Chapter Text
It wasn't something he wanted to think about, the dreams. Derek just wanted to ignore the problem until it went away. But, the problem wasn't going away. It was getting worse.
Derek could not stop dreaming about Stiles Stilinski.
It's not like he was ashamed of it or anything. If there was one person he knew that was worthy of starring in his dreams, it was definitely Stiles.
The problem was the plot. Of the dreams, that is. They weren't sex dreams, which would make more sense because Derek had always found Stiles attractive, but they were... something else.
It always started out the same way, Stiles and Derek were trapped together, but the place was always different. Last night, it had been the screening room of a movie theater. The dreams never gave him a reason why they were trapped or what they were hiding from or if they were even hiding. For all he understood, they could have just been hanging out in a fucking screening room as a bonding experience. But, their mission was always clear: get to know each other.
It didn't make any sense, these dreams had no point other than for Stiles and Derek to spill their hearts out to each other. And that's what scared Derek the most. It should feel like a nightmare for him to tell someone about his past, his family, how broken he is, especially Stiles, but he always wakes up feeling so content, at peace. And it always feels so real.
The reason it felt so real was the fact that Stiles poured his heart out, too. Stiles talked about his mom, how he felt abandoned by Scott, how he sometimes wished he was a werewolf, but knew deep down it wasn't what he really wanted. Stiles told Derek that all he wanted was to be useful, to help, to take care of his pack. It made Derek feel so raw every time he heard Stiles say he wasn't strong like the rest of the pack. Stiles was the strongest, bravest person he knew. And he would tell him that, over and over until Stiles said he believed him.
Derek could always tell he was lying.
The dreams always ended the same way, too. After they'd bared their souls to each other, whatever had kept them from being able to escape would disappear, and Stiles would leave. And he would always say goodbye the same way, every single time:
"So long, Sourwolf."
It was strange and left Derek feeling disconcerted, confused, and oddly enough, happy.
He knew these dreams meant something, something life-altering and important, but if he was being honest, which apparently he was, he didn't want to risk losing these dreams to figure out what they meant.
He probably needed to ask Deaton about them, or probably tell Stiles about them, but neither of those things sounded outrightly appealing to Derek.
So, reality would just have to wait.