Archive of Our Own ^beta

This was a bad idea. He wants to go home.

He never meant to go this way, never meant to end up so far in the woods where the trees are so thick not even a speck of light escapes through the crowns, but the song is so beautiful it grips his heart, wrenching and twisting, seeping it’s sadness to the marrow of his bones and he only wants to hear more. Want’s to tell them, ‘don’t cry, I will never leave you, I will stay by your side ‘til death.’

And so he does.

 

 

Grandma Hale tells them to be careful and never, ever stray too deep in the northern part of the preserve, for there are monsters there in the woods. Talia Hale tells them she is the monster they ought to be afraid of should they ever disrespect a direct order.

Grandma would give them a pat on the head and a stern smile, while Talia would use the words 'skin', 'alive, 'furry', and 'coat' in a form or another. Both would tell them to stay away from the water.

Considering the Hale house is a home to eight werewolves and four humans there has to be many, many rules to keep them all in line - and more importantly, alive - but this is the only rule that the two matriarchs ever say with a tinge of fear in their voice.

 

 

Stanford is only a little over an hour’s drive away, but there are days Derek wishes he would have stayed in Beacon Hills and attended the local community college instead; they have a pretty good program here too, and it’s not like he intends to get a job anywhere else but in his home town.

This is not one of those days.

"What are you doing?" Says a sweet voice from where pair of big, innocent eyes peek at him behind the desk. Derek sighs. He would be happy to teach his little cousin about the South American shape shifter tales he's trying to translate if he wasn't still stuck on the first page.

The rainforest-like humidity is making the pages of the book stick together, but it's not the heat bothering him, no. It's the shouting match Laura and Cora are having, almost drowning out the sound of Peter and Talia quarreling like teenagers, yet still not even remotely a match to the noise the twins are making while running around the house. It's almost impressive how despite being tiny little humans, the twins can scream louder than an entire household of werewolves.

Derek shuts the book and makes a beeline to the door.

"Escaping," he says over his shoulder. Aaron waves at him forlornly.

The breeze that greets Derek at the door only leaves more sticky moisture clinging to his skin. He contemplates going back inside and embracing the cool air condition even with his sanity – and possibly manhood, if his sisters decide to involve him in their quarrel like they so often do – on stake. A loud crash comes from the house, accompanied with more screaming, and with a shudder he heads to the woods.

This part of the preserve doesn’t have many trails and those left have been unkempt for years if not decades, but Derek loves the forest in all of its wild glory. He wishes he could shift fully and run through the underbrush like mom and Laura, but so far he has only managed a partial shift. Not close enough to harmony with his inner wolf, Laura tells him.

There’s a shift in the air. Firs loom over him, almost creating a roof, and the dark shade comes welcomed even if the humid air still hangs in the air, and there’s something else too, something still, stagnant. Derek jolts out of his thoughts when he recognizes the trail he’s standing on and realizes he has wandered further in the north than he intended. Further than he should.

The pond must be close. It would be a salvation, with its soothing water, in a hellish heat like this.

It's overgrown and full of weeds Derek can't identify, but the path to the pond is definitely still there. It's hardly recognizable from that time they played chicken here with his siblings and older cousins, seeing who would dare to go the furthest down the path, only for the game to come to a quick end when Peter found out.

The anticipation of cool water already makes Derek feel better and he simply can't understand why more people weren't coming here; the forest around him is now less thick and full of light, the afternoon sun colouring the trees and thousand different flowers with a beautiful golden hue. He's so deep in his thoughts he almost misses it.

There's a boy sitting on the rocks, body arched toward the sun, pale skin and long limbs on an enticing display. Derek knows he shouldn't be looking, shouldn't feel like the boy is all he's ever wanted. He knows he should be able to think. Knows this isn’t right.

He doesn't see him move, but the boy is looking at him, smiling softly - coyly even - beckoning Derek to come closer. Derek finds himself stumbling down to the rocks before he feels his legs moving, and the closer he gets the more he starts to feel like something is wrong.

He hears it then, the nagging thought behind the haze surrounding his head; there's nothing to be heard. The pond is quiet, no insects or birds, no rustling in the grass or the trees. The only heartbeat is his.

"You're not supposed to be here," he grits out harsher than he intended.

The boy's smile falters a little as something else comes across his face and he quickly fits his gaze over Derek's body, calculating. Not in the same way people usually check him out. This makes the hair on his neck stand.

"Why not? Nobody owns this place," the boy says, voice sweet and playful. His feet are padding the murky water so slowly they barely move and his short, wet hair is stuck on his forehead. Smiling there in the golden evening sun he's devastatingly beautiful.

"Come swim with me."

Derek wants, he really wants to do anything boy asks of him. He wants to keep listening to his soft his voice, but the feeling in the back of his head is getting stronger and stronger.

"I don't think I should," he says warily while backing up a few steps and watches the boy frown, confused.

"You shouldn't be here," he repeats and the sound comes muffled through his fangs. "It's not safe."

In a split second the boy jumps in the waist-deep water, fingers gripping the rock so hard they're white and face caught somewhere between scared and angry.

"Who are you? Why are your eyes - ", he cuts off mid-sentence as Derek realizes his eyes must be glowing blue. He retracts his claws with haste though he still doesn't feel fully like himself; his thoughts are muddled by something yet he can't help but notice how different the boy looks in the water. Like he belongs there.

"You know what? Go. Turn around and start walking and never come here again," the boy almost shouts, cursing under his breath. "Why isn't it working?"

He's unnaturally still, tense like a coiled spring, ready to either flee or to attack with his teeth aimed straight to Derek's throat - Derek can't tell and it unnerves him.

"What isn't working?" He asks, growing more confused by the second as the boy keeps talking over him.

"What are you?" His voice wavers and his eyes are wide and scared, but Derek recognizes a predator when he sees one. "Are you human?"

"No," Derek answers and feels something click. "But neither are you."

"I am!" The boy shouts again, then lovers his eyes under Derek's stare as if ashamed, his voice so small Derek wouldn't be able to hear it if it weren't for his senses. "I was."

 

 

Stiles. His name is Stiles. Derek rolls the name in his mouth, his mind, but despite of how familiar it feels he can't think of why. He sits on the grass, not wanting to let the boy out of his sight but far enough to make a necessary escape easy.

"Werewolves," Stiles snorts, though the sound is humourless. "That explains the teeth."

"So you belive me?"

Stiles glances up at him from where he's still standing in the waist-deep water. Neither of them is exactly relaxed, but Derek can feel the worst fear and tension drain away. Whatever spell he was under broke the instant Stiles was back in the water, and Derek can see clearer now. He still has hard time looking away from Stiles' eyes, not because they're the most amazing shade of amber he has ever seen, but because he has no pupils. It's both unnerving and fascinating at the same time.

"It doesn't sound any stranger than what I am."

"Then what are you?"

Silence stretches over them for a moment as Stiles appears to be pondering his answer.

"Dead," he says. Derek feels himself shiver. "I died," Stiles continues. "I drowned, right here in this pond."

"That's impossible," Derek says.

"So are werewolves."

Derek isn't stupid. He knows things. Quite a lot of things, actually, when it comes to things that go bump in the night - things like his family. Derek knows the dead sometimes leave behid marks of themselves when they die, but he can admit he has never heard proof of a dead person being, well, alive. While also being dead.

Stiles is looking at him curiously and he realizes he must have been staring at him for minutes without saying anything.

"Are you a ghost?" he asks.

"Not in the traditional sense, no," Stiles answers. He wades silently closer until he's leaning against the embankment, and extends his hand. "Here, I can prove it to you."

Derek knows he shouldn't, but this time its blatant curiosity rather than a siren song that makes him move. He almost jolts when their fingers touch; Stiles' hand is cold and devoid of life. Like a corpse.

"Still doesn't prove you're not a ghost," Derek says. Stiles lets out a chuckle - another humourless sound.

"Ghosts don't eat."

Derek pulls his sweaty hand back while Stiles doesn't look up from where he's staring at his own, like the lingering heat is something foreign to him.

"Why do you think I tried to get you in the water, Derek?" Stiles practically purrs, and smirks when Derek keeps quiet.

 

 

Derek doesn't sleep that night.

He hadn’t left, not even after what Stiles had admitted and instead sat there until sundown. Now that Derek recognized the strange feel of the spell, he wasn’t worried of the boy attacking him anymore; without his enthrallment the scrawny kid wouldn’t be able hurt him at all. The more Stiles talked, though, the more fascinating Derek found him. As he keeps tossing and turning in his bed, unable to close his eyes, he tells himself it’s because anyone with a scholarly bone would be thrilled for a chance to talk with someone like Stiles.

He wants to go back.

 

 

The forest around the pond is eerily quiet again. Derek stares in the dark, murky water, not even sure if he wants to see something or not, yet not even a single ripple break the mirror-like surface. The air around him is heavy and still and he feels the coming thunderstorm in the air, the twinge of electricity on his skin.

He wants to try yelling Stiles' name but breaking the looming silence almost feels like sacrilege. Even while noticing how unnatural the quiet around the pond is, how the lack of sound feels like it's strangling him, Derek sits down waiting.

He wakes up, hours later, to the sound of a big splash echoing around the clearing. The water stands unmoving.

 

 

Sneaking out the house is easy - trying to come up a way to ask about the story behind the rule to stay away from the pond while simultaneously not revealing where he has been going, is not.

Its unsurprising Derek fails miserably.

Grandma arches her magnificent brow - a trait that had clearly passed onto her children and grandchildren, not just Derek - and shoots him a piercing stare.

"People go missing around these parts from time to time," she says, not bothering to say out loud she knows why Derek is asking. She knows he knows it, anyway. "I don't think I ever told you kids this, but right after our family settled here, there was this young girl who disappeared."

Derek sits down on the cushions while grandma rocks in her rocking chair, eyes fixed over the porch railing and in to the forest. She looks like a regular greying old lady like this, crocheting artful patterns in her flowery summer dress, and Derek would never guess this is the wolf feared and respected by every pack she has ever come in contact with if he didn't know better. Talia might be the official alpha Hale right now, but even she defers to her mother, the real matriarch and a leader of the pack.

"She was the first, I think," grandma continues. "That must be when whatever demon it is moved in. It's always children or men that disappear, but we never found their bodies. Tracking the thing down has never worked, either. We can't even catch a scent.

"Of course, people go missing even in small towns like Beacon Hills,” she says and inspects her needlework, seemingly satisfied with it. "Only a few of them can directly be linked with the preserve. Still, we've been lucky no hunters have caught its trails and pinned the disappearances on us."

Derek frowns. "Maybe it's just a coincidence then, if there isn't any proof a water demons even exist."

"Oh, but there is," grandma smiles in her enigmatic way. "I saw it with my own eyes."

Derek gapes and clicks his mouth shut when grandma rolls her eyes at him.

"Stop catching flies, kiddo," she scolds. "Yes, I know, I never told you, boohoo. I'm telling you now.

"I caught a glimpse of it once, when I went there for a swim few years after we moved here. All in it's all pale glory, there in the moonlight. As soon as it saw me it disappeared among the rush."

"It could have been just a normal human," Derek points out. He's aware he probably comes out far more defensive than he inteds to, and judging by her expression, grandma notices too.

"Too much of a coincidence", she waves her hand. "Besides, those were not human eyes. There was no pupils, you see. Only brown."

Silence falls on them for a moment until grandma breaks it again.

"Stay away from there, Derek," her stare could have pierced walls. "I mean it. Nothing good comes out of talking to the dead."

 

 

Stiles is floating in the water, staring at the warm evening sky when Derek arrives. His lips are parted and eyes half open, pale skin shining through the murky water. He's not moving, not even blinking an eye, and Derek is immediately reminded of Millais' Ophelia.

It makes his skin crawl.

He steps on a branch, making it crack and the loud noise is so obnoxious in the silent forest it sends a flock of birds flying. Whatever trance Stiles had been in seems to break with a splashing sound as he moves through the water, blinking up at Derek.

"I didn't think I'd see you again."

"I came in yesterday too. You weren't there."

"Oh," Stiles says quietly and frowns. "Why?"

"I don't know," Derek answers, gripping the plastic just a tiny bit tighters. "I wanted to see you."

"Oh," Stiles says again, this time with a small, amused smile. "And here I thought my whammy didn't work on werewolves."

"It still doesn't," Derek says. "I brought you something."

Stiles' face lights up immediately - it seems like he tries to appear calm, but he’s doing a horrible job trying not to broadcast every emotion flashing across his face. "What?" He asks, obviously curious.

"Peaches", Derek holds up the bag. "Some chocolate too."

Stiles frowns. "Why? I can't eat that."

Derek lifts up a brow in a way identical to his grandmother. "Are you sure? Cause I can eat them all by myself, if you don't want any."

"Aren't you worried I'll eat you instead?"

"Werewolf," Derek points to himself as he sits down. "I could rip your throat out in seconds."

"How charming," Stiles rolls his eyes as he hopps off the water and sits on the grassy ground across him, making grabby hands at Derek and staring at the bag intently. Derek snorts and can't help but look at the boy.

Droplets are sliding all around Stiles' pale, wet body and his hair is either clinging on his head or sticking up haphazardly. In the bright light of the sun he looks almost translucent, like something that could slip and disappear any given moment. Derek hands him the bag and forces his gaze away.

Stiles' focus, however, is completely in the contents of the bag. "I haven't seen anything like this in a long time," he says, holding a peach almost reverently like it's something special to treasure. He takes a tentative bite and the fruit is gone before Derek has even got the chocolate bar out of its wrap.

Stiles grabs another, face slack with wonder. “This is good.”

"You could bring me some fries next time," he says after a while through a moutful of chocolate, when all the peaches are long gone.

Derek grins and Stiles laughs. It's a bright, beautiful sound.

 

 

The summer goes on and the heat doesn't let go, not even when the thunderstorms and heavy rain start lashing at the preserve more frequently. One time a lightning sets fire on some trees, the rain luckily putting it out before it has chance to spread. It happens far too close to the pond and almost sends Derek into a panic - electricity is one of the few things that can really hurt a werewolf, and he doesn't know what it might do to Stiles.

He has been to the pond almost every day, always bringing food with him, and every time Stiles greets him with a huge, relieved smile like wasn't sure Derek would come again, hadn't dared to hope.

Derek tells him he'll come every day if Stiles just wants him to, and Stiles flushes from head to toe. It's the first time Derek has seen his skin have a real colour in it.

He can't keep his promise on the days the thunder hangs ominously over the preserve, but the following day he'll always leave early in the morning, packa lunch in a cooler and take some books with him. Stiles' damp hands wrinkle the pages but he looks so happy Derek would throw his entire library in the pond if it made Stiles smile like this.

 

 

Stiles is lying on the grass, eyeing the empty container as if he could fill it again with sheer willpower.

"I wasn't always alone here, you know," he says abruptly. Derek snaps his eyes back to Stiles' face, ashamed of how he once again let his eyes wander around the boy's frame. He doesn't have much time to feel guilty, though, as Stiles continues quickly.

"There was this girl. She was the same as me, I think," he says. "I never knew her name. She shaid she forgot. That she had been here so long she didn't remember anything anymore."

Sun had disappeared behind the trees a long time ago and while it still hasn't set, the pond and the forest around it are darkening rapidly. A sweet smell of flowers hangs heavy in the air, mixing around in the faint scent of now-devoured fries while bugs are starting to crawl out and start their nightly concerts. Derek has never felt the pond be so alive as it is now, like someone has lifted a heavy veil from around it.

"What happened?" He asks quietly. Frankly, Derek has never been good with emotions, or at least knowing how to comfort someone, but with this boy Derek wants to try.

"Some men with guns came and killed her some time ago," Stiles says as he sits up, wrapping his pale arms around himself. "Might have been years, I'm not sure. Time blurs when you spend all your life in a pond."

Hunters, most likely. It's worrying grandma hadn't mentioned it, meaning she might now have even known - and grandma not knowing of hunters passing through their territory is bad, bad news.

"I don't think they knew I was here," Stiles continues. "I mean, if they did they would have killed me as well, right?"

That doesn't really require an answer and both Stiles and Derek now it, so neither says anything for a while. The silence doesn't feel stilted for once.

"My grandma says she saw you once," Derek surprises himself as he really hadn't meant to say that aloud. Seeing Stiles' confused stare, he continues and curses himself a little. "Around fourty years ago."

Stiles turns slowly to stare on the surface of the pond and it's obvious how shocked he is. He lets out a long, shaky breath and Derek feels so, so awful. He hates himself for making Stiles look like this.

"Yeah?" He croacks out and Derek's heart clenches at how lost he looks. "I don't really remember."

He grabs a handful of grass and starts ripping it from the ground; a nervous gesture that leaves his fingers covered in wet dirt.

"I mean, I remember some things," he says. "But they don't feel real, like they're somebody else's memories and I'm just kind of mistaking something that was told to me as my own thoughts." He continues ripping the grass and without thinking much of it, Derek takes hid hand, moving his thumb softly over his finger. Stiles sighs, barely audible, and inches subtly closer.

"You're really warm," he whispers. Derek isn't, he really isn't, no more than anyone else, it's Stiles who is cold and lifeless to the touch.

 

 

Laura is waiting for him, sitting in the porch with her phone gripped in her hands. Derek freezes for a moment when he sees the face his sister is making but walks closer anyway.

"You need to stop going there," she says, mouth a thin line and voice monotone. Derek rarely sees her like this - it means she's angry, really angry, and probably disappointed as well.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he says, avoiding her eyes and trying to walk past. Laura stops him without much effort, gripping his shoulder with a hint of claws against his skin.

"I'm not stupid, Derek," she growls. She takes so much after their mom and actually manages to be scarier than her when she wants to, something Derek though never to be possible.

"I saw you two," she says. Derek reels back, surprised, as he really hand't noticed anyone lurking around - with his senses and the hush of the pond someone lurking unseen should be impossible. "I don't know what that thing is doing to you, but -"

"Stiles is not a thing," Derek interrupts, growling back at her. "He's a living, breathing person."

Laura sees taken aback for a moment, then gathers herself, face twisting in anger.

"I know the stories and I know they're not just stories," she shouts. "That thing isn't human - it eats humans! I can't belive you would fuck a fucking - monster!"

"What - ? No," Derek rears back, fangs sliding in and tips of the claws retreating from where they were poking through. "It's not like that, we're not - I'm not -"

"I saw you," she repeats, poking at his chest. "And I definitely saw he didn't have a scrap of clothing on him."

"He lives in a pond!" Derek feels almost hysterical. He's not sure why this is making him so defensive. He and Laura don't fight that often anymore, but now they're both yelling at each other and judging by her shrill tone Laura is feeling somewhat hysterical as well.

"Of course Stiles doesn't have any clothes, he lives in a god damn pond."

This seems to make her falter. "Oh," she says and crosses her arms over her chest. "I guess that would make sense," she admits almost grudgingly. "But I still don't want you going there."

"I'm not going to stop seeing him," Derek says and marches inside despite Laura's protests.

 

 

"What's fuck?" Aaron asks Cora. The windowsill they're hanging from gives and excellent view to the porch and Derek's retreating back.

"Oh god," Laura groans from below them. Cora snickers. There's a reason Aaron is her favourite cousin.

 

 

Derek doesn't listen to Laura's warning. Or his grandmother's warning. Or anybody's warning, really.

The air is so still and hot even Derek has lost his shirt. It's not a big difference to the loose tank top he was wearing and he knows and likes how his body looks, but he still feels oddly shy removing his clothes in front of Stiles.

The heat never seems to bother Stiles - he's always naked and with the water further cooling his ever-chilled skin.

"Come on, come swim with me," Stiles laughs with a mischievous smile. It falters when he notices Derek fiddling with the hem of his pants.

"It's not - I wouldn't pull you under", he says quickly from the waist-deep water, the relaxed stance quickly turned tense. "I didn't say that to get you - I wouldn't drown you. I wouldn't do that anymore."

Anymore. It occurs to Derek not for the first time that Stiles is someone who can kill people without much effort and has done so before, and even if his spell couldn't keep a hold of a werewolf, he probably could still drown Derek if he went to the water.

It's not the reason he'd rather stay on the embankment, though.

"I can't swim,” he admits.

Stiles stares at him.

"I didn't think you would," Derek smiles. "Who would bring you all the fries and books then?"

Stiles lets out a shaky bark of a laughter and wades closer, jumping up to sit on the steep rock next to Derek. "Damn right." His relief is practically pouring out of him though he still doesn't seem completely convinced. Derek doesn't know what to do or say to make it better - Stiles sitting there as close to him as possible without their sides touching makes him feel lightheaded.

"If you could get out, would you?" Derek asks after a while.

Stiles sighs, lips pressed together. "I can't."

"Have you tried?" It's a stupid question Derek can't help but ask. Stiles glares at him for it.

"You know I have. Every time I try I just end up back here and I don't - I don't remember how."

The sharp tone of his annoyed voice turns more quiet and bitter.

"Besides, where would I go? You said I've been here, like, fourty years. Even if I could just get up and walk home," Stiles says, voice cracking at the mention of the place he probably barely remembers, "What would I do?

"We ate people, Derek. I'm literally the monster you were warned of."

Derek gives in for the ache to touch him and pulls their sides close, hand around his waist. Stiles wastes no time in leaning his whole body against Derek’s, letting out a quiet sound, and even though his skin is cold and dead, the touch burns.

"You're just trying to live. Just like the rest of us."

 

 

"Your hair has grown."

Stiles looks up at him, confusion evident in his face. "What?"

"Your hair," Derek gestures at him, movements jerky, and Stiles arches his eyebrows in an attempt to make him continue. "It's longer."

It's not much, just curving a tiny bit more around the top of his ears. Derek should know as he spends a lot of time looking at Stiles' hair, imagining combining his fingers through it when it dries and pushing it back when he emerges from the water soaking wet.

Stiles is quiet again, eyes fitting nervously across the pages of Night Watch.

"I feel strange," he admits. "I tried to eat a fish this morning, but I couldn't,” He says, hand stroking his neck. "I just - it didn't work. I threw up."

He looks up and Derek can see the anxiety in his eyes, even if he couldn't smell it.

"I've never done that before. Whatever part it is that I eat, I just couldn't get it out."

It hits Derek suddenly, then - he can smell Stiles. He can smell more than the thick, stagnant scent of the pond which is usually all that surrounds Stiles, like he's as much of a part of the pond as its water is. He grabs Stiles' hand quickly and brings his wrist to his nose, inhaling deep. Stiles lets out a squawk and flushes, mouth hanging agape as he stares at Derek.

"What are you doing?" His voice is high-pitched with nerves. Derek can smell that too - his nervousness.

"Your skin is warmer," Derek says, not able to keep the wonder out of his voice. "I can smell you better, too." It's like the scent is barely there, buried under the heavy, hanging still water, but it's definitely there.

"Well that's not creepy at all," Stiles mumbles. The flush and small smile on his face are telling Derek rather than creeped out, Stiles is a tiny bit pleased.

"I mean, it's good. It's a good thing."

"What does it mean? That you can smell me?" Stiles asks and looks up from where Derek is still holding his hand and into his eyes, eyes curious. "What do I smell like?"

Derek hesitates a little. "Sweet," he says. Stiles smells like skin and a little bit of sweat, he smells like people do and it's so, so incredibly sweet. All Derek wants to do is bury his face in Stiles' neck and breathe him in.

Stiles is blushing furiously and biting his lip like he's trying to rein back the blinding grin lighting up his face. It doesn't register to Derek how close he's moved until he hears Stiles' breath hitch, realizing their faces are only inches apart. Stiles's eyes are half-open, endless pools of golden brown staring at him under the long lashes.

"Are you bewitching me again," Derek blurts out and in one breath the moment is over.

Stiles rears back as if he had been slapped, eyes wide and mouth hanging open as he runs his free hand through his hair. "Go," he rasps, yanking his other hand out of Derek's grasp and practically falling in the water. "Go, leave!"

"Stiles -" Derek starts but the boy has already disappeared under the dark water, without a sound or so much as a ripple in the surface.

The pond is clear, mirror-like, and Derek can see the dark woods reflecting from its black surface. If not for the wrinkled book Stiles had thrown on the ground, Derek might believe he had never been there to begin with.

He sits there waiting for him long after the sun sets.

 

 

He has to go home eventually. He's half-way to the house when a figure comes leaping from the bushes and tackles him to the ground.

"Laura?" He says though it comes out as a more of a gasp under the death-grip of a hug his sister has on him.

"Where the hell have you been," she grits through her teeth as his mother and uncle come trailing after her. They're both out of breath - and it takes a lot for a werewolf to get out of breath. "Laura runs like she's being chased," Peter says as he helps him up. Talia glares at him face contorted partially with anger and partially with concern.

"We were worried for you," she says and Derek finds himself unable to look her in the eyes. "You have a lot to explain."

"I'm twenty-four, mom," he says. "Not four."

"Then you should know better than this!" She explodes. It's such a surprise even Peter blinks at her, brows raised. "There's a good reason you're prohibited to go there, Derek. How many times have you gone? Do you go there to play with that thing every time you leave the house?"

"Stiles is not a thing!" Derek shouts. It's not often somebody shouts at Talia Hale and it seems to come as a shock for everyone present, even for Derek himself, but he can't find it in himself to care. "Why does everyone keep saying that?"

"He’s a murderer, Derek! Do you know how many people have gone missing here? How many children?"

"There’s no proof Stiles did any of that”, Derek says. “He’s still a person just like any of us," he says, voice frantic. It's entirely possible he's more dejected than he let himself to believe. "He likes curly fries and that sickly sweet strawberry chocolate Cora keeps buying in heaps. He cried at the novel I gave him. He says he can't remember his family but I know he's lying, I know he misses them and wants to go home."

His voice breaks.

"Who are we to judge him for not being a human?"

It's quiet in the pathway all four of them are standing at. It's completely dark, the moon hiding behind clouds and they wouldn't be able to see anything if it weren't for their night vision. Nobody's looking anyone in the eyes for a while anyway, until Peter smirks. "Puppylove. How adorable."

"Don't." Talia says sternly and Peter holds his hands up in a placating gesture. She turns on her heels and starts marching away. "We're going home."

"I will tell Cora it's you who's been stealing her chocolate," Laura says as they walk home side by side. She's still gripping his arm like he might just bolt off at any time. "You know she blames me."

 

 

Derek wakes up in one of the worst ways imaginable; Peter standing over him, snickering by himself.

"If you're drawing on my face again I swear to god I'll strange you with your own intestines."

The quiet clank and the sound of a pen rolling on the floor doesn't go unnoticed by Derek.

"Good morning to you too, sunshine," Peter says.

"What do you want?"

"Don't be so rude," he scoffs. "Here I come to help my cute little nephew with his adventurous adventures to the wonderful world of love and hope and wonder."

Derek arches his brows while sitting up. His unimpressed face must work as Peter grimaces.

"Forget it. What did you say this boy toy of yours was named again?"

"He's not my -" Derek says, trying not to take Peter's bait. "It's Stiles."

"What an odd name," Peter muses. If he tries to innocently inquisitive, he fails miserably. "Shortened from his real name, perhaps. How much do you know about what he is?"

"Not much," Derek admits. "He doesn't seem to know it himself. All I know is that he drowned but didn't die, and that there was a girl like him but she's dead now, too. Hunters," he says before Peter asks. "And that he eats anything with a heartbeat."

"Well," Peter says after a moment of pondering silence. The differences between Peter's pondering and scheming silences are small but thankfully obvious for Derek to catch on. "I've been translating and reading the book from the library and then some, and putting together a proper bestiary," he says, handing surprised Derek a laptop.

"You better start reading."

 

 

The thunder from last night is still raging on, and even though it's early in the morning and sun should have been up for hours, no light comes through the looming clouds. Derek sits on the kitchen table and starts up the laptop, absentmindedly sipping the lukewarm coffee his dad must have left on the pot. The house is suspiciously quiet, most of the pack still sleeping or huddled together in the living room where the huge windows five a beautiful view of the preserve and the lightning striking across the sky.

Peter's records are amazingly neat and organized, but nothing really jumps at him. He's studied his fair share of lore and mythology and is fairly good at it, but his knowledge is nothing compared to the bestiary Peter has put together. The problem with collections like this is that while they have hundreds upon hundreds of creatures in them, only a handful have actual proof of existing. Still, he searches for everything that pops into minds, mermaids, sirens, fae, nymphs, anything that's related to water and drowning. Most of the legends are about young women and only one entry has concrete proof - mermaids, figures - but not a thing seem to match to what Stiles is.

In other words, Derek finds absolutely nothing useful.

He packs sandwiches and fruits in a cooler and waits for the weather to clear.

 

 

Derek can admit he has never been very good with computers or any sort of electronics, really, but using google isn't all that hard. It's still not an excuse why he didn't realize to do this earlier.

He only needs to make sure neither Laura nor Cora are near so he can -

"Hey, baby bro," says the evil spirit with a wicked grin slumping down next to thim on the kitchen table, and yeah, Derek really should have known better than to expect anything resembling privacy in this house. "What are you doing?"

"Laura," he sighs, pushing the laptop away. "Nothing."

Laura sits up straighter and crosses her legs, putting on a serene smile Derek knows from experience is the fakes of all her fake smiles and means nothing but trouble.

"Try putting on 'Beacon Hills missing persons, Stiles'. Might yield you actual results." Derek gapes.

"How did you -"

"Oh please," she sneers, and atleast this is an honest expression. "Out of the two of us, I'm the smart one."

Derek huffs out a laugh, or tries to - it comes out really pathetic. Even Laura frowns.

"Why are you sad, Derek?" Asks a quiet voice next to him. Both he and Laura jump a little - for a five-year-old human, Aaron is awfully quiet. And observant.

"He made his boyfriend upset," Laura says and takes a bite out of the apple she's been peeling.

Derek gapes again. He might be close to his sister, but he doesn't exactly share his feelings with anyone. Not even his journal - which he definitely doesn't have anymore - not after the last time Laura found it and read it to everyone.

Laura rolls her eyes. "You reek of guilt," she offers as an explanation. "If Stiles had been the one doing the upsetting you would be still sulking in your room."

Aaron frowns at Derek, cheecks puffing up. "You hafta say you're sorry. Like daddy says to mommy all the time." Laura chokes a laugh and offers a half of her apple to him. Aaron munches at it happily, already having forgotten what they were talking about.

"Yeah," Derek mutters. "I do."

He finally, only sort-of-grudginly types in Laura's suggestion. His entire body goes lax with surprise. Laura leans in closer, not bothering to hide her curiosity, and they're both stunned to silence for a small moment.

"Whoa, Derek, is that him?" She asks, taking the picture of Stiles smiling at the camera in what's clearly a high school photo, then reading the actual article under the photograph.

"The sheriff's son? That sheriff's son who went missing and caused a huge uproar, what, six years ago? Wasn't he in high school with you?" She's now leaning in so close to the laptop her nose almost touches the screen and Derek has to swat her head away so he can actually see something himself. "How are you even supposed to pronounce that name."

"That's impossible," Derek croaks. Laura gives him a confused look. "Grandma said she saw him when she was our age."

"Are you sure this is the same kid, then," Laura asks, scowling at Stiles' photograph again.

It is. Unmistakably. The Stiles in the picture isn't a day younger than the one Derek went and fell for. He tells Laura as much.

They sit in the silence, Derek feeling oddly numb and Laura worrying her lip between her teeth.

"I don't like this," she decides, and finally admits, "It's wrinkling my brain."

"Weren't you supposed to be the smart one," Derek mutters though he can't muster up any feeling behind those words. Laura swats at him.

He remembers the disappearance now. He had just left for college - the same one Laura had been attending at the time - so he hadn't been home, but remembers talking about it with his mom. His dad, uncle and aunt had been a part of the searching party going through the preserve.

"I can't just leave him there," he blurts out. "His dad is still looking for him."

"Yeah," Laura mutters. "There are posters around the town."

Derek is about to jump up and race out the door when Laura grabs his arm.

"Derek," she says and actually looks worried and - like she's sorry for something. "You remember he's dead, right? And according to this he's been dead for six years and hasn't aged a day."

"He said he drowned," Derek says, eyes cast down. "But he's not dead, not really."

Laura stares at him. "Yeah, he is. That's like the definition of a ghost. Or a zombie! I'm just saying, if you actually get that kid out of this un-death, or limbo or whatever," she averts her gaze. "Chances are he's not going to just miraculously return to life. He might just, you know. Move on."

Aaron eyes them both curiously, apple long since forgotten on the table.

 

 

Its few days later when she watches Derek come back to the house, moving through the dark yard like a particularly slow turtle. His shoulders are slumped and face forlown, and Laura sighs; she knows her brother better than anyone and definitely knows what this face means.

"No luck?" She asks. Derek seems to startle as if he hadn't seen her sitting on the porch, like that isn't where she's been waiting for him to come home every day for the past week.

"He didn't come," he says and slinks inside. Laura gets up, jumps down the stairs and starts walking when a voice above her asks; "Where are you going?"

She glances at Cora, dangling from a window upstairs. "Jog."

"In the middle of the night?" Cora arches her eyebrows. "How admirable of you."

"Shut it," Laura snorts.

"Don't stay too late", Cora yells at her retreating back. "Or I'll send a rescue party after you. That'd be massively embarrassing."

 

 

Laura is thankful for the moon illuminating the path. She could easily navigate in complete darkness, of course, but the waxing moon on the sky gives her a comforting feeling, especially now that she's headed to the one place she's been taught to fear almost as much as hunters all her life.

She hears him before she sees him, and the noise startles her - not that she'd ever admit it - enough to trip and send her stumbling through the bushes like a pup.

The kid is there, sitting on the grass. His face is a mess of tears and a bit of mud, blotched red, and he's gripping a badly bruised peach in his hand. They stare at each other until the kid lets out an incredibly pathetic sound between a hiccup and a sob, and, well. Laura really thought the cold-blooded killer from grandma's stories would be more threatening than this.

"Yo," Laura says and the kid hastily scrambles back in to the water. "Wait, wait, wait! You leaving these here?"

He looks over his shoulder at the assortment of fruits Laura is pointing at almost longingly, and straightens up. "What, you not going to whammy me with your magic?" She asks.

Stiles sneers a little, but it's a lifeless gesture. His voice sounds raw and snotty when he answers.

"It doesn't work on women or werewolves. Or so I thought."

Laura is a little surprised, but then again she did though the kid had seen her lurking in the bushes before. She sighs - she seems to do that an awful lot these days, damn Derek and his innate ability to find drama where ever he goes - and sits down on the grass, though far enough from the water. She's already uncomfortable enough.

Stiles eyes her warily and doesn't get up from the water, but stretches his hand far enough so he can grab a peach and start eating it all the while sniffing quietly.

"So. You're here to, like, avenge Derek?" He asks.

Laura isn't exactly relaxed, but for now the kid doesn't seem much of a threat. "Beats me. Is there something to avenge?"

"I did enthrall him."

"And what a splendid spellwork that was. Poor sap's completely heartbroken now that you're avoiding him," Laura snorts. Stiles flinches and refuses to meet her eyes.

"I didn't mean to do it," he admits, voice breaking. "But he just kept coming here and I knew I shouldn't have kept seeing him but it's so lonely in here, there's no one to talk to and I though, I thought it wouldn't work on him 'cause he's a werewolf and all but maybe it just took longer time to, like, rub off, and I'm so hungry all the time so maybe I did it subconsciously," he breaks out, sniffing loudly, eyes big and wet and miserable. Laura has to blink for a moment at the amount of words just thrown at her. "I didn't mean to do it at all. I swear I didn't mean it."

They're quiet save for the sniffling Stiles keeps trying to hold in, and Laura thinks. She grabs the last remaining peach and throws it to the kid when he just keeps glancing at it, not able to reach it while still standing in the water.

"Are you that hungry?" Laura asks, glancing at the container holding a few paper plates and napkins inside. "Derek brought them."

"Yes," he answers. "I would have left them but I can't eat the fish or frogs anymore, and I'm just so hungry."

"Frogs?" Laura makes a face. "Ew, that's disgusting."

"Anything living goes, usually," Stiles says and looks at her. His empty eyes send chills up her spine even if they're all pathetically red and puffy from crying. "Through I haven't tried a human in a while. We could test it out."

Laura sneers at him. "Not helping your case, kid. I'd threaten to rip out your throat with my teeth like Derek does but I'm not a savage," she says. "I would use the claws on my feet."

She gets up from the ground and brushes grass and dirt off her pants before putting her hands on her hips and flashing her eyes gold.

"Unfortunately for you, my brother is a moron," she states and has to smother a grin when Stiles actually makes a face like he's mad on Derek's behalf. "You've been dead for six years. Not half a decade. Your dad’s still looking for you."

She turns to leave but glances around her shoulder when she almost forgets to say it, and sees the kid stand there in water stunned to stillness. "And for god's sake, eat whatever Derek brings you."

 

 

All hope of sneaking in unnoticed is lost when Laura comes home to Talia standing in the doorway, glaring with her eyes flaming red. Talia's steadily increasing volume wakes up the twins who are now sitting atop the stairs, snickering at her.

It’s worth it – probably – even if she goes to bed feeling like she’s fifteen and just got grounded for staying out after her curfew again.

 

 

"Cora, let's play. Cora," Aaron whines, tugging at his older cousins sleeve.

Cora swats his hand gently away, "not now, I'm busy. Why don't you go play with the twins or something."

Aaron pouts, eyes huge and lip quivering pathetically. Anyone else in the house would have never been able to resist his big blue eyes and angel curls, but Cora is, for some reason, like a battle-hardened soldier. Despite the fact that her only violent battles have been between her legs and a shaving razor.

She loses every time.

"I don't wanna. They're mean."

"Look, I need to finish writing this essay," she sighs. "We'll play later. We could go to the pool and practice swimming."

Aaron perks up immediately, but when it becomes apparent Cora isn't moving anywhere for the rest of the day, he gives up and shuffles outside. He's a big boy, he knows when to give up. Even pathetic whining doesn't work against Cora. If Derek or Laura were home it would have been easy for him to get possibly even both of them to play, or maybe even to take him for ice cream downtown. Alas, as his parents are at work the only people home besides him and Cora are the twins who are bullies, uncle Peter who is just plain scary and grandma, who is snoring loudly in her rocking chair.

Aaron stares at grandma brows furrowed in his most persuasive glare and even tries to shake her awake, but grandma only lets out sort of a startled snore, hacks and wheezes for a painful moment and then continues to sleep soundly.

Aaron doesn't want to catch anything that might cause noises like that, so he waddles to the sandbox and decides to play alone.

 

 

"I still don't understand why you need all this," Derek says, glancing at the small mountain of shopping bags on the backseat.

"I don't," she chirps, turning to the driveway and parking her camaro. "But I love spending money."

Derek is about to complain or chastise her when Aunt Olivia comes running from the door. She hasn't even changed the office skirt she hates to pair of sweatpants and her usually perfect hair is coming loose from the bun.

"Is Aaron with you?" Olivia yells as she skids to a halt in front of the car before Laura or Derek even get their doors open.

"No," Laura answers, frowning. "We've been shopping all day."

"I can't find him," she wheezes. "Everyone is looking but he's not in the house. Oh my god."

She's starting to panic so Derek grabs her arms and tries to soothe her while steering her inside. They can hear Cora yelling Aaron's name from inside the house.

"What's going on?" Laura asks when they get in. Cora is standing in the kitchen with grandma, looking dejected while the twins are looking through every cupboard and calling for their younger brother. It's fairly obvious what's happening, and Laura grimaces.

"Aaron's missing," Cora says. "And he doesn't have his hearing aid on so he might not hear us even if we yell." Olivia lets out a quiet, quivering wail. 

"You two," grandma says and points at Derek and Laura with the hand that's not gripping a phone hard enough to almost make it crack. "Go find a scent outside. He can't have gotten far."

Derek sits his aunt on a chair but she immediately leaps up, ready to run out the door after her kid. Grandma stops her with a growl.

"Go change," she orders. "You can't run around in a suit and heels."

The two of them, still overwhelmed and little confused, march outside and start circling the house, noses alert and up in the air. Cora follows them and keeps her eyes downcast.

"He's been gone for hours now, probably," she mutters. "I was supposed to be watching him." Derek puts his arm around her shoulder and hugs her side. She seems to calm down a bit, squaring her shoulders and standing up straighter.

"The sandbox is messed," Laura interrupts. "Aaron must have been playing here."

The box is empty now, a hoard of toys scattered around a half-finished sandcastle. Aaron's scent is lingering around it heavier than usual so he mustn't have been gone long, though, so they follow it around. It skitters around Talia's precious apple trees and stops for a moment at the shed, as if he had been trying to get inside. The trail isn't all scent, but also tiny footprints in places where the ground is still a bit muddy.

It goes in to the forest.

 

 

The whole family, except for the twins and David, Olivia's husband, are scouring the forest. David, once he too had returned from work, had been frantic to run in the forest but Talia's stern tone had him stay behind in case Aaron came back himself and needed his parents. The twins were getting unusually quiet too, curling around each other on the porch.

It's getting dark fast, heavy clouds hiding the already setting sun behind them. Olivia gets more frantic by the moment and their group separates in an attempt to cover more ground.

"It can't have been Argents, right?" Laura asks as they treck on. They can't run; Aaron's scent gets harder and harder to find the further to the preserve they get, the woods greedily swallowing everything that enters. "I mean, this is totally something they would pull off but they aren't that good in covering their smells."

Talia is about to answer when a sudden gust of wind through the otherwise eerily silent forest shakes the trees around them and brings a whiff of stagnant stench with it. Laura's mouth fall open as she mutters, "Oh, crap."

"What?" Talia and Derek ask, heads and voice snapping in unison.

Laura rubs her neck, mouth a thin line. "Just remembered something," she says. "We're not far from the pond, right?"

A cold feeling punches Derek right in the pit of his stomach as Talia spins around and starts running. It's not hard to guess where, and the rest of their group sprint after her. Derek feels himself moving in autopilot as the cold numbing sensation takes over.

The smell isn't all the wind's bringing now; a soft voice carries from beyond the overgrown path the Hales are stumbling through, Talia in charge, Derek following close behind his sister.

It’s a song so quiet it’s barely audible.

The woods clear abruptly when the pond comes to view; Stiles sits there on the embankment, tall grass clinging on his wet arms he's holding around a small, equally drenched boy. His head whips around, looking straight in to Derek, and widens his eyes in fear as he spots Talia and Laura, both growling through their elongated fangs. Derek feels himself freeze and is vaguely aware how useless he is right now, mouth open and limbs hanging heavy on his sides.

"Let him go," Talia roars. The sound alone is enough to make him come out of the shock. Howl comes somewhere from the distance; he instantly recognizes the sound to be his father's.

Stiles scrambles away from Aaron, stuttering incoherently. Aaron lets out a quiet sob and turns to look at them with ashen, tear-streaked face, and sniffs, "Aunty," stretching his little hands towards Talia.

Stiles is trying to slowly inch away when Laura scoops the trembling toddler up, murmuring softly to him but not taking her yellow eyes away from Stiles. Talia pounces. She's already more of a wolf than a human, fangs snapping far too close Stiles’ throat and a clawed hand stretched out for a swipe when Derek gets the life back to him and barrels on his mother's back, pulling her away from the boy and sending them both falling in the murky water.

The water is dark and endless, not letting a single ray of moon light through. Derek sees nothing, nor does he feel the need to struggle or even try to hold his breath; the pond is sucking the life out of him on its own, dragging him down under.

Then the surface breaks and a hand hauls him up to the embankment. He wheezes, fills his empty lungs with air and the darkness clears out. Stiles is staring at him, large hands on holding Derek's face, bleeding from a multitude of small cuts Talia must have caused.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

He's gone, then - again just the echo of a splash indicating he was there at all.

Talia stops coughing up the foul water next to Derek and shoves him back on the ground when he tries to sit up, claws almost digging at his skin.

"I had him right here," she growls, eyes glowing red. Derek swallows with an audible click and tries to hunch back to himself. "I could have ended this all, right here, right now."

The others have already come barreling their way to the clearing, Olivia hugging crying Aaron to her chest, Peter covering him with his jacket while the rest watch Talia and Derek with wary stances. She finally notices them and gets up, but not before giving him an icy glare.

"Remember that the next time he kills someone's daughter or son, their death is on you."

 

 

For the next days Derek contemplates leaving back to Stanford even though summer isn't even halfway finished yet. The clouds have retreated completely, leaving room for the sun to scorch the entire town with the hellish heat again, but the atmosphere in the house is ice cold.

He hasn't spoken much with his mom. Grandma had cuffed the back of his head and told they'll both come around soon, but it wasn't as if any of the Hales were particularly well known for being in touch with their feelings and grandma wasn't an expection. Derek suspected she was just as confused by the situation as everyone else.

Aaron had told them just the day before how he had heard singing in the forest and followed the voice, falling in the pond. Then the 'naked uncle' had lifted him up and sung to him to 'make the cold go away'. He was now just as energetic as before, the whole adventure seemingly up and forgotten.

"Not going today?" Peter asks as he sits next to Derek on the porch. Derek's silence is answer enough, though for his surprise it seems though it disappoints his uncle.

"You're not one to give up this easily," he clucks his tongue. Derek glances at him, then turns his eyes back to the forest.

"I'm still not sure what happened," he confesses. He can still feel the constricting pressure of the water pushing him down, closer to the bottom. The memory of Stiles' hands on his face is stronger, still burning on his cheecks and jaw. When he closes his eyes, he sees Stiles' pupilless eyes staring down at him with so much grief, and then the image turns to him hugging his drenched cousin close.

"Well," Peter drawls, purposefully dramatic. "Aaron seems fine to me. All there, if you know what I mean. It's a bit odd that given all that time, the little water demon didn't eat him up, no?"

Derek rarely sees his uncle smiling this genuinely. "Sounds to me like the kid was trying to help."

Derek keeps quiet and under Peter's inquiring eyes, gets up, trying to steel his resolve. "Only one way to find out what happened, I guess."

 

 

Derek walks down the path to the pond with the sun peeking over the horizon, making the grass glisten with the morning dew. It feels like walking in a fairytale, and while he doesn't have a band of fluffy little animals following him around, there are birds singing for the morning all around the forest.

He has been walking through this path for a month and it's never been so alive.

The dampness in the air plasters his hair on his forehead and clings on his skin, making the strap of the cooler bag he's carrying slippery and hard to hold. Derek has never seen the bag before until this morning when it had mysteriously appeared in the fridge with a small strawberry cake inside it. It had a note attached, one saying 'if you are not Derek DON'T touch this' and another two on top with a big 'NO, PETER' and 'NO, DAD!!!' written on them, either with Laura's messy scrawl or Cora's neat cursive.

Derek's a little surprise the cake had stayed untouched - even though someone had drawn a big sad face with a tear falling on one of the notes - but other than that, he's not sure what to feel. He tries to settle on gratefulness and vague confusion.

He comes to the pond, surrounded by the sound of singing birds, buzzing insects and a small herd of deer rustling somewhere on the other side, but there's one sound that rises above the others and makes his pulse race.

A heartbeat.

It's strong, steady, and elevates the instant Derek meets Stiles' eyes.

"Hi," Stiles says.

Derek gapes at him until Stiles starts fidgeting, eyes fitting around Derek and the ground. "Hi," he finally croaks out when it seems like Stiles might just slink back under the water.

"I'm so sorry, Derek -"

"I brought you something," they both start at the same time. Stiles perks up instantly, winces at his own reaction and obviously tries to damp his curiosity down.

He still asks, "What?", and Derek sits down, pulling the cake out of the bag along with the paper plates and plastic utensils he had packed. He cuts two slices in silence and watches under his brows as Stiles visibly fights between diving under and jumping up the bank to the grassy shore.

"You don't want any?" He asks with a smirk.

Stiles lets out a fustrated sound and pulls himself up from water, practically slinks up to him in a way that reminds Derek of a half-wild animal. A stray cat, maybe. He settles far enough so can reach the plate but not close enough for Derek to reach out and touch him. Before, Stiles had always sat close enough to steal his warmth, and Derek feels unsettled with Stiles curled in himself instead of his side.

"Where have you been?" Derek asks. "I haven't seen you in over a week."

Stiles is quiet, hesitantly bringing a big spoonful of cake to his mouth, eyes fluttering shut and sighing as he swallows around it. He eats another before answering.

"I told you not to come here again," he says. "So why are you here now."

It's more of a statement than a question, like Stiles doesn't need an aswer at all.

"I've been here every day," Derek answers. "Do you want me to go?"

The boy doesn't answer but refuses to meet his eyes. They eat in silence, and it feels more awkward than ever.

"What's the cake for," he finally asks.

"Laura and Cora made it as a thank you. For saving Aaron."

Stiles whips his head to look up at him with wide eyes, spoon dangling between his teeth. "Your mom doesn't seem to agree."

Derek shifts in closer, trying to look as intense as he can, not letting the boy break eyecontact.

"What really happened?"

Stiles waggles the spoon until it falls, and lifts his palms up to rub his eyes.

"He heard me singing, probably. I didn't even notice the kid before I heard him fall. I would have called somebody if I could leave here," he says. "So I just tried to warm him up."

Derek realizes he's not holding his breath or feeling a sudden rush of relief; he never believed in the first place that Stiles might have wanted to hurt his cousin. He feels a smile tug his lips, and inches slowly closer to tentatively reach for Stiles' wrist. When Stiles doesn't flinch of pull away, Derek grabs his hand and threads their fingers together. Stiles' gaze keeps skipping from their joined hands to his eyes.

"Aren't you angry with me?" He asks quietly. There's a pleasant flush to his cheecks and with the sunlight shining on them his eyes seem like endless pools of gold.

"I'm sort of mad you've been ignoring me," Derek snorts lightly and earns himself a small smile from Stiles as well. "But I'm not angry." The tension drains away from Stiles slowly and he relaxes enough to lean on Derek again.

"Aren't you worried? That I could have put a spell on you to eat you. You wouldn't be the first."

"I know you wouldn't do that," Derek says. Stiles squeezes his hand softly and Derek leans in closer until their foreheads are almost touching. "If you wanted to eat me, you would have let me drown. Instead you saved my life. Thank you.”

Stiles’ heart is beating fast and loud, in rhythm with his, as their lips touch in a chaste kiss. It’s barely there, Stiles’ breath ghosting over his mouth before Derek feels him shudder and tries to pull away to see him, but Stiles lean close again. His eyes are shut tight and lips parted as he presses their mouths together more firmly, practically climbing on Derek’s lap until there’s barely any space left between them. Derek is acutely aware that Stiles is bare everywhere.

The kiss is sweet and little awkward, and when Stiles pulls away he's out of breath, skin flushed and a look of wonder on his face. Derek huffs out a breathless laugh.

“Was that just a thank you-kiss?” Stiles asks.

“It was a ‘I’ve been wanting to kiss you for weeks’-kiss”, Derek says.

Illuminated in the morning sun, Stiles is more beautiful than anything he's ever seen.

 

 

“Your sister visited here, you know”, Stiles says. They’ve been there for hours, just lying on the grass and talking, and Derek hasn’t felt so happy in years. He had missed Stiles terribly, even if they were apart just for a week.

“She did? Laura?” Derek says and gets up to lean on his elbows.

Stiles draws patterns on Derek’s arm but seems distracted. “She said my dad’s still looking for me.”

Derek feels a lump in throat. He had cleared the misunderstanding with Stiles and the boy had been obviously relieved, even if he had apparently heard it from Laura before.

“Yeah. Nobody else really knows what happened to you. I think the police think you ran away.”

Stiles worries his lip between his teeth and sits up. “I can’t let him see me like this,” he says quietly. “I want to see my dad but I can’t let him know the things I did or that I’m stuck here, Derek, it’d kill him – “

“Hey,” Derek cradles Stiles’ face gently between his hands. “Calm down. We’ll figure something out. My mom knows the truth now and my uncle has been helping me for a while, actually. We’ll think of a way you can meet.”

“Okay”, Stiles lets out a shaky breath. He leans on Derek, letting him move them both back to lying on the soft grass. His eyes are fluttering shut and his breath starts coming more evenly, and the most bizarre thing happens. Stiles yawns and falls asleep.

Derek has never seen him tired before.

“Stiles?”

The boy mumbles something, clearly exhausted, and burrows closer to Derek. His skin is still pale but no longer reminds him of a corpse – instead it’s soft and sun-warm and pleasantly flushed. Lying there sleeping in Derek’s arms he looks just like any other boy his age.

 

 

Stiles is sitting on the rocks, dangling his feet in the water. His brows are furrowed and he's fidgeting constantly, eyes scanning the water with a lost look. He whips his head around when Derek calls for him.

"I can't go in," he says, anxiety evident from his voice. He clarifies when Derek frowns, "In the water. It doesn't feel right."

Derek sits next to him and Stiles clasps his clammy hands on his shirt. "I couldn't breathe," he whispers. It's a shock for both of them. "It's like the water is rejecting me."

"How are you feeling?" Derek asks as he pries Stiles' hands away and takes them gently in his own. They're not cold any more.

Stiles won’t look him in the eyes.

"I feel like I'm ready to go," Stiles says quietly, making it sound like a confession. It is, in a way. Derek feels the cold feeling of dread settling low in his stomach and it must show on his face as Stiles squeezes his hand. "I don't want to stay in this place anymore," he says, something clogging up his voice. "Anywhere is better than here."

"Stiles", Derek croaks out. Stiles squares his jaw and his eyes harden, even if they have a hint of red in them.

"I died, Derek. I'm dead," he says. "Don't look at me like that, god, it's the truth, there's no helping it. But I can't stay like this, in between," he wipes his eye. "I don't know if I'll - pass on. Or if something else happens. But I have to try."

Derek can't get words out, his eyes are burning and the back of his throat is clogging up as Stiles turns to stare at the water.

"I'm ready to go."

The pond stares back, dark and still.

 

 

"Are you ready?"

Derek's hand feels heavy in his, holding on tightly, grounding him. Stiles had put on the clothes Derek had brought him, jeans too big and shirt hanging from his shoulders, all smelling faintly of Derek. It feels strange, almost constricting, wearing clothes again after such a long time.

Stiles has never felt so real, felt so alive as now, draped in Derek's clothes with Derek on his side, smiling at him his perfect, hopeful smile. It breaks his heart.

He doesn't know what's going to happen now. It's exhilirating, the forest before him, and the world on the other side - whether that side is here with Derek, or out there with his mom.

Stiles clutches on tighter as Derek leads him through the woods.