomfortable angles. Derek’s mouth opened a little with surprise. When had Stiles arrived? He thought back, realising what had happened, what he had said, what he had to do.
It didn’t take long to gather his things. It took even less time to walk out of the door. He looked back once, his eyes settling on the teenager contently snoring on his settee. It pained Derek to leave without a goodbye, to leave at all.