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Stiles thought the best way to end things was to never let them start in the first place.
That’s what his case seemed to be anyway.
See, if something started, it had to end. Stiles had learned that the hard way over and over again during his life. His mom’s sickness came and didn’t go away until it had stripped her from him in every way possible. Then he’d been thrust into the chaotic world of werewolves, banshees, and hunters, and he was pretty sure it was all going to end with his inevitable doom.
Things always came to an end one way or another. So eventually, Stiles had decided it was easier to just never let them start.
That began with the case of Lydia Martin.
Stiles’s mom used to tell him that if he put his mind to something, there was nothing that could stand in his way. Of course, that hadn’t worked when she’d gotten sick and he’d decided there was no way she could ever die. Fate couldn’t be that cruel. Stiles had told himself one day that parents couldn’t die and fully believed afterward, that if he set his mind to that fact, she’d live forever.
That changed the day of the funeral. Not before, not even when he’d been alone in the hospital and the heart monitor had gone flat. No, it’d taken him a lot longer than that to realize she was gone and… and parents could die.
People could in general.
The next thing he set his mind to was Lydia Martin. There was something about sharp green eyes and the way she looked when solving a problem that made him think maybe, maybe, this was what his mom had meant. That some things were just meant to be.
Stiles was ten when he set his mind to Lydia Martin.
He was sixteen when she set her own to Jackson Whittemore.
Or maybe, he thought, it was less of her mind and more of her heart. And that’s what really mattered, wasn’t it?
Seventeen-year-old Stiles ended up being determined. Not in any way particular anymore, no. He was determined in general; determined to survive, determined to get through the rest of his teenage years without becoming werewolf chow or prey to whatever else Beacon Hills brought.
It all started with the case of Lydia Martin. It ended that way too.
And honestly, Stiles didn’t think it was all bad, necessarily. He was the sidekick, the token human. He had this baseball bat, a can of wolfsbane pepper spray, and his trusty jeep. Stiles Stilinski was the kid in the red hoodie, where it was darker in certain spots from bloodstains that never fully washed away. Things didn’t need to start with him, because they had already begun with the people who actually mattered.
But then there was the matter of Derek Hale.
The first time Stiles had run into the werewolf in the middle of the woods, his brain had gone nope, scary, bad. There was something about Derek that Stiles couldn’t put his finger on. The man scared him half to death for the entirety of his freshman year and then one day, Stiles realized he wasn’t afraid of him anymore.
Derek Hale was difficult to figure out. When Stiles was faced with a problem, he liked to take his time. Figure it out.
With his mom, it had been something involving hope. See, Stiles had known she was sick. He wasn’t young enough to think that couldn’t happen. But he didn’t quite put it all together until after weeks of watching the nurses move in and out of his mom’s hospital room, with their notepads and checklists that he could never make out the words of.
One of the nurses gave him his own pad and red-inked pen one day. She told him to draw whatever he wanted, as if sitting in the same chair for hours on end wasn’t healthy. Looking back now, Stiles supposed maybe it wasn’t.
That was probably the first time he’d tried to solve a puzzle like the adults did. He’d always sucked at drawing anyway.
Red was unsolved.
Stiles still owned that red pen.
For Lydia Martin, Stiles tried to step up his game. He made this ten-year plan that was destined to go right. The more details, the better, he thought. Except maybe ten years wasn’t enough, or maybe he’d skipped over some important step, because it never ended up happening.
Stiles bought the whiteboard when werewolves became a thing. A whiteboard with red string, yellow string, and green. Then at some point, there was blue too. Stiles couldn’t really remember when that happened.
It kind of snuck up on him. Like the matter of Derek Hale.
Oh— fucking Derek Hale.
Things started to end when fucking Derek Hale kissed him.
-
Stiles couldn’t exactly remember what had put Derek in a bad mood, but the man had been stomping around for weeks with an expression that constantly promised murder. Stiles supposed if he was smart, he would have stuck with the rest of the pack and avoided the man like the plague, but Stiles never claimed to be smart.
Clever, sometimes. But not smart. Not often, at least.
Erica thought his bad mood was caused by the last threat they faced; a rather bloodthirsty hunter who had shot Derek in the chest. It’d taken the man three days to fully heal, so Stiles thought that was possible.
But he could never get a good read on the werewolf, okay? Red was unsolvable. Derek was unsolvable. The man was like a riddle Stiles hadn’t been able to solve and no matter what angle he looked at the werewolf from, he hadn’t been able to figure Derek Hale out.
Not yet, at least.
And then there was the argument.
To be fair, Stiles didn’t argue with Derek as often as he did someone like Jackson. Sure, he often drove Derek to flash red eyes or occasionally threaten to rip his head off, but that was just their relationship. Stiles drove him crazy and when Lydia gave him that knowing look, he pretended the man didn’t exist until their next ‘I’ll rip your throat out’ type of conversation.
But this time was different. This time, Stiles had almost— only almost though— gotten himself ripped apart by a rogue omega. And then Derek was red-eyed right from the beginning.
And Stiles sometimes had a tendency to push.
“I’m just saying,” he said, crossing his arms to Derek’s rather murderous expression. “If I were any one of the other pack members, you would have clapped me on the back for taking the omega out.”
“You nearly got yourself killed, Stiles,” Derek growled. “You were stupid and reckless, and you put yourself and the pack in danger!”
“I have a baseball bat for a reason, asshole! I can take care of myself!”
The man looked livid, the red in his eyes not even close to the minor turn-on that Stiles sometimes found it to be. But it wasn’t like any of this was his fault, really. Sure, he’d gotten a little scratched up, but it wasn’t like the rest of the pack had gotten off scott-free. Stiles had seen his chance and he’d taken it, knocking the omega right out with his recently upgraded steel baseball bat.
If anything Derek should be thanking him, not flipping out.
“It’s just because I’m human,” Stiles said hotly. Derek growled again.
“It’s not just that.”
“Then what else is it, Derek? All my limbs are still intact and there’s still life in this token human’s lungs, so I think that counts as a win! The omega was about to rip Isaac’s throat out anyway, so I did a good thing!”
“You did a stupid thing.”
Stiles drew back, seething. It wasn’t like this was the first time Derek had chewed him out for doing something ‘irresponsible’ or ‘stupid’ but usually Scott was around to keep one of them from committing murder. The loft was empty this time, though, the rest of the pack having gone out to celebrate while Derek had all but forced Stiles back to the loft to take a look at his injures.
Which were scratches. Stiles got worse at lacrosse practice.
“Whatever,” he said, turning away. “I’m going to meet up with the rest of the pack. Scott said he’d buy me fries for being a badass. Which I was, asshole.”
“Dammit, Stiles!”
Stiles clenched his jaw and spun back around. The red had faded a little from Derek’s eyes, but he still looked murderous. And wouldn’t that be unfortunate it Stiles had survived being torn to shreds only to have his throat ripped out by Derek Hale?
“I just—” The man took a step forward and then grimaced, folding his arms over his chest again. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“But just me.”
“The others can heal.”
“Allison can’t.”
Derek’s eyes flashed. “Allison is a hunter. She’s had training.”
“I have a baseball bat!”
“That is not—” Derek glared. “That’s not good enough. You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re a giant ass!”
Derek growled again, uncrossing his arms. And if Stiles was being honest, he wasn’t sure how one thing turned to another. But one moment, he was pretty sure he could punch the man out, stepping forward and lifting his chin, and then Derek was yanking him even closer, kissing him hard before Stiles could even react.
Derek was kissing him. Derek Hale was kissing him.
Stiles was pretty sure his brain short-circuited for a second, but he probably wouldn’t have pulled away even if it hadn’t. And he’d totally blame that for the moment it took him to respond, because Stiles had been so sure one of them was going to murder the other. Not… this.
Though, he would happily let this be how he died.
Yeah, this could be how he died.
Derek’s nipped sharply at his lower lip and Stiles groaned, his brain coming back online slowly. If he would have known this would happen when they really argued, he would have started picking fights with the werewolf a lot sooner. Though, maybe it was all built up over time. The man kissed him like they were still arguing, the one way Stiles couldn’t mouth off to win the fight.
He could be okay with that, though.
Stiles was still dazed with Derek eventually pulled back a few inches, the man’s breaths warm against his skin. He wasn’t the only one panting, Stiles realized, his own heart thudding like a drum against his chest.
For a moment, they both just stood there. And for the first time that night, Stiles’s mind was completely empty. And it was nice, in a strange way. Like he’d been drugged.
Then Stiles blinked a few times and stared. Except Derek wasn’t even looking back at him.
The man avoided his gaze like Stiles wasn’t there, posture rigid with his arms folded over his chest again. Like that was the only defense he had against Stiles and the few inches between them. Stiles’s brain didn’t even have a chance to catch up before Derek’s voice broke the silence— low and shaky.
“You should go.”
And just like that, the haze was gone. Stiles stiffened, staring incredulously at the man, but Derek definitely wasn't meeting his gaze. “I should… what?”
“You should go, Stiles.”
Stiles stared. Slowly, a lump formed in his throat.
Because this was what happened, right? Something started, something ended. Stiles stood rooted to the spot for another long moment, feeling like he’d just taken a blow, until Derek fixed him with one of those red-eyed looks. And Stiles didn’t even know how to categorize it. The man’s face was carefully blank. He didn’t look mad, repulsed, or even regretful. He just looked—
Stiles blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. Nodding silently, he turned away, starting toward the loft door. And despite it all, some part of him thought Derek might call his name before he reached it. Or at least say something. Anything.
But the man didn’t. And Stiles didn’t glance back.
Going after the omega earlier hadn’t been the stupid move, he realized. No, it hadn’t even been close.
But this?
This was the dumbest thing he’d ever done.
-
Fuck Derek Hale.
That’s what Stiles would like to say. Fuck Derek Hale and the radio silence that stretched on for two months after that one night.
Stiles used to secretly look forward to the few nights a week when his window would be shoved up and Derek would pull himself through, always with some excuse about the monster of the week or research. But the only time Stiles had seen the man since had been during pack meetings and he could’ve sworn that Derek was keeping as much distance between them as possible, never saying a direct word to Stiles unless he had to.
It made him feel… dirty, almost. Wrong. If he could go back and keep that night from happening, Stiles would, because that’s where it all went wrong. That’s where it all went wrong, right? It’s not like it had been a long time coming or anything.
He hadn’t— Stiles didn’t— dammit.
Fuck Derek Hale.
The way Stiles saw it, if Derek was going to go around pretending he didn’t exist, then he was going to do the exact same. That started with completely ignoring the werewolf at each pack meeting and then Stiles started skipping them in general, getting the information through Scott. The boy seemed beyond confused but Stiles refused to give his reasoning for pretending Derek didn’t exist.
The Alpha was an asshole, was all he’d say. And then Lydia would give him one of those knowing looks.
Stiles really hated the pack sometimes.
He did his best not to think about it had felt when Derek had kissed him, or the way the man had tugged at his hair, bit down on his bottom lip, and how that feeling was literally imprinted into his brain. He didn’t look at his window and wonder what the hell was so wrong with kissing him— what was so wrong with wanting him?
So Stiles stopped going to pack meetings. And when the betas started following him around school asking questions, he pretended he had no idea what they were talking about.
One month passed without Stiles seeing Derek. And he was fine.
Then the next monster of the week came to town and there was a knock at his window.
When Stiles glanced up from his laptop to see Derek crouching on the roof, he stared for a long moment before completely ignoring the man. It wasn’t like Derek to knock; he used to just let himself in, sometimes already waiting in Stiles’s room when he came back from lacrosse practice. And yeah, Stiles had always complained. It was creepy after all.
But it was also Derek.
A few seconds passed before his window was pushed up and Derek pulled himself into the bedroom. Stiles kept his gaze firmly on his computer screen.
Derek had to be insane if he thought he was getting any research help.
“Stiles—”
“No.”
Derek went silent for a moment. On Stiles’s computer, his movie continued to play, and he continued to be watching it.
Then, “Stiles, the pack needs your help.”
“The pack?”
One more moment of silence, followed by; “I need your help.”
Stiles finally hit pause, glancing up at the Alpha coldly. He did his best to ignore the way his heart twisted at the sight of Derek, because Stiles didn’t care. He could’ve gone another long month— he could have gone two. And why the hell was Derek here, anyway? Stiles wasn’t the only one who knew how to use a computer. “Go ask Lydia.”
Derek’s expression did something strange. “Lydia?”
“She’s a genius, you know.”
“I don’t— the pack doesn’t—” Derek blinked, then clenched his jaw. For a moment, the man actually looked frustrated. “I need your help, Stiles, not hers.”
“Sorry,” Stiles said, gesturing to his computer. “I’m busy.”
He told himself he didn’t take a little bit of pleasure in the way that Derek’s face tightened. But the man was definitely looking frustrated now and honestly? he shouldn’t have expected this visit to go any differently.
“There’s something ripping apart animals in the preserve,” Derek said through gritted teeth. Stiles shrugged.
“A mountain lion?”
“Stiles.”
“Or maybe it’s a bear.”
“Stiles.”
“What, Derek?” Stiles said, shutting his computer harder than he meant to. But the man’s tone was nothing but angry now and he was looking at Stiles like this was his fault. Like it hadn’t been three months of absolutely no contact and Derek hadn’t kissed him before literally throwing him out of the loft like week-old trash.
It made Stiles feel dirty. Yeah, that’s what it was.
And he couldn’t figure out why.
“I don’t want you here,” Stiles said, dropping his gaze. He hated himself a bit for how small his voice sounded. “I don’t want you here, Derek.”
The silence continued to reign. And when Stiles glanced back up, Derek was just looking at him. Silently, blankly. Just like that one night, Stiles couldn’t read his expression.
He swallowed hard at the memory. “I’m done, Derek. This— all of it— we’re done.”
There was a flicker of red in the man’s eyes. And Stiles had thought that telling him off, sending him away, would be a victorious moment. He’d felt so crappy after being the one kicked out first, that he thought it’d make him feel better to be the one sending Derek away this time.
But it really didn't.
“Do the research yourself,” Stiles said, opening his laptop back up and clicking the play button of his movie. “Or ask someone else to do it.”
He didn’t get an answer. But Stiles just locked his gaze on his computer screen and waited a few long minutes before he dared to glance back up again.
And when he did, Derek was gone and his window was still open.
-
Stiles was mad.
He was mad, he was hurt, and he was so freaking confused, it was starting to affect his sleep. His day-to-day life. Scott kept him updated on the comings and goings of the pack and Stiles got even madder, even though he couldn’t explain it.
Then at some point, after he’d stopped keeping track of how long it had been since that night, he decided he was done. Done being so pissed at fucking Derek Hale.
He showed up to the next pack meeting and Derek looked so surprised, Stiles couldn’t help but feel a little bit smug. He was thrumming out of his skin a little bit, but tried to act like it was the complete opposite, letting the betas practically bowl him over as fingers traced along the back of his neck and Derek continued to stare.
The man only broke his gaze when Lydia snapped fingers in front of his face. And he gave her a red-eyed look at that.
Stiles stuck next to Scott’s side and kept his gaze anywhere but Derek.
He thought everything could have gone worse.
By the time the pizza was gone, the betas were still moaning about how hungry they were, only to get a twenty from Derek and a growled ‘get out’, Stiles felt a little less nervous. Scott had one arm slung over Allison’s shoulder with plans to hang out after, even as he asked Stiles sheepishly if he wanted to tag along.
Stiles had been the third wheel for long enough to know he really didn’t want to be around when they decided to hang out this late on a weekend.
“Come with us, Batman,” Erica said, latching onto his arm. Stiles snorted.
“And wind up paying for dessert when you three eat through twenty dollars of pizza in five minutes? No thank you.”
The girl pouted, giving him a batted-eyes look, but Stiles shrugged her off.
“Nope, I’ve got homework,” he said. “And my own fridge at home where werewolves with infinite appetites won’t eat all my food.”
“You can’t do homework on a Friday,” Isaac said. “That’s so lame.”
“You’re so lame.”
“Great response, Stilinski,” Jackson said, sneering. Stiles just smirked back.
“Whatever, lizard boy.”
Lydia gave him a sharp look, grabbing Jackon’s arm and pulling him toward the door before the beta could say anything back. Stiles rolled his eyes, letting Erica grab his arm again as she started to drag him after them, but then someone cleared their throat behind him.
Erica let go in a second. Stiles froze, slowly turning around to see Derek standing near the table with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket.
“I need Stiles to stay.”
Stiles’s heart skipped a beat and he cursed silently. “Actually, I’ve really got to—”
“It’s fine,” Boyd said, cutting him off. Stiles shot the beta a venomous look, but Boyd pointedly avoided Stiles’s glare. “Stiles can catch up.”
“Or, I could just—”
“Stiles,” Derek said. Stiles looked back at him reluctantly, but the man’s expression really wasn't as threatening as he’d expected. If anything, he looked a little pleading.
Words stuck in Stiles’s throat, so he just nodded, dropping his gaze again. And Erica traced fingers over the back of his neck one more time before the betas followed Jackson and Lydia out the loft door.
Silence fell over the room. Stiles swallowed hard and slowly raised his eyes. “What?”
“I was surprised to see you here tonight.”
“I’m still a part of the pack,” Stiles said. Derek looked surprised.
“Of course.”
“So you shouldn’t be surprised.”
“I just thought that after last time—”
“Oh hell, no,” Stiles said, stalking forward. All the anger he’d felt before came rising back up at Derek’s words and he jabbed a finger into the man’s chest, making Derek stiffen even more. “You don’t get to pull that card. It’s all so shitty, Derek, you know that? These past few months have been so shitty.”
Derek just looked down at Stiles’s finger, as if he was surprised at something. At the reaction, at Stiles’s anger, whatever.
Stiles was still pissed.
“I know you don’t like to talk,” Stiles said. “I know you’re the big bad Alpha werewolf who doesn’t need anyone but himself and especially doesn’t need the token human. But you kissed me, asshole. You kissed me and kicked me out, and do you even know how fucked up that is?”
Derek’s gaze finally traveled back up to Stiles’s face. His hands were still stuffed into his pockets and Stiles didn’t know if that was better or worse than when the man would keep his arms barricaded over his chest.
“If it was a mistake, fine,” Stiles said. “But you should have told me.”
“Stiles, it wasn’t… I don’t…”
The man sucked at talking. Stiles could accept that. But as Derek trailed off, he thought he might go crazy if he had to leave the loft again without any answers.
Derek was still saying half sentences. Biting back a curse, Stiles surged forward.
The first time Derek had kissed him, Stiles .exe had completely stopped working. He didn’t quite get that reaction with Derek this time, but the man definitely froze for a moment. And Stiles figured this could go two ways. Derek could kick him out of the loft with reason this time, or the absolute whirlwind that Stiles had been going through these past few months would finally stop.
He kissed Derek hard and hungry, and it was so much different than last time.
Then the man was kissing him too. The hands that had been stuck in his pockets moved down Stiles’s sides, down his thighs, and then Derek was picking him up, turning away from the loft door and heading toward the couch.
So it’s option two, Stiles thought hazily.
Thank fucking god.
Derek lowered him onto the cushions and drew back a few inches, green eyes searching Stiles’s face. And for some reason, Stiles was terrified again for a moment. Because things always started and things always stopped but god, he didn’t want this to stop.
“It wasn’t a mistake,” Derek said softly. “You’re not a mistake.”
Stiles held his gaze, almost waiting for the ‘but’. Except it never came, Derek hesitated for another moment, some unreadable expression flickering across his face.
“Is this okay?”
Was this okay?
Stiles could have laughed for a moment. Some sharp, shocked laugh. Because fuck, if this wasn’t more than okay. Everything leading up to it sucked, yeah, and some part of Stiles wanted to chew Derek out. But another wanted to make sure that the constipated idiot knew that he was okay, this was okay, it was okay.
“Dammit, Sourwolf,” Stiles breathed out. “It’s okay.”
Derek’s eyes flickered red. And Stiles nearly choked on his own breath as the smallest hint of a smile tugged at the Alpha’s lips. One he’d never seen before— soft, almost a little nervous.
Yeah, this was more than okay.
Because red was unsolvable, right? And Stiles was pretty sure he was still figuring Derek Hale out. But this didn’t seem like it would end anytime soon.
And the first time in a long time, Stiles set his mind to something new.
Or, maybe his heart.