Archive of Our Own

Stiles glances at his watch, hands covered in rubber gloves which are covered in the dark cherry he’s using to stain the two church pews he’s restoring.

What are you doing May 12 & 13?

It’s Derek, and Stiles figures he doesn’t expect an immediate response since he knows Stiles is at work and that he works with his hands and can’t always respond right away. He thinks for a moment, but can’t come up with why those dates sound familiar.

“Hey, Yo?” he calls, as she’s across the room on the computer, looking at threads for a tapestry the owner is pretty sure used to hang in a European castle.

“’Sup?” she calls back, looking over his way.

“What days are the twelfth and thirteenth?

“Of May?” Yolanda asks. Stiles blinks, not expecting the question because it’s April twenty-eighth, so yeah, May would make the most sense. But Yolanda’s watching him expectantly.

“Yeah. May.”

“Uh,” she looks, “Saturday and Sunday. Thirteenth is Mother’s Day.”

Oh. Oh. That made sense.

“Thanks,” he tells Yolanda, and she responds in kind and then they’re back to work.

It’s only after Stiles is done staining, taking extra time to make sure everything is even, and its another forty minutes before Stiles throws his gloves in the sink to get washed and cleans his hands, grabbing his phone that’s on the desk next to Yolanda, who’s still tiredly researching threads.

“That’s what you get for being the fabric expert,” he says, some glee in his voice because he’s spent so. Many. Hours. Researching paints, and that’s what he gets for being the best painter in the workshop.

“Shut the fuck up, you once spent two hundred and eighty bucks on half an ounce of paint,” she throws back irritably. Stiles snorts, because it’s true and he got paid pretty handsomely for that touchup but he’s still not sure it was worth it.

(Seven goddamn hours. To end up paying almost three hundred bucks for a specialized color of hand mixed paint at half. A fucking. Ounce.)

Dad and Mel are coming for an extended weekend, was kinda hoping you’d be down for a meet-the-parents w/ you, he shoots back.

He’s taking lunch ten minutes later when Derek gets back to him.

Ah. Mom is coming, always does the weekend in the city bc, quote, ‘my other kids get to see me whenever they want’.

And a second later:

Yes. I’d love to meet your dad and Melissa. :)

It’s cute, the emoticon (because Derek never, ever uses emojis, even though he has a smartphone and is only twenty-eight, he likes to act like a seventy-year-old sometimes when it comes to tech), and also the statement and Stiles gets little butterflies and god, yeah, he loves Derek.

“You got your Derek face,” Yolanda says, coming over the break area and opening the fridge, obviously so over the thread research.

“Derek face?” Stiles asks, digging into his leftover spinach lasagne they’d had for dinner the previous night, knowing he’s blushing just slightly at being caught out.

“Mhm,” Yolanda confirms, throwing what looks to be mac and cheese in the microwave, and what an odd move – everyone knows leftover mac and cheese is best cold, preferably with a little hot sauce sprinkled over the top.

“You get this, like, very particular smile on your face, and I dunno, a fuckin’ twinkle in your eye and it’s generally adorable and yet almost vomit-inducingly sweet,” she continues. Stiles hums, feeling his face heat more and Yolanda’s watching him with one eyebrow raised.

“Just wait til the honeymoon’s over, babe,” she tells him, and whoa.

“You don’t have a Chad face?” he asks even though he knows the answer. It’s not always the same face, but it’s one of three; dopey, angry, and softly fond. Always one of those, when she talks about her fiancé.

Yolanda doesn’t show embarrassment on her face, but she purses her lips at him.

“That’s what I thought,” he retorts, and she sits down across from him, lunch in hand, without another comment.

K, we can do the stereotypical meet-the-parents moment and I’ll be all embarrassed while dad tells you all about my childhood.

And, he sends less than a moment later:

Also, you and Cora and your mom wanna have dinner with me, Scott, Dad, and Mel (maybe Ally) that Saturday?

“It’s just so sweet it’s kinda gross,” Yolanda tries again. Stiles blinks, and she rolls her eyes.

“Although, I suppose it’s alright considering how fucking happy and in love you are.”

“And, I point out again, your own ‘in love’ face isn’t any better.”

I’ll talk to mom but yeah, we should be able to swing that. :)

“I also just realized,” Yolanda continues, shoveling food into her mouth which Stiles totally understands because they’ve been here since six a.m. and it’s nearing two and they’ve got at least another four hours each.

“That I’ve never heard you and Derek argue, which. Like. Again, honey, wait til the honeymoon phase is over.”

Because their only fights so far have been about supernatural shit, no, of course Stiles hasn’t told her about them. There was just in mid-March, the gentle but still an argument about breaking the bond and how it would affect them (yes, Stiles would classify that as a fight, if only just barely since Derek had backed down pretty quickly). When they first started dating, when Derek was more than a little conflicted about dating another alpha’s second (which was so dumb, since Scott was easily the least alpha-y alpha known to man, and Stiles had told Derek such, plus Scott is an old-school romantic. It had of course taken lots of arguing and Scott himself confusedly saying, “Yeah, sure, Stiles can date whoever he wants, why would I care as long as they don’t hurt him?” over the phone before Derek had ceded).

Of course, there was the Great Reese’s Debacle of Easter, but though he’d been quite passionate then (and still was, fuck Derek and Lydia and Allison), it seems a dumb thing to relay to Yo, and she probably wouldn’t even count it anyway.

He shrugs.

“We aren’t perfect, by any means.” Pause, bite of lasagne, and then something hit him and he looks back over to see Yolanda still watching him, squinting.

“You mad at Chad or something? ‘Cause I can’t think of any other reason you’d be so pissy about Derek and I.”

Yolanda hugs, stabbing at her meal harshly and so yeah, apparently.

“Fucking Chad,” she grumbles, and Stiles waits it out, knowing she’ll continue when she’s ready.

“So you know how our lease is up in a couple months, right?”

And Stiles nods even if he grimaces inside because he does know, but it’s only because his lease is up the month after hers, which fuck, is coming up fast.

“We’ve been looking at new places, ‘cause who the fuck wants to continue living in a five hundred by four hundred square foot studio with two adults and a hyperactive shih tzu when we’re actually making enough money to at least get a one bedroom.”

“Mhm,” Stiles acknowledges, picking at his food.

“So I thought we found a few we liked and last night suggested we apply for a couple, you know how apartments go here. But Chad,” Yolanda stresses, “Fuckin’ asshole, says, ‘Well, I dunno if moving is worth it’ and ‘think of all the money we could save living here!’”

She huffs, rolling her eyes, stabbing dramatically at a noodle again.

“Doesn’t he literally always complain about your lack of space?” Stiles asks, and Yo nods, throwing up her hands.

“All the time! And at least three of the places we liked are within fifteen minutes walking distance to both our workplaces and only cost a couple hundred more a month! Did I tell you he got that raise last month?”

“Yeah.” Stiles remembers that vaguely – Yolanda talks so much on a regular basis that he can’t keep track of everything.

“It’s not like we’re nineteen-year-olds starving to pay rent, anymore.” Deep sigh. “In all actuality I know you’ve only been together like five months, but I don’t get how you and Derek work so well. Chad and I’ve been together since we were seventeen and we’ve been fighting just as long.”

“You guys have also lived together since you were eighteen. Fighting, little arguments, they’re part of every relationship. You guys don’t have lots of big fights, from what you tell me. You’re doing okay,” Stiles points out.

“Sure, true, we’ve been together nine years and haven’t had huge fights, haven’t had anything worth breaking up over, and well, neither of us have ever cheated, so there’s that. But – I know I’ve only met him twice, but the way Derek looks at you. Like you’re the love of his fuckin’ life.” Sigh. “I just wish Chad looked at me like that.”

Stiles takes a moment, both to fully absorb her words and also because – god – anytime he’s reminded that Derek loves him he gets all tingly. And – Yo may be pouring out her soul – but he can’t help the smile that forces itself on his face. Yolanda looks legitimately sad, though, and –

“I’ve only seen you and Chad interact a handful of times, Yo, but I’ve seen him look at you that way so many times,” he tells her. Of course, she rolls her eyes, shaking her head.

“Nah. You just feel bad for me.”

“He totally does,” Stiles insists. Chad – he’s heard so much about Chad over the year he and Yolanda have been working together. He’s sometimes an asshole, but to be fair so is Yolanda – at the very least, her fiancé is consistent in how he looks at her when they aren’t pissed at each other, especially when she’s talking or babbling like she’s bound to do sometimes.

“Like, sickeningly sweet, Yo, I swear. Whatever his short comings, however much of an idiot he can be, he’s so fucking in love with you.”

Yolanda visibly swallows, blinking at him.

“You serious?” she asks in a small voice.

“I’m serious, I promise. Tell him how you feel about the apartment, remind him how much you both hate the lack of space, bring up the points about how you’re better off than you’ve ever been and can afford the luxury of a bigger space. You’ll figure out a way to make sure you’re both happy, I believe in you.”

They eat in quiet for a couple moments.

“You’re honestly the best person I’ve ever worked with,” Yolanda eventually says.

Stiles snorts, but answers quickly with, “You’re not too bad yourself.”

 Yolanda laughs in response, and they finish their lunches not talking about anything so deep.

It’s an hour later and he’s sealing the benches when his watch buzzes again.

Pack dinner tonight, Kira and Boyd are making enchiladas. Everyone welcome, just tell them to let Boyd, Kira, or I know so we know how much to make.

“Derek face!” Yolanda yells across the workshop a minute later as he’s texting the rest of the pack. He sticks his tongue out at her and she laughs heartily, clearly in a better mood.

*

“Dad and Mel are getting in Thursday morning and staying until Monday afternoon,” Stiles tells Derek a week later. It’s Sunday, and he finished his last commission item for a few days the previous night and since Derek had the day off, decided to take it, too.

They’re in the den, Stiles surfing his social media while Derek answers emails, some cop show neither of them have ever seen on in the background where Malia and Kira had left it when they’d gone to pick up takeout for dinner.

“Mhm,” Derek answers, eyebrows furrowed, concentrating on his work.

“I’m working ‘til three Thursday, so Scott and or Allison’s taking her car and picking them up but I was thinking if you have it off we could all have dinner that night.”

“Sounds good,” Derek murmurs, clacking away at his laptop. Stiles sits up from where he’s been laying down on the couch, head against Derek’s leg, to look over at his boyfriend.

“Are you even listening to me?”

There’s a moment before Derek answers and Stiles is so sure he’s going to give some vague affirmation again and then.

“Your dad and Melissa are coming in Thursday, Scott or Allison or Scott and Allison will pick them up, we’re having dinner with them Thursday, since all I have is a meeting with Dickenson that morning and lunch with Borik.” Pause. “We’ll probably have dinner every night, since I want as many embarrassing stories outta them about you as possible and you eat with me most nights, anyway.”

Stiles blinks. Derek hadn’t stopped typing the entire time he’d relayed that back, or even looked up from his screen and it’s not a ‘wolf thing because Scott can’t walk and chew gum at the same time, and he’s pretty sure he’s seen Isaac cut himself at least twice because he was trying to sing along to a song and slice an avocado.

Derek smirks, finally glancing at Stiles.

“I can multitask, babe, you should know that by now.”

Stiles squints at him, ignoring the bubbly feeling in his stomach because this – the pet names, said so casually – he never pegged Derek as the type and it’s a rather recent development, the last month or so. Stiles doesn’t think Derek actually notices that he does it.

But now’s not the time because Stiles is actually annoyed.

“If you even bothered to look at me when I talk I wouldn’t wonder,” he shoots back.

Derek rolls his eyes – not much, like he catches himself halfway through and decides to try to make it as non-visible as possible, but Stiles still catches it.

“Just because I’m not looking at you doesn’t mean I’m not listening. Again, I can multitask.”

“It’s more a basic respect thing, asshat,” Stiles returns, and Derek doesn’t try to hide the eyeroll this time.

“Fine. Sorry. I’ll be sure to act like I’m listening when you talk, while I could be doing something constructive at the same time and gleaning just as much information.”

“Oh, so listening to me isn’t constructive to you?”

“Don’t twist my words,” Derek tells him, clearly irritated, “I just find it dumb that you don’t think I am able to actually listen to you while I’m replying to this email about the classes I’m teaching next semester. Y’know, the thing that’ll let me graduate with my degree in December, should I successfully do it?”

“Yes, I agree, your PhD is important, I’m here for you, I’ve gladly read through your thesis twice to make sure there weren’t any mistakes, don’t act like I’m being unsupportive. I just think it would be nice if you’d take the thirty seconds it would take to drag your eyes away to make sure we’re on the same page.”

Derek lets out a frustrated huff, but then takes a deep breath, closing his laptop and setting it on the coffee table, turning fully to face Stiles.

“You know what? No. I’m not going to fight you about something that’s trivial and obviously something we feel very different about, especially since I’m a little frustrated right now with school. I’ll try to make sure I’m looking at you when you’re talking about important things, from now on, but you have to promise not to get frustrated if I forget sometimes.”

Stiles is quiet for a few moments, knows that he’s pouting at Derek but now he’s annoyed and feeling guilty.

“Yeah,” he finally speaks, drags himself back over so he’s closers to Derek, who automatically opens his arm to allow Stiles into his space, “Sorry. I haven’t been sleeping well lately, I’m probably more irritable than normal.”

Derek hums, letting Stiles lay back down, head in his lap this time and runs a hand through his hair gently. They’re quiet for a few more moments before Stiles snorts.

“Literally last week Yolanda was telling me about how you and I never fight, it’s just ironic.”

“Did you tell her about the Great Reese’s Debacle?” Derek asks, eyes sparkling, and god, Stiles really loves him, he does. He shakes his head.

“She’d say that was a dumb argument and probably agree with you so I didn’t even bother. And everything else we’ve ever argued about has been supernatural, so that’s a no-no.”

“Well when you see her Tuesday you can tell her all about this.”

“Mmm. Should just go in and be all, ‘He literally doesn’t listen to me, then gets mad when I point out he’s not listening because he was, but he just acts like an asshole that doesn’t listen,’” Stiles tries to imitate Yolanda, but the look Derek gives him tells him he did a shite job. Also –

“No need to bring it up again.” Stiles rolls his eyes this time, but it’s good-naturedly, a smile on his face, and Derek’s fingers don’t stop with the scalp massage. Quiet.

“She and Chad get into it again?” Derek asks next, since Stiles has told him in the past about Yolanda’s rants. Stiles chuckles.

“Yeah. Their lease is up soon, Yo wants to move into a bigger space and Chad thinks it’s better to save more money and stay where they are now.”

“Pretty sure Yolanda’ll win that one,” Derek throws out, “Isn’t your lease up soon too?”

“September,” Stiles murmurs, grimacing again, “Mid-month.”

Derek sniffs, leans forward to grab the remote and flips through the channels for a moment while Stiles goes back to his phone.

“You could always move in here.”

It’s said so casually, but Stiles whips his head to look at Derek, who’s determinedly staring at the television. He only looks down when Stiles nudges him, head cocking to the side.

“You want me to move in?”

Derek shrugs.

“You basically live here anyway, I mean. Could just make it official.”

“You want me to move in,” Stiles confirms, and Derek’s ears are tipped in red, regardless of the vibe he’s going for. Stiles smiles, thinking it over.

“I’d have to clear it with Ally and Scott.”

Derek shrugs again, flicking back up to look at the TV.

“Just. Keep in mind, a possibility. I’m cool with you living here.”

Stiles smirks.

“You love me and you want me to live with you.”

Derek’s eyes slide back down to his face, hand slipping through his hair yet.

“Not really a secret.”

“Hmm. Well, just so you know, in case it wasn’t obvious, I love you too.”

“Duh,” Derek responds, but he also does the totally cliché thing and grabs one of Stiles’ hands, bringing it up to kiss it gently, and interlocks their fingers.

They’re quiet for the next little while, Derek flipping through the channels and Stiles watching him, until the front door opens and then slams, shuffling beneath them for a minute before someone’s on the stairs, coming up, and Kira yells, “We’re home!” from beyond the den entrance.

“Ew,” Cora says when she’s the first one through the door, scrunching her nose at the picture before her and plopping down on the loveseat, and then there’s Kira and Malia with bags full of food, setting it down on the coffee table.

“You changed the channel!” Malia growls out, and Kira makes a noise of disappointment too.

“How about Netflix something we’ll all watch?” Derek suggests and Malia rolls her eyes and Cora’s already digging through the bags to find something and Kira passes out plasticware and Stiles sits up.

“Scandal?” Cora asks, taking her spoils back to the loveseat and spreading out as Kira took one of the chairs and Malia sat on the floor next to her.

“You’ve literally seen that show through like five times,” Kira points out, and Cora shrugs, stabbing at some beef and broccoli.

“But we all like it to some degree.”

“I’m down for Scandal, if we start from the beginning,” Stiles says, pulling out box of sweet and sour chicken and handing it over to Derek.

“Don’t care either way, but it’s either that or Blue Bloods, which we were watching,” Malia says, glaring daggers at Stiles and Derek. Derek laughs, pulling up Netflix, and Stiles looks around the room, at Malia and Kira whispering to each other too low for him to hear, to Cora watching them with disgust on her face and mouth stuffed with food, Derek with his eyes trained on the TV finding the show.

Yeah, he’d be down for living with these people.

*

“You good to go?” Derek asks Boyd, who’s sitting in the break room after his shift. Boyd nods, patting down his person to make sure he’s got his wallet and shrugging on his jacket. He’s on the phone, texting away and Derek figures it’s either Erica or his mom because those are the only people Boyd texts on a regular basis. Possibly both; he and Erica are leaving the next day to head north for the weekend, planning to spend it with their families.

Derek – he’s in his own little place, for now, anyway. He knows his heartbeat is just a little too fast, his palms slightly sweaty around his keys, and Boyd eventually asks about it as they’re sitting in the Camaro, heading home.

“You meeting Stiles’ dad and stepmom tonight, aren’t you?”

And he’s known it but Boyd vocalizing it makes it so much more real, god damn it, and Derek twitches his nose and licks his lips, nodding. Boyd snorts in laughter at him, eyebrow raised and he may be Derek’s second but god, sometimes he fucking hates him.

Not really. But Boyd has a particular skill for seeing right through you, seeing past all the bullshit, and is always the most honest of any of them in the pack, and it’s probably why they’ve gotten along pretty well since he and Erica started dating, way back before he was even a ‘wolf, even though he’s three years younger than Derek.

“It’s not like he’s gonna shoot you.”

“He is a sheriff,” Derek points out, and Boyd shakes his head.

“He’s out of his jurisdiction.”

Derek glances over with a glare as they get to a red light, three cars deep because it’s Thursday at five p.m. in New York City.

“Are you saying the only reason he won’t shoot me is because we’re not in Beacon Hills?”

Boyd snorts again.

“I’m saying that I’ve been privy to Stiles telling you he loves you, so I’m pretty sure that he’s at least told his dad, who he’s close to, about how important you are to him, so he’ll already come into this knowing how much you mean to Stiles. No, he wouldn’t shoot you, no matter what, because he loves Stiles, who loves you.”

Derek stares at Boyd long enough that the person behind him honks their horn when he doesn’t notice the light’s turned green, and he startles, starting back up and driving along.

“I’d be more worried about Melissa, honestly.”

Sometimes Derek hates Boyd.

*

Derek ends up heading to the restaurant by himself – their restaurant, the one they had their first real date at, the one they spent Valentine’s Day dinner at, the one they’d frequented even before dating because they both really liked it, and the one Stiles decided they should all go to tonight. He goes alone since he got out of the work the latest, and Stiles went to his own apartment after work to greet his dad and stepmom, and went to the restaurant with them, Scott, and Allison.

By the time he gets to the restaurant, smoothing down his long sleeve shirt again (“I know you, and I know you’re gonna think about wearing like a fuckin’ suit or something, but this restaurant is not like five-star black-tie-only shit, you know that. Don’t.”), he’s nervous, yes. Wonders if this is what Stiles felt like when they went to Lockport in March, even though he’d met Derek’s mom a couple of times.

It’s just nerve-wracking, something Derek doesn’t think you ever get over no matter how many times you ‘meet-the-parents’. Especially with someone who’s close to their parents, like Stiles is.

“Reservation for, uh, either Stilinski or McCall,” he tells the hostess, who nods with a smile.

“They’re waiting for you,” she says, coming around the podium and directing him to the edge of the room, where a large table sits by the window and yeah, there’s Scott and Allison and Stiles and –

“Derek!” Stiles says as they get closer, rising from his seat with a bright smile and Derek gulps, greeting his boyfriend with a short kiss and Stiles’ arm is wrapped around him, beaming at the table and an older man who Stiles definitely resembles in some major ways stands, peering at him with a smile on his own face.

Derek doesn’t really know what his expression is, but he’s trying for a smile and hopes it comes across.

A woman, seated closer to where they’re at the end of the table, stands as well, and she looks very much like Scott. Her face is softer, her smile brighter, and he relaxes slightly.

“Dad, Mel, this is Derek Hale. Derek, my dad, and Melissa.”

“Derek,” Melissa’s the first to speak, holding out a hand that Derek takes. She places her other over his, shakes it with an open expression and a twinkle in her eye.

“We’ve heard to much about you. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

“Same to you,” Derek replies, grateful for her soft and maternal presence as Stiles’ dad – who, Derek reminds himself, is a sheriff – eyes him next to her, “Stiles talks about you two constantly.”

Stiles’ dad nods, still watching him skeptically as they shake hands.

“All good, I suppose?” he asks as Stiles leads them around the table and they all seat again. Maybe due to careful planning (Derek so wouldn’t put it past his boyfriend) or just how the cards fell, he ends up across from John.

“As if Stiles ever has anything bad to say about anyone.” It’s out of his mouth before Derek realizes what he’s saying and it’s only then he realizes how it might come off. Luckily, everyone at the table has known Stiles way too long and must have a sense of humor, as after a couple seconds of silence Scott snorts loudly, Melissa’s chuckling while Allison giggles, and John’s face breaks into a grin, and there, how much that looks like Stiles. And, speaking of, Stiles elbows him, whispers, “I hate you.”

“You love me,” he mutters back, just glancing at his boyfriend. His expression at Derek’s response goes from glaring to fond in one moment, cheeks heating slightly but with a smile on his face like it’s unavoidable.

Derek’s return grin is absolutely unavoidable, just something his face does when Stiles looks like that.

“No, for real,” he turns back to the Sheriff and Melissa, “He did tell me that you are stock full of super embarrassing stories about him and to definitely not ask you to tell me all of them.”

“To be honest, you’ve probably got a handful of your own already, I don’t think this kid’s gone more than twenty-four hours without getting into trouble,” John comments.

“Hey!” Stiles squeals over everyone else laughing. He slumps down, face grumpy.

“I mean, it’s true, man,” Scott says from Stiles’ other side. Stiles sends him a death glare, followed up by “Right, like you’re any better.”

“And that’s definitely true,” Allison chimes in. Scott shrugs, accepting his fate and sipping his drink.

They’re interrupted then by the waiter, who takes Derek’s drink order and then everyone’s order. After they’re gone, John looks at Derek contemplatively and fuck, this is where they go because Stiles has told him about how his dad was with his other long-term significant others, even if they had only been two in number. He’s fully expecting the in-depth interrogation.

It doesn’t come. Instead, John smiles.

“Did Stiles ever tell you about the time he and Scott snuck out after curfew because he heard about a possible dead body on the police scanner and decided to go try and find it themselves?” he asks. Stiles lets out a noise, part frustration part surprise, maybe, while Melissa laughs, Scott holds up a hand in front of his face and Derek’s jaw drops.

“No,” he says at the same moment Allison speaks up with, “I haven’t even heard that story!”

“Really?” Scott asks, turning to his girlfriend, eyebrows drawn together, “It was like, just before you moved to Beacon Hills.”

“Literally three or four days before the infamous ‘Do you have a pen I can borrow?’ scene,” Stiles contributes.

“So what happened?” Derek brings the group back around. Scott jumps in.

“I still don’t know how I let Stiles talk me into that because I did not want to see a dead body, but it turns out there wasn’t even one out there. Stiles’ Jeep, meanwhile, got stuck in some mud on the way back from the Preserve, and we had to call a tow. Of course, then, we got caught and grounded for a week.”

“I guess,” Derek muses, after Scott finishes, “My biggest question is why, exactly, did you want go searching for a dead body?” He poses this question at Stiles, who shrugs.

“I was sixteen,” he defends, “I was sixteen and weirdly interested in weird happenings of which there were a lot of in Beacon Hills, by the way. If there was a murderer in the city hell yeah I wanted to know all about it!”

“Regardless of the fact that, even with the supernatural element and the weird happenings, including two cults, ninety-nine percent of deaths in Beacon County are either natural, vehicular related, or animal maulings,” John points out.

“Trust me to know that within the last hundred years exactly six percent of deaths in Beacon County are homicidal in nature,” Stiles argues, “Also, California is the fourth most likely state, percentage-wise, to host serial killings and by the actual numbers, the most likely state.”

“That’s a weird fact to know,” Derek says after a moment’s pause. Allison speaks at the same time: “And you wanted to get killed…?”

“Okay, first, you listen to four different podcasts about true crime, hypocrite,” Stiles points at Derek before turning, “And Allison, that’s a good point that I totally didn’t think about until we were out in the woods and Scott decided to ask ‘What if the person who did it is still out there?’.”

“Great minds think alike,” Scott responds. The waiter drops off Derek’s drink and tells them everything will be out soon, and Melissa takes the interruption as an opportunity to steer the conversation away from dead bodies and crime statistics.

*

“That went well,” Stiles says a few hours later and they’re walking back to Derek’s place, hand in hand, watching the nightlife of the neighborhood (a few laughing groups here and there, coming and going from various bars, hotels, and clubs, plenty of kids playing, distant laughing; Stiles likes Derek’s neighborhood a lot). They’d stayed at the restaurant for a while, talking, before heading out to show the two elders around the city for a bit.

Finally, they’d dropped John and Melissa off at their hotel and split ways from there.

(“You staying at Derek’s?” Scott had asked. Allison laughed, full.

“Of course he is,” she’d responded, and that was that.)

“Definitely could have been worse,” Derek agrees, “I like them. Your parents.”

Stiles grins, squeezes his hand.

“Melissa adores you, of course, says you’re very polite and lovely, and even Dad, if a little begrudgingly, said he does like you.”

Derek shrugs – he’ll take what he can get, for now, he’s still got all weekend.

“He’s very protective of you,” he says instead, and Stiles nods, expression dropping a little.

“I’m his only kid, y’know? And while that thing with Kendra ended mutually and we stayed kinda friends at least through college, my first relationship. Didn’t go so well. So yeah.”

They’re both quiet as they reach an intersection, wait for the light to turn.

“If you want to, you can tell me about that anytime, y’know,” Derek tells his boyfriend as they get to the other side of the street, and Stiles smiles again, soft.

“One day. It’s a little rough, even now.”

Derek nods, squeezing his hand and Stiles pulls him a little closer, presses a small kiss to the corner of his mouth as they round a corner.

One half second later, there’s a shot ringing out. Stiles doesn’t think about it, instinctively goes down to the ground, dragging Derek down with him.

“What the hell,” he whispers, and then Derek groans from next to him and he glances over and fuck. Fuck.

It’s dark, barely lit by the streetlights and this street is always darker than others but Derek’s grasping his side, mouth open in pain and there’s a slight darkening through his fingers and he’s bleeding.

“Fuck,” Stiles says, and another shot rings out, just barely missing his head and he pulls Derek around the corner, setting him up against the brick building.

“Wolfsbane,” Derek gets out, gritting his teeth, and in the brighter light of this road Stiles can see it clearly now, the blood staining Derek’s light blue sweater and his eyes go wide.

“Fucking hunters,” he says, rubbing his eyes and there’s a voice, then two, coming from around the corner, and Stiles stands up.

“Stay,” he tells Derek, who looks at him, clear frustration on his face.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He closes his eyes, licks his lips. “It’s my god damn kidney.”

Stiles sighs, deeply, and considers that he’s actually relatively lucky that the pack had a little run in with hunters back when they were first turned because he knows what needs to happen, now. Scott had been shot in the lower leg, so he’d had considerable more time, but the rest of the pack had taken near a day tracking down the hunters (three of them – they always traveled in packs the fuckers) to get the wolfsbane.

“Text Scott,” he tells Derek, squaring his shoulders and before Derek can ask what he’s doing he rounds the corner, feeling the energy through his body, his eyes shifting to dark purple as he holds up his hands. One orb floats over one hand, and he shoots it out, directing it toward whoever’s on the street and then he can see the two, still down the street a little bit and another shot rings out.

He throws up a quick defense, one of the first things Leila had taught him back in March and he’s eternally grateful now. All of his training since has been on his own, with occasional Skype calls to Leila and Deaton, and it’s slow going.

But he feels energized, pissed off and vibrating and the hunters, two men probably just a few years older than him, look scared now as he gets closer, dodging their bullets.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, it’s a witch,” one says, accent clear in his voice and it falter Stiles for just a half a second and a bullet whips by him, grazes his left shoulder. He winces, grinds his teeth, and twists his hand around, pulling one of their guns to him. The one, now weaponless, turns, starts to run, yelling something incomprehensible to his partner and Stiles is so not here for it.

Concentrating because this is not something he’s done more than once, and it was only mildly successful then, throws out his free hand, a long strand of purple electric string shooting from it and wrapping around Bad Guy #1. He pulls back, tightening, releases, and then throws the same spell at Bad Guy #2, who’s still shooting at him. He drops his gun as the magic wraps around him, binding his arms to his chest and around his ankles, he falls.

Gulping, he grabs the other’s gun too, magic falling and eyes sliding back to their normal hue. Shakily, he unloads one of the guns, adrenaline wearing off slightly. Somewhere in the back of his mind he still knows that his very existence, magic, is supposed to be a secret, that their existence literally depends on keeping it a secret from people who would happily use it against them and this street might be mostly businesses, deserted at this time of night, but there may still be spectators, especially after the gunfire, but he doesn’t care.

He doesn’t care if someone comes upon the scene, sees the weird glowing rope-like bindings, or if anyone sees him pressing burning powder into Derek’s wound, or saw the entire fucking thing, because if Derek doesn’t get this he will die.

Could be hours, but – depending on how much of his kidney was nicked – could be literal minutes.

He’s not risking that just to make sure someone doesn’t see that magic is real.

Stiles nearly runs back to Derek, who’s slumped against the brick, blood forcing itself through his fingers, pressed tightly against his stomach. He’s pale, so very pale, Stiles can tell even with the dim lighting, his breath coming out in short, staccato bursts.

He looks up at Stiles, eyelids droopy and head unable to keep still.

“You okay?”

Stiles gulps, nods quickly, starts to reach around to check if it’s a through and through.

“No bullet, went straight through,” Derek somehow slurs out, “Already checked.”

Stiles nods again, unable to articulate all the thoughts going through his head and he needs to be in one particular mindset right now, anyway. He takes a moment, grabs the Swiss army knife his dad had instilled in him to always carry and now, more than ever, he’s so glad he does. He pops the bullet cap open, pouring the wolfsbane/gunpowder mixture into his palm and – fuck.

Fuck. He knows for sure that neither he nor Derek carry a lighter on them – why would they ever need it? – and he panics at first, eyes sliding back to look at the blood pooling around the cement around Derek. It’s only when he finally looks up, meeting Derek’s eyes, vacant, that spurs him and.

Right.

He focuses hard, picturing a lighter and using all his remaining energy and, it’s almost like magic (hah), then there’s a Zippo appearing in his hand. Not appearing, he knows it’s come from someone’s unsuspecting pocket near them, bright blue with a weird marble pattern on it, now stained by the blood on Stiles’ hand and he flicks it once, twice, three times before it takes flame, passing it quickly to his other hand and whoosh go the flames.

Stiles gulps again and Derek moves his hands without prompting, groaning as he does and as soon as the fire’s burnt out he flips his hand, pressing the powder to Derek’s wound.

The sound Derek makes is unlike Stiles has ever heard from his boyfriend, half a howl and something so much more terrifying, and it makes him gulp, the reality of everything crashing in on him in one big swoop and even as the wound glows bright. Derek’s back arches, chest heaved up and mouth wide open and then he’s slumping back against the brick wall and Stiles grasps his hand as tears start welling up into his eyes and he’s done everything he can, there’s nothing magic can do for a ‘wolf with aconite poisoning, it’s all up to doing exactly what he’s just done.

There’s a wetness to his cheeks Stiles barely notices, keeping his eyes on Derek’s face as it shifts from pure pain to drooping, a breath let out and he thinks that means he’s okay and then there’s a shout from down the street and Stiles glances up, sees Scott and Allison and Lydia and Cora and Isaac rushing toward them.

“What the hell,” Cora’s the first to reach them, dropping down beside Stiles.

“Hunters,” is all he gets out, shaking his head.

“Got me. Kidney. Think I’m healing,” Derek somehow manages, though his skin still pallid in coloring and now, he’s shaking. His free hand is on the sidewalk next to him, and his breath is less than steady.

“All I can smell is blood,” Cora says, shaking her head and her eyes slide over her brother’s features.

“Hunters still around?” Scott asks, the other four now standing behind them. Stiles nods, waves around the corner.

“They’re around there. I’ve got them tied up.”

Scott nods, looks to Allison and Isaac and the three of them head off around the corner. It’s only a few seconds later they come back, confused.

“No one there.”

“What?” Stiles’ eyebrows go together because while he’s never been fully successful at the binding spell, intention is always the most important thing in magic and man, he was as intentioned as he’s ever been while taking down those motherfuckers. He gets up, lets go of Derek’s hand just enough to scooch over and – he can clearly see the two hunters, still wrapped in purple ropes.

“They’re right there,” he points, and everyone turns back to look.

“Uh, there’s no one there,” Isaac comments, and.

“Oh,” Lydia says from over where she’s checking out Derek’s wound, because as much as she’s going to school for advanced mathematics, she’s also the one with the most medical knowledge out of all of them. She looks up, eyes wide.

“Are you doing a cloaking spell, Stiles?”

And. Well, Stiles hasn’t ever been able to do one, though it would be useful to know. Cloaking spells allow certain things to be completely concealed from others when need-be; sights, sounds, smells. The only one who would be able to see, hear, or smell would be the person casting the spell itself, but Stiles – yeah, actually.

Lydia’s a freaking genius even though Stiles is the actual spark. There’s a very slight, easily missed sparkle in the sky, a bubble surrounding half the block. Stiles sighs, focuses on letting them into it and it’s a few moments later Allison goes, “Oh!” and Scott nods, mouth a grim line. Stiles gulps, goes back over to Derek.

“He’s healing,” Lydia comments, only looking the slightest grossed out by the blood all over her hands, “Slowly, but I think he should be fine in another few hours. Good as new.”

“No way he’s gonna walk from here,” Cora says, looking up as the other three round the corner again, both hunters in tow, bound around the middle.

“We’ll get him home,” Stiles directs, watching as Derek’s head tilts, half passed out. His body is using up immense amounts of energy to heal, he knows that, and after several hours asleep he’ll probably wake up the next morning ready to eat a mountain.

“Ally – ” he starts. Allison interrupts, nodding.

“Scott and I’ll get these two to the Reynolds.”

“I’ll try to get you a cloaking spell, but – ”

“No need. Allison will go get her car, they’re not far from here anyway.”

“The Reynolds?” Isaac asks, and Cora’s looking confused as well.

“They’re friends of my dad’s,” Allison tells them, handing over Bad Guy #1 to Isaac, “Excellent and good hunters. Both in morality and.” She shrugs, evil smirk on her face. “Hell with weaponry of all kinds, too. They’ll take care of these two.”

She heads off, back toward their apartment to grab her car and Cora stands, glaring at the two hunters.

“Nothing to say for yourself?”

Bad Guy #1 is glaring, jaw flexing, while Bad Guy #2 just looks scared as hell, eyes flicking around between the group and his accomplice. Stiles feels a small smile on his face.

“Binding spell makes them unable to speak. It’ll wear off in another hour or two, tell the Reynolds.”

Scott nods, and they fall quiet for a moment. Lydia’s the one who speaks up, pursing her lips.

“Cora, Stiles, you guys get Derek home and take care of him. I’ll stay here with Isaac and Scott until Ally gets back.”

Everyone agrees to that, and then Stiles and Cora are trying to haul a near-boneless, half-asleep Derek off the ground. It’s only another three blocks, near straight shot, to their apartment, but Derek isn’t exactly small and near all muscle. Stiles is strong, he works out relatively regularly and built up some major muscle running from supernatural creatures the last half of his college years, and even still Cora ends up doing most of the heavy lifting.

As is, they stumble their way that last three blocks and into the apartment, where Kira and Boyd exclaim when they see what a state they’re all in, helping carry Derek up to his room. Cora explains what happened while they all assist in getting his shirt off, cleaned up, and wound relatively well dressed.

“I’ve got it from here,” Stiles tells them once that’s done, and they all nod, head out as Cora continues the story. Sighing deeply, realizing it’s nearing two in the morning by now, Stiles gets his boyfriend’s jeans and underwear off, slips on a clean pair of sweatpants, and they manage to get to the bed.

Derek’s out as soon as he hits the surface, and after watching worriedly for a couple of minutes, Stiles sighs again, goes back to the bathroom to clean up the mess of half-dried blood on the tile, the ruined clothes.

It’s going to be a long night.

*

Derek wakes up very slowly, his blackout curtains working extra well when he notices the time on his alarm clock – near noon.

It takes a moment, but then he’s near jumping out of bed, “Shit” coming out of his mouth before Stiles snorts next to him and that makes him jump, too. He’s used to waking up with Stiles in the bed with him, but Derek’s the early riser out of the two, so it’s surprising.

“Dude, calm down,” Stiles says as Derek flips over, sees him sitting in a t-shirt and a pair of Derek’s basketball shorts, glasses on Stiles only ever wears when he’s truly exhausted and not in the mood for his contacts. There’s a book open in his lap, from the looks of it old and it’s probably one of the one’s he’s been getting from Derek’s mom, but Stiles is looking at Derek with amusement and…worry?...in his face.

“Calm down I won’t, I was supposed to be at work at nine this morning,” Derek points out, and Stiles shakes his head.

“Called in for you already. Remember, you got shot last night.”

Derek’s still kind of foggy, having just woken up, and suddenly everything slams into him and he looks down at the gauze on his lower left side, remembers the shock and pain and his kidney, only bits and pieces from after he got shot. He takes the gauze, a red tint to it, off, reveals unblemished skin, no wound, and hears the small sigh of relief from Stiles. He blinks.

“What did you tell them to get the day off?”

Stiles snorts again, reaching over to the bedside table and getting a cup, half full of coffee and damn, Derek wants one. Without a word, Stiles grabs another mug, steaming and full and hands it to him. He takes it gratefully.

“You know one of your higher ups is actually a selkie? Donna Bolinger.”

Derek nearly spits out the coffee in his mouth, gulping quickly and choking as Stiles watches him, amused, as he clears his throat, taking another drink to even it out. He shakes his head.

“Did not know that.”

“You would if you paid as much attention as I do,” Stiles replies with a smirk, “Anyway, I called her. Told her what actually happened, she gave you today off, said she’d take care of it. Wished you the best.”

Which is good to know, in case any other supernatural things come up that he needs to take days off for. Would have been very helpful in March when Stiles was going through all that shit.

His stomach growls, then, and Stiles laughs, rolls his eyes.

“If you’re up for it – and only if you are – we can meet up with Dad and Mel and Scott for lunch. And – when’s your mom getting in?”

Derek blinks at the rapid change of subject – he’s used to it, by this far along knowing Stiles, but it always throws him off for just a minute.

“Tomorrow morning – she always flies in when she comes to the City. Cora’s picking her up from JFK at eleven thirty tomorrow.”

Stiles nods, grabbing his phone from the bedside table and scrolling for a moment.

“We’re having dinner here, then, if it’s okay with you. Figured I’d cook, and frankly your kitchen is a million times better than our tiny one.”

“Fine by me,” Derek says, trying to keep up.

“Cool. Then we’ve gotta go grocery shopping at some point – I’m thinking chicken cordon bleu, Scott and Dad like it a lot and it’s not hard to make. Maybe with steamed veggies on the side? Anybody going to be around for dinner? More than welcome to join.”

Derek thinks for a moment.

“Boyd, Erica, and Kira are all heading upstate this afternoon for the weekend. Cora and Isaac?”

“And Allison,” Stiles types something into his phone, “So that’s eight of us.” Pause, Stiles looks up at him.

“She always gets a little…off around Mother’s Day, her mom died when we were in high school. So we like to keep an eye out for her around this time.”

Derek nods again, thoughts flitting through his head about talking to Stiles about how he deals with his own mother’s death around this time. He decides not to bring it up, never liking to talk about it himself around Father’s Day – he’s got a great stepdad, who ended up being his mom’s actual mate, so it all turned out best it could, but.

He doesn’t like to think or talk about his dad. He remembers him well, twelve when Victor West-Hale had died. Laura and Cora remember him too, fourteen and seven when the tragedy had occurred, the twins the only ones (less than a year old) who had no active memory of their father. They all spend Father’s Day with Ricky, he’s wonderful to all of them and he and Talia as in love as they were at their wedding, but Derek’s personally always spent at least an hour doing something in memory of his bio dad, and he knows Laura and Cora do it in their own ways.

And Stiles lost his own mom at thirteen, around the same age. He doesn’t mention anything, just nods and finishes off his coffee, rising from the bed.

“How long until we’re meeting everyone for lunch?”

Stiles looks up from his phone, eyebrows raised, drags his eyes up and down once over Derek’s bare stomach, licks his lips and in an instant the room’s scent changes. Derek didn’t know Stiles at sixteen, but he can’t imagine his libido was actually more active then, though Stiles swears up and down he’s gotten better.

And he feels absolutely fine, would be so down for pretty much anything now except that if Stiles’ dad is expecting them for lunch he isn’t going to be late because of this. Stiles snaps out of it, looks him back in the eye.

“You wanna shower? We’ll say…one-thirty, that should give us enough time. Dad and Mel wanna be super tourists today and go see the Brooklyn Bridge and the Empire State building and, if we have time, go to either Chinatown or Greenwich Village, so. Dinner’s gonna take…an hour to make, maybe? Given I have help, so we’ll probably have to eat a later dinner too. Allison’s gonna join us after she gets out of work at three.”

“That’s a lot to do in one day,” Derek comments, screwing up his nose. He was the stereotype when he first came to the City – visited everything he could in the first week – but he’s been in New York for ten years now. He could probably show them better places than the tourist traps. Stiles shrugs, laughing at the look on Derek’s face.

“We’ll do what we can. Neither of them has ever been to New York, let them have this, like you weren’t the same when you first arrived.”

Derek can’t deny that.

“Go take a shower. We’re not driving, so we’ve gotta go pretty soon.”

*

Stiles thinks it’s been a good day so far. He hasn’t seen his dad or Mel since Christmas, and it’s great to spend an entire day with them, only exacerbated by the fact that Scott and Ally are here, and Derek. He’s talked pretty much nonstop about Derek to his dad since January, and it’s great to finally get them to meet.

He’s always valued his dad’s input, and he’s very glad that he seems to like Derek, get on with him. And now they’re heading toward Derek’s apartment, to grab some groceries so Stiles can start making dinner. Derek’s been fine all day, clearly healed from last night’s trauma, and the Reynolds had texted Allison, told her that it seemed like an isolated party of hunters, not connected to some bigger organization so they should be in the clear for now.

Derek and Allison are up front, discussing classic French movies, something they both enjoy, while Scott and Melissa are talking about how Scott’s schooling is going. Stiles and John are trailing behind them, watching, and – knowing that for now they’re as safe as they can be – Stiles feels like this is happiness. There’s a slight ache in his chest, probably partially because it’s so close to Mother’s Day, wishing his mom could be here but. It’s still good.

It’s great.

“So,” his dad starts, quietly enough that there’s a chance Derek and Scott can’t hear it, which Stiles thinks after the next part is on purpose, “You and Derek.”

Stiles side-eyes his dad, eyebrows drawn together.

“Me and Derek?”

John shrugs, keeping pace and looking over at Stiles.

“From what Scott says you’re basically living with him. Already.”

Stiles is actually speechless for a moment, but he tries to remember this is his dad, and – okay. So maybe he’d fallen too far too fast with Matt, too, and sure, that had ended horribly and Stiles maybe had almost dropped out of college a month before his first year ended because of him. Stiles reminds himself that’s why his dad’s being like this.

Probably.

“I’ve been into him since last March, Dad,” he tries, sticking his hands in his pockets and glancing back up at Derek, who’s laughing now at something that Allison’s said, and Melissa and Scott have caught up with them, interjecting, “And we’ve been dating for five months. Anyway, most of my stuff is still at my apartment with Scott and Ally.”

“But you’re spending a good chunk of time with him, and apparently most nights,” John replies, and holds up a hand in defense, “I just want you to be okay, Stiles. Being with him ’s already made you sick once.”

“I wasn’t sick, it’s just.” Stiles stops, because he loves his dad to death and misses him every day, but since the pack was formed he’s never lived with him.

“The supernatural and magic might be, to you, something that happens to me and the pack. But for us it is life, y’know? I’m a spark, he’s an alpha, those things happen and I’m okay and actually better than before.”

John nods his head as if to say “that’s fair”, and Stiles takes it.

“He’s not gonna hurt me, Dad. I promise. He wouldn’t.”

John doesn’t respond, and Derek and Scott have looked around by now, seen how far behind the other two are and slowed their pace.

“You coming home for the barbecue in July?”

Stiles grins, ignoring the obvious change in subject.

“’Course I am. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

John nods as they catch up.

“Bring him along. I wanna get to know him better.”

Stiles stares at his dad for just a second before telling him, “I will,” just as they catch up to the others. Derek’s smiling softly at him, arm slightly angled away from his body leaving a space open. Stiles doesn’t do in consciously, just slides into the space, leaning into his boyfriend as Derek’s arm settles on his waist. He doesn’t even think about it until he sees his dad watching, brow slightly drawn, as he reaches for Melissa’s hand, stretched out.

“You will what?” Scott asks obliviously as they start walking again.

“Get some cauliflower at the grocery store,” Stiles shoots back with a smile, “Dad wants some mashed instead of potatoes for dinner since it’s considerably healthier.”

Scott groans and John winces, knowing he’s gotten himself in for it. Mel is laughing and Derek shrugs and Allison sighs dreamily.

“I love cauliflower,” she says, and Scott groans again.

“How are we compatible?” he comments, only to have Allison stick her tongue out at him.

“Are we about to witness breakup number one thousand and two over cauliflower?” Stiles asks dryly, and they both stick their tongues out at him.

“Like, a thousand of those were back in high school, anyway,” Allison points out, and Scott leans over, lands a quick kiss on the tip of her nose.

“Anyway, compatible or not, she’s the love of my life.”

A chorus of “aww”s goes up at that, everyone except Stiles who pretends to gag and that gets him a good-natured shove from Scott and then it’s like their kids again, teasing each other back and forth as they go down the street.

*

Dinner goes off without a hitch; Cora and Isaac join them as Stiles is starting, and Isaac pitches in easily (Derek had certainly tried, and then Stiles had reminded him of his near-death experience less than twenty-four hours before, and no matter how many times Derek had pointed out that he was fully healed and that it was Stiles who single-handedly saved him, Stiles had somehow won anyway).

Cora and John get along famously, discussing everything from baseball to pro wrestling and laughing together through the prep, food, and their wine/coffee and bakery-made bread pudding they’d picked up. Cora regales them with a terribly embarrassing story involving middle-school Derek, werewolf puberty, the no privacy he’d received from a large werewolf family, and a girl he had a crush on. Derek retaliates with the story of Cora and Isaac getting together, and all in all it’s a brilliant night.

John doesn’t bring it up anymore the entire night, even in the moment they’re alone in the kitchen, but Stiles does catch him watching his and Derek’s interactions all night, contemplative expression on his face.

Allison and Scott get a Lyft to take them and John and Melissa back to the hotel and then their apartment, everyone promising to get together for breakfast the next morning for breakfast – “Minus me,” Derek sighs, “I have to go in to work for a few hours early to oversee a shipment we’re getting in, and then a meeting at Columbia about the courses I’m teaching in the fall” – and John looks like he’s going to say something about Stiles staying behind but thinks better about it at the last minute.

Stiles, because Stiles overthinks everything and worries about everything else, is still thinking about it an hour later as he’s in bed, reading from an old book on selkies Talia’d lent him. Derek’s getting ready for bed, brushing his teeth, and Stiles stares at him, unable to stop himself from asking.

“Do you think we’re moving too fast?”

Derek looks over from the bathroom sink, foam at the mouth and both eyebrows raised.

“What?” he manages around the toothbrush still in his mouth. Stiles gulps, shrugs and Derek turns, spits, rinses. He dries his face as he comes into the bedroom.

“Do I think we’re moving too fast…in…in our relationship?” he clarifies. Stiles shrugs again.

“I dunno, yeah? Dad mentioned how it’s kinda fast that I’ve basically been living with you and that – ” Another shrug. “That we spend such a huge chunk of time together? Like I see you every day, for at least a few hours every day.”

Derek flexes his jaw as he does when he’s tense, unsure. He tosses the towel back into the bathroom on the counter, comes to the bed, only meets Stiles eyes once he’s there at the edge.

“Do you remember the first night we met?” he asks. Stiles is expecting something completely different – he doesn’t know what, exactly, but certainly not that – and it takes him a moment to catch up.

“Of course,” he replies, duh. The huge dinner Derek and Lydia had arranged.

“Yeah.” Derek climbs into bed. “That, uh, that very first time I saw you – well, I think it goes without saying that your entire pack is very good looking – ” Stiles snorts, because it’s stupidly true but also funny to hear someone just say – “But you. Good lord, Stiles, between those amber eyes, bright smile, and that jawline. It was extra weird because I felt an immediate connection to you, and I was sure I would like you long before I even actually knew you. That was last year, last February. I know some people are together a year, or more, before they even say I love you, many years before they think living together, but. I don’t feel like I’m moving too fast, not with you.”

Stiles desperately hopes these bursts of pure affection and love never fail to make him feel all tingly and melty inside. Derek’s looking at him, eyebrows drawn down tightly, mouth a terse line, like he’s wondering if Stiles thinks his dad’s right.

“Me, too,” Stiles tells him as soon as he can form the words, gulping against the sudden lump from Derek’s words, “I mean – I don’t think we’re moving too fast. At all.”

Derek’s face clears, small smile gracing his mouth. There’s a moment and it’s not over by any means but Stiles kind of wonders if it is. But then –

“Your dad,” Derek starts slow, and damn but Stiles is scared of where that sentence is going. His dad’s pretty much one of the most important people in his life, but Derek thankfully follows up with, “I like him. He obviously cares deeply about you and means a hell of a lot to you. He’s like you in a lot of ways. But very protective?”

Stiles laughs. It’s not so much funny or wrong as very, very true, but not. Always.

“He,” Stiles stops, licks his lips, Derek watching him, eyes searching his face. Stiles sighs, deeply.

“I, uh.” He pauses, licks his lips again and Derek’s eyes slighten, concerned, knowing Stiles’ nervous ticks. Stiles takes another deep breath, needing it, considering whether or not he wants to go there right now.

In the end, he decides yes. He will, because Derek…he trusts Derek. And Derek deserves to know.

“I started dating this guy like, just before the summer before senior year of high school? I’d been stupidly obsessed with Lydia for years, and finally got over her and hey! This guy was so into me, it was the end of junior year and it was such an ego booster because most people thought I was really weird – which fair, I was. But also as the son of the sheriff, well. Didn’t get invited to any of the best parties and wasn’t the most popular kid.

“So yeah. He asked me out and I was good friends by then with Lydia and Allison and had an ‘in’ with the cool kids but he was the first one to show any real interest in me. It was good at first, and we ended up hanging out lot that summer; I worked at the sheriff’s station doing menial tasks like filing and whatnot and he’d bring me lunch and we went to parties together and everything. We were still dating by the time senior year rolled around and damn, but I was into him, y’know?”

Stiles pauses, licks his lips, meets Derek’s eyes for just a second, worry clear in them, before flicking his gaze back to the ceiling.

“It went on that way for a while until – just after Christmas? He started getting weirdly possessive. Got mad at me if I hung out with other people, even like for study groups and then it accelerated to whenever I was with Scott alone. There was once Scott and I fell asleep on my bed after playing video games late into the night and he, uh, the guy came over later that morning to find us and freaked the fuck out. Wouldn’t talk to me for the rest of the weekend. Scott tried telling me it was weird, got Lydia and Ally and even Jackson involved but. I thought they were all just being overly protective.”

Stiles sighs, shaking his head at his past stupidity.

“We found out not long after we both got into UCLA, along with the rest of the gang. And we did something kinda stupid.” He pauses, brow drawn down and he licks his lips. “Well I did. I decided that it would cool if we all roomed together – me, the guy, Scott, Jackson. I think Scott and Jackson just agreed to keep an eye on me, in retrospect, because neither of them really liked the guy at all. And then the summer after graduation, things got even worse. The guy would, uh, wouldn’t leave me alone and I kinda just thought he was super sweet, wanted to spend all his free time with me.”

Stiles stops again, blinking against everything coming to the surface, everything he’d pretty much blocked out. Senior year, these days, seemed like a blur because remembering still hurt, knowing what Matt was doing now but then. It had just been the best time of his life, someone wanted him. Derek scoots closer, reaching out to take Stiles hand and Stiles squeezes, needing it.

“That first month of college was nothing but warning signs. He didn’t want me going out without him, ever, and Scott caught him going through my computer one day when I was at class. Then just before October, we were fighting about me going to a party without him because he had class at the same time and couldn’t go, and he was calling me names which he did whenever we fought but I hadn’t ever really thought much of it until after…but then. He hit me, twice, and I. Something snapped in me, because it had been bad but it had never gotten there and I. I told Scott and Jackson, I broke up with him, and Lydia was able to finagle the residential office to move him into a different dorm and we got a new roommate. I met Kendra not long after that, so it seemed okay, for a little while. I didn’t see him the rest of the year.

“Then, uh, we went home for that first summer between freshman and sophomore year but so did the guy. A couple weeks in I noticed him following me. Never approaching but watching and sometimes…he seemed like he was trying to be intimidating, threatening. It continued for weeks until I was able to get a restraining order. And that seemed to get through to him? Didn’t see him ever after that, I heard through another high school classmate a year later that he’d transferred to San Antonio.”

Stiles looks to Derek again, who’s searching his face, jaw tensed and so is his entire body, Stiles noticed. He lets out a huff, not laughter but amusement.

“That’s why I’m not telling you what his name is,” Stiles tells him, and Derek’s eyebrows draw as he startles backward before squinting, pursing his lips.

“You can’t expect me not to be pissed.”

“Mhmm,” Stiles cocks an eyebrow – it hurts still, even though he’s considerably over it and completely moved past the aspect, never had another problem with any of his relationships since, “But uh. Dad figures it’s at least half his fault, for not noticing what was happening long before it accelerated to that, and the other half he blames on the fact that we moved so fast. That he could have prevented it if we hadn’t moved in, if we hadn’t been spending literally all our time together, that he could have helped if we’d moved slower, which. Doesn’t make so much sense, but also. That’s why he’s like this, with you and he was with Kendra and everyone I’ve even casually dated since.”

It’s long moments before either of them speak again, looking at each other and Derek’s thumb is rubbing soothingly along the back of Stiles’ hand. Stiles doesn’t think Derek’s doing it on purpose, an automatic reflex, and that somehow makes it even better. He looks down at their intertwined fingers, breathing carefully, trying to bring his heartrate back down from where it always ratchets when he’s even thinking about Matt. Fucking Matt.

“I’m so sorry he was such a fucking entitled dick to you,” Derek finally speaks, and Stiles meets his eyes again, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there back in your senior year, to meet and love you so you didn’t have to deal with all that shit.”

“’Cause if you were my first love, baby, there’d be no second, third, or fourth love?” Stiles spits out because his brain to mouth filter has always been misfunctioning. Luckily, Derek’s always seemed to have found it adorable rather than annoying, and after a moment of confusion he snorts, rolling his eyes.

“You didn’t even get the lyric right,” he comments, rolling his eyes, “But it’s not a bad way to describe what I’m feeling right now, what I always feel about you.”

Derek brings Stiles hand up to his mouth to kiss it softly as he finishes, and god but Stiles can’t help the utter pile of goo he melts into.

“I’m glad you got your dad on your side, though,” Derek continues after a second, “I’m bound and determined to make sure that nothing like that ever happens to you again, and I’ll always do my best to take that pain away from you.”

Stiles bites his lip – how did he get so fucking lucky? – and leans further into Derek, needing him right now.

“I stick by that I don’t think we’re moving too fast, Der. You…you asked me last Sunday to consider moving in with you and…depending, of course, on Ally and Scott because I can’t just leave them. I’d do it. Not extra thoughts needed, because I trust you in a million ways I couldn’t even imagine trusting anyone else in any other relationship I’ve ever been in. Sometimes, people just fit and you…soulmates or not, you fit me so well.”

Derek leans over, placing a soft kiss on his lips.

“I love you,” he whispers as he pulls back. Stiles repeats the sentiment, feeling it just a bit stronger than he ever has before, feeling lucky that he finally ended up with someone who means it.

“We have this barbecue back home on the fourth of July every year,” he says after a long moment of just being, “Invite half the town, honestly, it’s this huge event we never miss. Dad wants me to bring you this year.”

Derek blinks, stares as the non sequitur. It’s a while before he responds.

“I’ll see if I can get a couple days off. Of course I will if I can.”

Stiles nods.

“Pack is all invited to, if they can and want to.”

“I’ll let ‘em know.”

*

Derek doesn’t even think about it, and he feels a little dumb after it’s all over but he’s known Allison for well over a year, trusts her and even more trusts Stiles who trusts her, doesn’t even consider her anymore when he thinks of threats.

But it’s Saturday night and Talia’s chosen the restaurant, an upscale-place in Manhattan that requires a certain dress code and –

(“Don’t worry about it,” Talia tells Derek when he reminds her that not everyone who’s going out into dinner with them may be able to afford it, “I’ll cover it.”

“Expect severe argument from my dad and Mel,” Stiles tells him when Derek relays the information to him a little while later over the phone, “They’re both stubborn as hell and prideful to boot.”

“So’s my mom,” Derek replies, sighing, “So I guess it’s gonna be a night of back and forth.”

Stiles snorts.

“I’ll let them know in advance, hopefully that curb at least some of it.”)

It’s Talia, Derek, Stiles, Cora, Isaac, John, Melissa, Scott, and Allison all sitting around a large table. The place is upscale, but Talia likes that it also has a sort of homey feel about it; the waitstaff is all very friendly and the food is gourmet but the portions are nice and there’s not caviar to be seen anywhere on the menu.

Talia hasn’t met John, Melissa, or Allison before and for the first little while they’re all chatting, learning about each other with the others throwing in comments here and there. It’s after they’ve ordered, after their drinks have come, that the discussion turns to what had happened the other night with the hunters.

“We took them to the Reynolds, luckily they’re old friends of my parents so.” Allison shrugs, taking a drink of her wine. Only Talia looks interested in this news, everyone else nodding along.

“Are your parents…’wolves, or hunters maybe?” she asks, slowly, eyebrows drawn. Allison smiles.

“Um, hunters. Long lineage, though thankfully my immediate family, we stick to the code a lot better than previous generations. Um, you’ve probably heard of us – Argents?”

Talia stiffens, hint of a snarl on her face and Derek – seizes. Fuck, fucking duh.

Everyone at the table senses that somethings gone off, and Stiles next to Derek grabs at his arm, keeping his eyes on Talia who’s on Derek’s other side. His own face is drawn down, frown clear. It’s actually Isaac, who Derek’s been relatively close to since Cora first brought him home, that gets it, letting out a slow “Oh” and scrunching up his nose.

“Talia,” he says after another moment, “She’s cool. Promise. Derek trusts her.”

Talia’s eyes switch from where they were staring at Allison, poor girl looking partially terrified, with the barest ring of red around her pupils and Scott’s posturing now, too, of course he is, another alpha’s almost threatening his mate, to glance at Isaac, then Derek. Derek nods, careful.

“She’s good. So are her parents. Kate isn’t here.”

That name seems to set something off in Allison, who sucks in a breath quickly and then lets it out in a sigh. She takes another drink of wine, shakes her head and looks at the table while everyone watches before looking Talia in the eyes again, all sense of fear gone.

“I don’t know what interaction you had with my aunt, but I can guarantee neither I nor my dad agree with any of it. My mom didn’t really either, though she was a bit warier of supernatural creatures than I certainly am, when she was alive.”

Talia nods, body relaxing and therefore so does Scott’s, though he’s clearly still on guard. He may not know why or even recognize that he is, Derek thinks quickly, shifting his gaze away from the younger alpha. He’s still so new to being a ‘wolf and an alpha. He trusts Scott implicitly at this point, knows he wouldn’t do anything to hurt his best friend and second and that includes doing anything to Derek or his pack and also, he’s friends at least on some level with the man, but Scott’s still naïve about some things and Derek’s aware of that.

“I guess,” Talia speaks up after another long, tense minute, “If Derek can trust her, so can I.”

Stiles’ eyes shift between Talia and Derek once, twice, three times as the waiter comes around, refilling drinks and letting them know it’ll be just another couple of minutes before their food comes out. He’s no more than gone before Stiles speaks up.

“I wanna know what happened, but at the same time I wonder if that’s societally impolite.”

Scott is almost back, from the way he snorts, looking at his best friend judgingly.

“Like you’ve ever cared about being societally impolite before.”

Stiles sends him a glare but keeps his attention on Derek and – well, he could save this conversation for later, but knows none of them in company will make fun of him, or say bad things, or anything else he might be worried about with others. He sniffs, turns to his boyfriend.

“Kate came around when I was…sixteen? Just before my seventeenth birthday. She was new in town, worked as a secretary at the school, and well.” Derek pauses, sighs, runs a hand through his hair and closes his eyes for a second.

“Well, she was hot. A lot of guys, and girls, had a crush on her. She was sweet, super nice and helpful, and…hot. And, uh.” Derek sighs again, deeper, and Stiles is watching him, searching his face. The others are watching him, too, but he tries to ignore it; his mom and Isaac know the story anyway, and Cora knows a good chunk of it, and it’s too much, if he thinks about anyone else listening in. Just…just Stiles, who opened his own heart just last night. Kate was traumatic, but so was whoever the dude Stiles dated. He can share this.

“When the hot, older woman who everyone’s got something for shows interest in you? It’s hard not to listen. And I was seventeen, or almost, I felt like an adult in all the ways and. Things happened. For. A few months before Mom found out.” He spares a glance at his mom, who’s looking oh-so-motherly in that moment, soft compassion, some fury underlying he doesn’t think she’ll ever get rid of, the fact that Kate’s been dead for years now be damned.

“She forbid me to see Kate anymore, of course she did, but I was seventeen and felt like Kate was…it. Maybe she was even my mate. And just a couple of months before I’d come off a breakup so it felt even better, to get on immediately. But beyond the fact that was…hanging out with a seventeen-year-old kid when she was in her late twenties,” Derek takes a moment to make his words as parent-friendly as possible, and gulps, “She showed her true colors about a week later, when she used me to get into our house and tried to burn it down. She screwed up, didn’t light it right and ended up getting caught by Ricky almost immediately, but. Still, she used me to try to kill my entire family, so,” Derek shifts his gaze to Allison, who’s looking so absolutely horrified that he feels bad even though she obviously knew somewhat what her aunt was up to before now, “Until you, Ally, I really didn’t have the best of associations with the Argent family.”

Derek thanks god for the moment because just a few seconds after he’s done the tension is broken when the waiter brings out everyone’s food. It’s interrupted for a few minutes as they pass around food, making sure everyone’s got their meals, and the next moment they get to talk Stiles has quietly steered the conversation away from Derek’s shitty past, though he keeps his leg pressed up against Derek’s the rest of the night.

It’s grounding, and it’s good, and Derek loves him, god, does he ever.

*

Derek wakes up Mother’s Day morning to an empty bed and a note from Stiles.

Gone out for the morning, meet you guys for lunch back here.

There’s of course a moment where Derek’s worried – that Stiles would sneak out without a word to him, but also that he was able to sneak without waking Derek – but his mind clears as he remembers what day it is, figures this is how Stiles deals with it. He wonders if he’s with his dad or on his own, but then there’s a knock on his door.

He double checks to make sure he’s wearing sweatpants – he is – before opening it to see a put-together Cora.

“Breakfast with mom at the bakery down the street. We’re leaving in ten or as soon as you’re ready.”

Derek nods, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and Cora smirks, shoving a mug into his hands thankfully filled to the brim with warm coffee.

Derek rolls his eyes but mutters a “thanks” before shutting the door and heading to his closet.

“No Stiles this morning?” his mom asks twenty minutes later. They’ve ordered pastries and coffee, the four of them shoved in around the tiny tables the bakery has, and Derek shakes his head, swallows the Danish in his mouth.

“He, uh, spending the morning out. Said he’d meet up with us for lunch at our place, like we talked about yesterday.”

“Mmm,” Talia hums, and Derek’s thankful – he doesn’t remember if he’s ever mentioned that Stiles’ mom died when he was young but is grateful he doesn’t have to bring it up now, at nine in the morning on Mother’s Day. They move on quickly after that, the three of the young ones bringing out presents and then Talia’s going on about how they “didn’t have to” and it’s just like every other Mother’s Day.

*

Stiles’ mom was a lot of things – charming, for one, he remembers how often people would say that he was “just like her” in that department. He’d point out, especially in high school, how obviously he wasn’t like that as he was absolutely single until halfway through junior year, but he definitely remembers his mom’s ability to talk just about anyone into or out of just about anything – she was an expert haggler, and often went home from their monthly flea market trips with great steals and a friend or two.

She was breathtakingly beautiful, too. Stiles knows he’s biased, and so is his dad, but it was honest. He looks at pictures of her even now, knows she was a looker if there ever was one. From the soft smile to long brown hair to the lovely expression almost always on her face. Everyone always talked about how he “had her eyes” and it was a thing, to look into the mirror and sometimes see his mom staring back. Makes him feel closer to her.

She loved the outdoors. Loved walking through the Preserve back in Beacon Hills, long walks where Stiles would stumble after her, would take him to the park all the time when he was younger to “get him out of the house”, and he has very, very fond memories of camping all the time in the summers before she died. They’d most often go with his dad, but sometimes without, especially after he made Sheriff. They hadn’t been camping since.

And she loved musicals. Would take Stiles to see all the ones they’d bring to Beacon County Center of the Arts and played them regularly around the house and by the time Stiles was two he could sing along with all the numbers from Cats, Rent, and The Phantom of the Opera.

Since he was thirteen Stiles has spent the morning of Mother’s Day alone, walking around the woods and parks and listening to musical soundtracks on his phone, and this day is no different. It’s not easy to find nature in New York City, but thankfully the city provided many parks all around. Last year had of course been Central Park; who wouldn’t just months after moving to New York? But figured today he might check out the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, which he’s heard wonderful things about and Derek lives just a few miles from but has never thought to visit.

It is gorgeous, he thinks to himself, listening to the Chicago soundtrack. His mom would have loved the garden, walking through and looking at all the flowers – the rose garden. God, she’d loved roses; there were three or four rose bushes around their house still, but he and his dad had never quite had the green thumb, and they ran wild these days. He gulps; it’s still relatively early on a Sunday morning, so there aren’t too many people around, and he allows his eyes to water. He doesn’t cry near as much about his mother as he did, not after ten years without her, but sometimes…it hurts more than other times.

There’s a rose on the path, laying there, obviously recently departed from it’s bush. Stiles blinks, bends down, picks it up without thinking, puts it in his pocket. Glances up at the sky, blinks away the wetness, and smiles.

“Happy Mother’s Day.”

He stays an hour longer, sitting on a bench and listening to the world wake up around him. Watching as people start streaming in, mostly families anywhere from two to a huge group. It’s fun, it’s nice, and he feels a presence beside him occasionally.

It’s noon when he gets up, sighing deeply and checking his phone. There are no messages; he’d left Derek a note, and Scott and his dad and everyone else knows not to bother him Mother’s Day morning. He smiles softly as he heads out onto Washington Avenue, throwing a quick message Derek’s way.

On my way.

There’s a soft breeze against his cheek, and he smiles bigger.

“Love you, Mom.”

*

Talia has a flight out early afternoon, unable to stay later due to a badly scheduled meeting at work the next morning, and they spend lunch with her at the Hale’s place. Derek’s made spaghetti Bolognese and garlic bread and they sit around the kitchen table, Derek, Cora, Talia, Stiles, and Isaac. Isaac’s talking about auditions he’s done lately and Derek’s telling them about the classes he’ll be teaching in the fall, the last thing he has to do besides present his dissertation and he’ll probably be graduating in December and Cora’s mentioning the upcoming exhibit they’ve got coming in down at the museum and somewhere along there Stiles remembers the rose he’d picked up and put in his jacket.

Derek’s gotten the honor of driving her to the airport as Cora has to go into work later that evening, and Stiles is going to his dad and Melissa’s hotel to pick them and Scott and Allison up and head out for an afternoon. They’re all saying goodbye to Talia when Stiles grabs the rose, holding it out for her.

“Here, I found this this morning. Happy Mother’s Day.”

Talia takes the rose slowly, looking at it with eyebrows drawn together but a small smile on her face.

“Thank you, Stiles,” she says after a moment, leaning in for a final hug.

Derek kisses him on the temple on their way out the door.

“Meet you later?” he asks, and Stiles nods, squeezes his hand before letting him go, and watching them from the doorway until the Camaro is driving away before he goes back inside to text Scott and see where they are.

*

They spend the afternoon wandering again, stopping in at the Natural History museum late afternoon after Derek’s rejoined them to look around. Cora takes a break and uses it to show them around a little bit before she has to go back to work – “there’s this exhibit we’re looking into getting a couple years from now and it’s kind of being a pain right now” – and the group heads out to a dinner at a relatively nice restaurant.

Stiles gives Melissa an old edition of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare that Derek insisted on chipping in on because “you’re the love of my life, Stiles, she’s basically my stepmother too”, which had gotten Stiles all kinds of tingly imagining the rest of his life with Derek and marrying Derek and he’d laughed happily while kissing his boyfriend thoroughly.

Melissa’s always been a bit of a buff about Shakespeare, having even acted in a few plays at the local theatre before Scott had been born but after that and especially after her divorce with being a full-time nurse and a single mother, hadn’t been able to continue. She smiles fondly as she opens the present, reverently taking in the works.

“Thank you,” she tells them softly.

Allison and Scott give her a gift card to a local nursery – “We know you wanna spruce up the garden a little bit” – as well as two new pairs of scrubs – “By the time these wear out, you should be retired” Scott mentions, giving his mom a look that’s far from new; she’s getting the age of being able to retire and have a fairly good pension, but refuses too, and she smiles, rolls her eyes – and a fancy pen and notebook.

“Thank you very much, all of you,” she says again, leaning over to kiss her son on the cheek.

They spend the evening in the hotel lounge, talking and people watching and occasionally dancing.

John and Melissa’s flight back is at one p.m. the next day, and after a hearty breakfast at a locally owned diner not far from the hotel Derek has to take off – “we have a specialist coming in to look at a collection, I’ve gotta be there” and as he’s saying his goodbyes John stands, walks him out.

“Y’know,” he says as they stand on the sidewalk, off to the side close to the building. Stiles is watching them from inside, mouth pursed and not looking pleased, but John ignores him and Derek just smiles before looking over at the older Stilinski.

“I was worried about…all of this, when Stiles told me about it initially. Regardless of the fact that you do seem like a good kid, Stiles has the tendency to move quite fast in relationships.” John pauses, huffs a laugh and Derek nods in agreement.

“Dunno what he’s told you but that hasn’t ended up good for him, sometimes, so when it became clear when we got here that he’d pretty much moved in with you, I was worried. Still am, if I’m honest, but. You.”

He stops, licks his lips and looks at Derek carefully, studying his face for a long second before continuing.

“I’ve watched you, I’m sure you’ve noticed, over the last few days, and the way you look at him. It’s unique. I dunno about all this mates crap Stiles tells me you guys are, I know the bare minimum about the entire world you all live in because it’s too much for me to quite get in my age, but I can tell you’re serious about him.”

John looks over, looking at Stiles through the window, who’s still watching them.

“I can’t protect him the way I could when he was a kid, or even when he lived in the same state. Not that I necessarily always did a great job then.” Pause. “Take care of him for me, okay?”

“All due respect, sir,” Derek replies after a second of thinking, “Stiles can more than protect himself.”

“Not from heartbreak,” John counteracts, looking back over at Derek, “Not from the vulnerability that comes with wearing your heart on your sleeve.”

It’s Derek’s turn to look over John’s face.

“I promise, he won’t ever have to worry about that again.”

“Good man,” John nods once, holding out a hand that Derek takes, shaking firmly, and John cracks a smile, “And don’t ever call me sir again. It’s John.”

“Sure thing,” Derek agrees, and John drops his hand, waits another half moment.

“See you in July?”

It takes Derek a moment to catch up, but he nods quickly when he gets there.

“I’ll do everything in my power to be there.”

“Good man,” John repeats, and with one last “goodbye” he walks back into the restaurant. Derek sticks around long enough to see Stiles’ eyes shift to his father and him, clearly displeased, asking John a question, and John shaking his head, before he heads off toward the library.

He takes a moment, walking through busybodies, business people, and everyone else, to send up a quick thank you for raising such a wonderful man, and happy Mother’s Day to the woman he won’t ever know but wishes he could.