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It’s another quiet night. The Preserve stretches out around him, highlighted by patches of moonlight filtering in through the canopy above. It’s been nearly a month's worth of quiet nights after the blood had dried on the warehouse floor where Scott forced him to bite Gerard - the bastard somehow managed to escape - and the power of human love had supposedly conquered all. Derek wishes he could enjoy the peace they’ve had for the last month, but it grates on his nerves, this...quiet.
Complacency is a slippery slope in quiet like this.
He can’t allow himself to get too comfortable. Because he has a pack now. Jackson is a wolf now, Isaac is mastering his control, Erica and Boyd have come back to him, and Peter is… well, Peter . There’s a Hale pack in Beacon Hills again and he is determined to do everything in his power to protect his territory properly this time.
No more kanimas. No more deranged alphas. No more renegade hunters abducting and torturing humans. Torturing Stiles. Derek clenches his fists as memories of bruised cheeks and busted lips flash before his eyes. If I ever get my hands on Gerard...
The buzzing of his phone breaks him out of his thoughts. He digs his phone out of his pocket and opens the text Jackson just sent him.
Stilinski fucking slipped us.
"Dammit Stiles." He mutters, pressing the call button and bringing the phone up to his ear.
"What do you mean he slipped you?" Derek barks as soon as Jackson picks up.
"He was in his house and then he wasn't! You know Deaton's been teaching him all that voodoo shit. He was there one minute and then Poof -- gone!"
"Is his Jeep there?"
"...No."
"Find him." Derek barks the order out and snaps his phone shut. The surveillance is probably overkill and Stiles has articulated exactly how he feels about it. But Derek can't help it -- Gerard already went after Stiles once, and as long as Gerard remains unaccounted for, Stiles has to be under pack protection.
There are only a handful of places Stiles would go at this time of night. Derek turns and starts running. It only takes ten minutes for him to reach his first stop - an overlook the pack has shown fondness for. Derek drops to a crouch and focuses his hearing outward. He takes a deep breath trying to catch Stiles’s scent.
A quiet sob breaks the silence somewhere to his right. The wind is blowing in the wrong direction, so he can’t catch a scent. He realizes, with a start, that he doesn't need a scent. He knows exactly who it is.
Derek pulls his phone out and shoots Jackson a quick text. He silences his phone and stuffs it back into his pocket and walks toward the clearing where he's certain he'll find Stiles.
***
Fucking werewolves.
Fucking hunters.
Fucking magic.
His life hadn't been perfect before the whole werewolf shitstorm, but at least he'd never had his face beaten in as a “message” to his freakin’ best friend. He hadn't needed to lie to his Dad every five seconds. And sure, he probably only has himself to blame -- if he hadn’t dragged Scott into the woods looking for a dead body, none of this shit would have ever happened. But that doesn’t mean he has to like it.
Stiles sucks in a shaky breath before blowing it back out slowly. He and his Dad had another fight tonight. The Sheriff had found one of the books Deaton had leant him and had immediately freaked out that Stiles was dabbling in some kind of crazy occult stuff. Stiles had told him it was purely for research purposes -- for a paper he was writing... in the middle of the summer.
Ok. So maybe it wasn’t one of his best excuses.
Dad hadn't been impressed, but he had to go to work. After a firm "we'll talk about this later," Stiles had needed to get out. He used a couple of the nifty tricks Deaton had shown him to slip past his werewolf guard - fucking werewolves! - and get to somewhere he could fall apart in peace.
He’s just so fucking tired. The disappointed look on his father’s face flashes through his mind, and his chest constricts again. Leaning forward, he props his elbows on his knees and covers his face with shaking hands. He doesn’t see any way out of this hole he's dug. Maybe he should come clean about everything. It had worked out alright for Scott and Melissa, hadn't it? He doubts he'd be that lucky and he really doesn’t want to put his Dad in more danger than he already faces everyday being the sheriff.
A cool breeze pushes through the trees and wraps around him, pulling him out of his thoughts. He sighs and wipes his nose on the sleeve of his t-shirt before scrubbing his hands over his face one more time and climbing to his feet. He really doesn’t need to be out in the middle of the woods, in the middle of the night, by himself. And in any case, the douchebrigade is bound to catch up with him sooner or later.
He looks up to find Derek Hale standing five feet in front of him and Stiles's heart drops into his stomach. It’s a true testament to his life of late that he doesn’t so much as flinch on the outside. Derek stares at him and Stiles meets his gaze, willing his thundering heart to slow. He wants to wipe at the tear tracks on his face. It’s not rational because Derek doesn’t need to see the tears to know he's been crying, but he still feels compelled to cover the evidence. Cover his weakness.
Derek's face is partially obscured by darkness, but the parts that Stiles can see don’t seem happy. However, Derek isn’t wearing his trademark glower either. He looks...concerned.
After what feels like an eternity, Derek takes a shuffling step forward and pauses. Stiles watches in fascination as Derek's eyebrows seem to have an argument with themselves before they settle into a determined line. Within a heartbeat, Derek is in front of him and a warm palm is cupping Stiles’s jaw. Derek’s calloused thumb trails over the tear tracks still lingering on his cheek.
"Tell me.” He says, softly.
Stiles clenches his eyes shut as his mind jumps to the last time Derek said those exact words to him…
***
"Did you know?"
Stiles flails, nearly toppling out of his computer chair as he scrambles to get to his feet. Derek's voice is more wolf than human and he's stepping through Stiles’s open bedroom window in a way that can only be described as menacing.
"Did I know what?" Stiles snaps already inching his way towards his bedroom door. Derek beats him to it and crowds Stiles until his back hits the wall.
"Don't play games with me. Did. You. Know?" Derek snarls.
Stiles matches the alpha’s red glare as he wracks his brain to figure out why Derek is asking him this question. Why does it matter if Stiles knew? Derek's pissed - and rightly so, in Stiles's personal opinion. Scott may have had the best of intentions, but using Derek's own body against him like that and forcing him to bite Gerard? Stiles’s eyes widen and he softens his own glare, finally understanding. Derek wants to believe that Stiles wouldn’t have condoned Scott’s plan and he's right - Stiles wouldn't.
"No. I didn't know," he says quietly, knowing that Derek will hear the truth in his heartbeat.
The wolf seems to deflate at the admission, red irises bleeding back to their normal stunning hazel and Stiles licks his lips, wincing when it causes his forgotten split lip to sting. Derek hones in on the movement and his eyes widen at the wound there before tracing over the rest of Stiles's face like he hasn't actually looked at him tonight. Maybe he hasn't, caught up in Scott’s betrayal.
His pulsing, bruised cheek seems to hurt more under Derek's watchful gaze and Stiles flinches when gentle fingers settle right above the bruise. The throbbing instantly subsides, melting away in black lines that swim up Derek's arm. Lightheaded, Stiles grips Derek's forearm to steady himself and releases a shaky breath as relief washes over him.
"Tell me," Derek rumbles comfortingly, inching close enough for their foreheads to almost touch.
Stiles swallows past the lump forming in his throat. What is this? Since when does Derek give a crap about him when he's not in any immediate danger? Sure, they've had their share of "in the trenches" camaraderie, but he wouldn't call them friends.
"Gerard thought it would be fun to use me as a punching bag," Stiles says, eyes shifting to look at the ground in embarrassment.
"Erica and Boyd said he had you too, but they didn't say anything about this." Derek's voice is quiet steel.
Stiles shakes his head minutely. "It's fine. They had it so much worse....are they ok?"
"They will be." Derek shifts his hand and brings his thumb up to trace the line of Stiles's bottom lip and Stiles eyes snap up, and he stares at Derek, transfixed. He can see every one of Derek's eyelashes this close. He could probably distinguish every color in his ridiculous eyes, but Derek hasn't met his gaze since he'd been distracted by the discolorations on Stiles’s face.
"He's never going to touch you again." Derek's eyes finally lift. Alpha red stares back at Stiles and he would shrink back if he thought the fierce set of Derek's jaw was aimed at him. Stiles has no idea what to say to that. Opens his mouth to say something and is cut off by Derek's lips.
It's chaste - just a gentle press right over where his lip is still broken and bleeding. Derek pulls back before Stiles even has the chance to react. There's a little splotch of red on Derek's bottom lip and his tongue darts out to lick it away. Stiles's mouth falls completely open at the sight.
The hand still pressed to Stiles's cheek, slides around to squeeze the back of his neck. "Put some ice on that," Derek whispers and then he's gone.
***
Derek watches as Stiles comes back to the present and wonders to himself if Stiles had been thinking of the last time they'd seen each other. When the unexplainable pull drove him to seek Stiles out. They'd only spoken once since that night. Stiles had called to tell him he was a “stalkerwolf” and that he didn't need a "fucking werewolf entourage” following him around Beacon Hills.
Derek agrees with him. He knows Stiles can take care of himself, but he can’t risk the chance that something might happen to him. Something had changed within in Derek that night. Something almost tangible . A piece of himself snapped into place without him ever knowing it was missing. He doesn't know what it is or what it means, but it aches all the more for being in its rightful position. All he knows is that it's getting harder to distance himself from the human in front of him and that has Derek worried about things that a month ago he never would have stopped to consider.
"I'll tell you if you call off your wolves." Stiles says and Derek lets his hand fall.
"You know I can't do that," Derek all but growls. "Not until Gerard is found."
"And what if he's never found? Who knows what the mountain ash/bite combo did to him! We don't even know that he's still alive."
Derek is quiet. He's honestly been tamping down on those same thoughts for the last week and he knows realistically that he can't make his pack watch Stiles forever. Stiles is on his own most of the time with the hours his Dad works and the distance Scott’s recent decisions have put between them. Derek needs to figure out a way to keep him close.
"Join my pack." It tumbles out of his mouth without giving him time to second guess himself. For a split second, he panics, but the sudden warmth spreading in his chest overrides it. The rightness of the idea settles in his bones. He wants Stiles in his pack.
"W-what?" Stiles's eyes have gone wide, his mouth half open.
"Look." Derek leans closer making Stiles hold his gaze and decides to go for broke. "I know you're with Scott, but Scott isn't an Alpha. You're a spark, Stiles, and the training Deaton has you doing is turning you into an emissary. I need an emissary. I want to rebuild my pack. Build it into some semblance of the one my mother led here. The Hale pack is supposed to protect Beacon Hills. I want that again."
Stiles is still staring at him. "You want me in your pack?" He asks eventually like Derek had been speaking a foreign language.
"Yes." Derek says, confident.
"Why?...I mean other than the spark thing? You barely tolerate me."
"Why did you hold me up in that pool, Stiles?" Derek watches as the change in gears shifts over Stiles's face. How his eyes search Derek's looking for a clue as to what game this is. Derek will just have to prove that he isn't playing. Now that he's let the idea take hold, he realizes that he wants nothing more than for Stiles to be a part of his pack. A part of him. His wolf howls at the thought.
"How is that even a question?" Stiles flails. "Like I was going to let you drown?"
"Others in your position would have. Without hesitation." Derek moves in even closer and is pleased when Stiles doesn't retreat. "You do the right thing, Stiles. Even-"
"Don't." Stiles face turns grim. "I don't always do the right thing. Sometimes I do exactly the opposite of the right thing."
"But you try." Derek grips Stiles's shoulders, giving him a tiny shake. "My mom always knew who to trust. She didn't trust a lot of people, but the ones she did...they were the right ones. She followed her wolf. Trusted her instincts and I've ignored mine...and it has cost me." Derek looks down then, having to swallow past the lump in his throat. If he'd listened to his wolf maybe his mom would still be his alpha. Gentle fingers circle his wrists. Derek thinks for a moment Stiles is going to shove his hands away, but he just presses his fingers into Derek's skin, letting his thumbs sweep back and forth over his pulse. Derek lets out a breath and lifts his head to meet amber eyes. "I'm listening now and my wolf says I need you in my corner."
Stiles is watching him with critical eyes. Weighing his options. Derek can practically see all the thoughts tumbling around in his head. "And what about Scott?"
"I don't know. If he wanted to become pack, I don't think I'd turn him away, but I don't think I'll be able to trust him for a long time...if ever. But, I also realize that there was some wisdom in him suggesting we work together to stop the kanima.” Derek ducks his head. “And that maybe if I’d been more willing to listen, things wouldn’t have had to go like they went.”
Stiles ducks his head, fingers tapping where they're still holding Derek's wrists. Stiles's skin is warm against his hands and he can tell Stiles is really thinking about it. It's obvious that the whole Gerard incident has driven a bit of a wedge between Stiles and Scott, but Derek thinks they'll overcome it. They're too close not to, but he still hopes that Stiles will give him a chance.
He needs for Stiles to give him a chance.
"Would you talk to me? Like, how you're talking to me tonight?"
"Yes."
Stiles's gaze goes shrewd. "I mean it, Derek. No secrets. No ‘kill now, ask questions later.’"
"None," Derek nods. "We would basically be partners." He ducks his head when Stiles's eyes widen in surprise. "I mean...it's different for every pack, the alpha and emissary relationship. But...I would like us to be partners in leading the pack."
He looks up to find Stiles watching him closely, almost as if he expects Derek to yell, "just kidding!" Derek squeezes Stiles's shoulders where his hands are still resting and lets his face be as open and honest as it's been with anyone in years.
Stiles gives a tiny squeeze to his wrists in return before he huffs. "You're really serious?"
"Yes, I am."
Stiles bites his lip and turns his head to stare off into the distance. "Are we going to talk about...whatever that was-" Stiles pulls one of his hands free to gesture at his own face, "-the other night?"
Derek hauls in a breath and gently lets go of Stiles’s shoulders, but doesn't step back. He'd been afraid Stiles would ask that, and he doesn't want to talk about it, but he just told Stiles there would be no secrets between them. Licking his lips, he does his best to put it into words. "Honestly? I don't know exactly. I felt betrayed and my instincts drove me to seek you out, but when I saw you hurting...it flipped a switch and all I wanted was to comfort you-" a growl seeps into his voice thinking of how bruised Stiles had been and how the sharp tang of dejection had overpowered his scent, "-and Gerard's blood for what he'd done."
He feels Stiles's gaze on him like it could rend flesh from bone. For minutes, Stiles doesn't say a word. Doesn't flail. Doesn’t fidget. Just goes totally still, so uncharacteristically so, that the hair on the back of Derek's neck stands up. Nothing in the world moves. Like the spark inside Stiles has somehow reached out and stopped time, sealing the two of them in a bubble all their own.
"Ok."
One whispered word and the stillness shatters. Derek sucks in a breath as sound and air rush back around him. “Ok?”
Stiles nods, amber eyes flashing with power. “I’ll be your emissary.”
