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The message of a rouge Omega striving through California had hit them hard.
At first, it had been just a rumor, an Omega killing the innocent, killing humans as well as werewolves. Nobody had known what to do, since nobody had known where it had come from, either. But it had evolved into something bigger, not only one Omega, but a pack of them. (Oh, the irony of that.) Some packs had been so sure of themselves, that they could handle some Omegas easily. They didn’t.
It had then become something more, something larger, something worse. The rumor had become fear; it had spread panic like the wind.
The Hale pack didn’t calculate like other packs did – they knew how easily it was to lose someone.
Which is why, to be honest, it was pretty dumb of Derek to separate himself from the pack as they made their round through the preserve, and how he found himself in the situation he was now in – two Omegas in front of him, one snarling behind his back, their faces dirty with filth, breaths reeking of blood and murder. The two he could see were wearing the same upbeat jeans, dirt and grass stains all over their legs; the left of them (Derek decided to name him Dumb) wore a dirty leather jacket over a ripped open, gray shirt, the right one (Dumber) just a black west, his naked torso completely on display.
It was pretty hopeless. Even though Derek was a strong Beta, he didn’t even have it in him to win a fight against his sister. (Well, the bigger one. But Laura was a fucking cheater, if Derek had any say in the discussion.) His claws were out, fangs glistening with saliva in the dusky light of the half-moon, but the Omegas didn’t seem fazed with a teenage Beta, even less with a lone teenage Beta without any back-up.
“Seems like we got a fighter here,” the Omega behind Derek slurred through his fangs, a sound of shuffling feet disturbing the deafening silence of the forest. Derek whirled around as he heard leaves rustling, only noticing the long coat on the Omega, just to get a hand full of claws piled into his neck. They were on him in seconds, all three of them clawing, biting his skin, crashing his bones, until Derek couldn’t do anything else but scream in pain, exhaustion.
He tried fighting back, but they were too strong for him alone. One punch in one Omega’s face meant getting a claw sliding open his upper thigh, one kick into someone’s balls had him panting on the ground, neck crashed under the (supposedly) leader’s naked, dirty foot.
“Don’t try fighting this, pup, you’re gonna lose either way,” Dumb laughed, breath coming out in a ragged rhythm. His leather jacket creaked lowly as he moved, crouching down to look Derek directly into the eyes.
“God, you’re just a kid,” he murmured, but he it didn’t even seem remotely close to remorse, more like he enjoyed it. Bastard. His dirty fingers slid down Derek’s cheek to his mouth, getting caught at the upper lip, revealing his fangs. Derek wasn’t sure what was more disgusting: the fact that the dude seemed to get off of beating a child, or that he had Dumb’s fingers touching his face. Both were not ideal situations, to be honest.
As the guy stood up again, foot hitting Derek square in the chest, it seemed like the world slowed down for a few seconds. This was his last moment, Derek thought. He didn’t even see the world; he was just a fucking eighteen year old kid! So many passed up chances flew by, how he never said to Laura how much he adored her, how he never kissed the cute cello girl, how he never found out if he was attractive to gay guys (well, gun to his head, he could probably answer that one.) It was a sad moment, until a cheery voice disturbed him mellowing in his last seconds.
“Would you look at that?”
All three Omegas turned around, one by one, Derek lying forgotten on the forest floor. He tried looking up, to see where the voice came from, but everything hurt, broken bones protesting. It was a surprising voice, sounded like it belonged to a child, possibly not that much older than Derek, but it still had that edge to it, something powerful, intimidating.
“Run, idiot,” Derek mumbled, but even his mouth hurt like hell, so he wasn’t sure if anybody heard him. Didn’t seem to matter anyway, because the guy appeared to be a chipper chatter-box.
“Three against one, looks a bit unfair to me, if you allow me to be honest. Especially if you fight dirty, don’t you, guys? Look at him, he’s just a damsel in distress, yadda, yadda.” (Derek scowled. He wasn’t a damsel, okay?) “C’mon, really, not even brave enough to go one on one? I call foul. But done is done, right, though I really don’t like your methods –“
“Jesus, do you ever shut up?” Dumber asked, and he sounded irritated, which was a huge joy to Derek. Learn to love the little things in life, all that shit, right? And irritation was the best thing, honestly, a perfect distraction from Derek, who started crawling away.
The chatter-box kept going, his voice now lower, a bit more dangerous than a second before.
“You know who should shut up? You and your little loser friends over there. Beating up a dude without any backup, killing all those innocents … I don’t approve, you know. It kinda makes me mad, and believe me when I say: you don’t want me to get mad.”
Derek was leaning against a tree the moment the guy stopped talking; the scent of magic overcame his nose, a sizzling noise unsettling the maddening silence. He was obviously a mage, if not even a really powerful one.
That’s when shit hit the fan.
Derek wasn’t sure if some of it were just hallucinations caused by the blood loss, because how the holy hell did this guy manage to put three Omegas down by himself?
He didn’t look older than sixteen, pale and skinny, hair looking like a bird’s nest. His (probably) bony shoulders were hugged by a red hoodie, surprisingly long legs (that caught, despite Derek not wanting it, his eye) in tight, black jeans. Okay, he was damn attractive, nevertheless – how the holy hell did this guy manage to put three Omegas down by himself?!
Of course, Derek saw the power oozing from him even without his super-vision, saw how the guy’s eyes turned white, but it was a riddle to him still.
The first Omega, Dumber, went down in seconds, one lightning shot from the guy’s fingers hitting him in the chest. It was like his bones were suddenly non-existent anymore, the wolf crumbling down to the ground, legs and arms askew. His eyes rolled back in his head, revealing the creamy white apple of it. To be honest, it was pretty disgusting, yet slightly amusing. Derek gagged anyway, wounds slowly healing as the show went on.
Dumb was next; before his claws got close to the mage’s face, a fist hit him in the jugular, shutting off his air way immediately. The sound of it was horrible, the wolf coughing, struggling for a breath. It was nothing like Derek has ever seen; how easy it was for this kid to punch a werewolf, to even punch him to the freaking ground. The following kick made Dumb unconscious, head lolling back against the dirty forest floor, nose directed into the leaves.
The leader looked at Stiles like he wanted to run but didn’t dare to, hands held in front of his chest, heart pounding in an insane tattoo against his ribcage.
“Not that ballsy anymore, are we?” Powerful-Super-Not-Mature-Mage mocked him, getting step for step closer to the werewolf. He held his head up high, eyes completely focused on his prey, Derek thought, but in seconds the leader crumbled to the ground, struggling for breath, as the guy turned around to finally face Derek. (It was distracting on so many levels, to say at least; the Omega in the background slowly dying of asphyxiation, face getting redder and redder the more minutes passed. If the mage was able to kill him with his thoughts without looking at him, well, Derek didn’t want to have him on his bad side.)
“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” he murmured, and Derek didn’t know why,but that voice did things to him no other voice ever did that way before. The mage crouched down to him, his face directly in Derek’s line of sight – and what a handsome face that was. But, nevertheless, as the guy seemed to want to touch Derek, he shrunk back against the tree he was leaning against.
“No need to be afraid of me, dude,” the mage said – and Derek needed a freaking name! – just as he put his broad, wide hands on Derek’s shoulders.
“Who – who are you?” Derek managed to cough out, his wounds healing faster than his normal werewolf powers allowed him, probably because of the guy’s hands on him.
He didn’t get an answer at first, just the chirping of the cicadas in the background. It wasn’t before strong, soft hands stroked down his forehead, that Derek realized he almost fell asleep.
“Hey, you’re one of the Hales, aren’t you?” Derek gave a nod, slid further down the tree, instead of responding properly.
“Dude – hey, dude! C’mon, up you go,” the guy ordered, pushing his hands under Derek’s armpits to haul him up, but Derek didn’t budge. The forest floor was pretty comfortable once you just got into the groovy nature, you know? And Derek was hella comfortable, even though the tree’s bark scraped against his thin shirt. The more those pushy hands kept touching him, though, the more Derek woke up himself, consciousness coming back. With the help he got, Derek actually managed it to stand up properly, one hand clutching the guy’s shoulder, the other bracing himself on his own thigh.
“I – who are you?” Derek asked once again, voice just above a whisper. Maybe it was the way how silent the woods were, or how his breath came in ragged thrusts, but the situation seemed more intense than it actually should have been.
The only answer he got was a cryptic, “You’re gonna see when we get you home.” Then – nothing at all. Complete, concentrated silence. Okay, Derek wasn’t one to talk – if one didn’t count blatant flirting and answering the dumb questions his teachers liked to throw into the classroom – but it was unnerving, how much the not-talking settled onto them, like a weight bringing them, him down. The chatter-box the mage seemed to be as he had fought off those Omegas simply wasn’t there anymore; maybe it was a distraction tactic, maybe just a way to deal with the fight’s stress.
Nevertheless, the closer they got to Derek’s home – finally smelling his pack again, the security of a pack – the tighter the guy’s grip got on Derek’s arm, the tenser his shoulders became. Maybe he didn’t like dealing with packs, maybe he didn’t like the Hales – after all, there were some pretty crazy rumors going ‘round ‘bout them – but whatever it was, as much as it made the dude tense, it affected Derek almost the same. Slowly, he started growling, even though the exhaustion crept up onto him faster than he thought it would.
“Jesus motherfu –“ Derek yelped when, suddenly, Laura appeared in front of them, her face slowly changing into her human one again, fangs growing back, forehead becoming less prominent, eyes going back to the original color. (“Derek, look at my fucking-beautiful eyes, they are freaking ice blue, like I’m some kind of Disney princess!”) But even though she stood in front of them with her human mask, fury flashed through her mimic so strongly that it threw Derek back a bit, scared him even more than her werewolf face ever could have.
“You fucking idiot!” Well, Derek deserved that one. Probably. “Why the fuck do you run off alone, you dumb shit!” Oh, wow, that was harsh. Honestly. “You can be glad you’re not dead, otherwise I’d have smothered your fucking corpse, asshole!” And even though that insult was pretty weak, Laura got her point across.
“You –“ Laura punched his biceps, her knuckles dragging over his wounded skin, “I fucking hate you!” Then she hugged him, her arms so tightly winded around his neck Derek almost couldn’t breathe. She panted against his hairline, salty tears escaping her eyes, getting caught in his dark curls. Derek knew Laura wasn’t the most, well, emotional person, but if something really mattered to her – like the one time in seventh grade, when a guy called Jordan had insulted her favorite Batman action figure, she had cried for hours, even after Jordan had apologized and even complimented her taste in superheroes – she liked to make known what she was feeling right that moment.
Derek hugged her back – of course – but winced as his rips got pressed together. Jesus, he never had healed that slowly.
“Not that this wasn’t a beautiful reunion, guys,” the guy said, and, to be honest, startled Derek a bit, who’d totally forgotten that he even stood there. “But I think I really need to take you back to your pack.” The Seems like you can’t protect yourself otherwise was left unsaid.
Laura didn’t even let go of Derek as she scrunched up her brows in confusion. “And who the hell are you?” Typical Laura. Not even looking at the strangers she’s asking for names.
But the guy seemed neither faced by Laura’s rudeness, nor did he seem to even remotely care about any of it. Maybe he was just that laid back?
“Right now? I’m about to become your worst nightmare, if you don’t follow me. I’m serious, I’m going to start pestering you with unnecessary questions, constant babbling. I can talk for hours, no end in sight, I bet –“
Derek never found out what the guy wanted to bet on; Laura interrupted him. “Oh, shut the fuck up, we’re coming.”
“Rude,” he murmured, and Derek had to fight back a smile.
Slowly but surely, they made their way back to the Hale’s mansion, sounds of his mother ordering the pack around getting louder, the feeling of tension in Derek’s finally settling to a lower level. The first one to come into sight, eyes big, round, full of worry, was his father with the smallest Hale, Cora, propped up on his hips.
“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ,” he swore, “You’re finally back.” Derek’s dad never swore, it was like an unspoken rule, just when shit hit the fan, then he’d pull out the big words like fuck and shit. Oh, Derek messed up big time. “What happened to you, oh –“ he fussed over Derek, pulling him and Laura into a hug, Cora stuffed between them all.
“I’m okay, m’kay,” Derek murmured, his face mushed into his father’s shoulder, arms caught between Laura and Cora. Everything hurt, the world started spinning, and Derek just wanted to lie down, to forget this ever happened. But, of course, it didn’t happen that way.
The next thing he knew was that his mother ripped him away from his dad’s embrace, pulled Derek in herself, arms going tight around his body. Moments like this made Derek realize how much his mother not only cared for and loved them, no, it also made him understand that his mother was a freakin’ Alpha, of all things, powerful, magnificent, all that fascinating stuff.
“Derek Samuel Hale, you do that ever again and you’ll be grounded for your life, understood? Gosh, don’t do that to me, baby boy,” his mother yelled, but it turned into a whisper at the end. She hugged him even tighter.
It was a low cough that brought Derek back, away from the familiar warmth of his mother, into the reality, where the mage that heroically helped him out still stood. “I don’t want to intrude, but –“
“No, of course. You’re the Stilinski boy, aren’t you? The mage from the McCall pack?” And, Jesus, did Derek hear stuff about the McCall pack. Like, the thing where the Alpha – the True Alpha – of the pack was only seventeen years old, just a few months younger than Derek himself, or the thing were they had not only a True Alpha, but also a Banshee, a hunter, and a Once-Kanima-Now-Werewolf on board – and, well, a mage, too. Derek had always been impressed by the McCall pack’s stories, even though some of them definitely had sounded made up, and now – now he had the mage of them standing in his front garden, the rest of the pack on his porch, talking in low tones to Peter, his uncle.
“Correct, Alpha Hale,” he said, but Derek’s mom interrupted, “Please, call me Talia,” and the guy just smiled a private smile, his lips not even really moving, but his eyes lighting up, “That’s nice of you. I found your – I guess your son? He was cornered by the Omega my pack has been searching for a long time. Though, he was not alone, he had two other Omegas following him.”
Derek didn’t miss the fact that Stilinski, apparently, called it his pack, not Alpha McCall’s.
“Thank you for saving my son,” Talia replied, her eyes wafting over to Derek for a short second – it was like a stab to the gut, the utter disappointment on her face – then back to the mage. “May I ask what you’ve done to the Omegas? I guess you didn’t just ask them nicely to let my son go, did you?”
The guy laughed. Gosh, he was really a beautiful sight, Derek decided. “No, I did, actually, not. One of them is still knocked out, I hope, the other two, one of them the leader, dead.”
Derek’s dad perked up, lowering Cora to the ground, letting go of Laura, whose back he’d been stroking while the mag was talking. “Knocked out, you say? Maybe we can get him to talk.”
“Maybe,” the mage agreed. “His smell is pungent enough to smell him out, I think.”
With that, and a wave in Peter’s direction, his father left them standing there, a growl following him into the darkness as he went to search for the Omega. Peter left not long after, but not before throwing Derek an upset glance, the left corner of his mouth turned down.
That left the McCall pack alone on the porch. Derek didn’t know who was who, but it was easy to single out the Alpha, proud smirk on his face as he caught his mage’s eye. It was harder with the girls, one of them tall, sharp features, dark hair, the other the complete opposite, tiny in comparison to the others, long, ginger hair. If Derek would have to guess, he’d never take them for one of the most stable, feared packs in California.
“So, what do we do with the bodies?” Stilinski asked, and Derek desperately needed a first name. Or maybe his phone number.
“Burn them,” the tiny girl said as she came down the stairs, hips swaying with every step, short skirt just so covering her slim thighs. (And, yes, even though Derek’s heart beat for dicks, he was, well, man enough to see the appeal of fine dressed ladies. That one scared him a bit, though.) “Otherwise it’ll only attract unwanted guests.” With one last step, heels digging into the soft earth underneath her feet, she stood in front of Derek. “Lydia Martin, pleased to meet you. You’re the dumb jock who threw himself head first into the battle, I guess? Christ, thank God you’re pretty.”
Derek heard his mother laugh; he took everything back she thought about her earlier. She was evil, an evil, evil woman, who abused her powers to make fun of her kids. His cheeks turned red, and Derek couldn’t do anything else but look on the ground, ashamed.
“Well,” Laura stated, then, “You’re right, but no need to diss this little darling here. Right, Der?” The sadistic smile in her voice was louder than the words itself.
For a moment, a silence came upon them – not an uncomfortable one, just one where they heard some Omega’s screams far away from them, in which the birds’ call were louder than anytime else.
With a jump in his steps Derek wouldn’t have thought an Alpha was even capable of – so much for majestic creatures – the McCall pack’s Alpha came down to them, one hand catching the mage’s shoulder, firmly squeezing it once, then letting go. The other one, the girl, though, she did not walk those down those steps. She stalked them down, chin held up high, shoulders tense. Only then Derek saw the bow she had with her, big and intimidating. He started growling, but his mother shut him up with a silencing glance.
“Alpha Hale,” Lydia Martin said, and suddenly her voice sounded formal, like Peter’s lawyer voice sounded when he had to talk to clients, “We’d like to ask you for a favor. Alone.”
With that, his mother shooed Derek, Laura and Cora into the house. “Laura, put Cora to bed. Derek, bath, now, and then we’ll have a long talk about you behavior. We clear?” She didn’t even wait for an answer.
Just before Derek closed the door behind him, though, he turned around. “Stilinski,” he yelled, and the mage looked him in the eyes – there was something there, but Derek didn’t know what – shrugged his shoulders, as if he wanted to say Go on.
“Thanks for saving my ass,” Derek said, trying his flirting smile. (All embarrassment aside, he hoped his mother didn’t notice.)
The guy, Stilinski, did not much more than shrug his shoulders again, though. “Don’t expect me to do it again.”
*
Derek regretted the day he was born. Whatever he had done in a past life, it must have been the most gruesome, awful thing. Maybe he had killed little puppies? Maybe he had never said I love you to his mother? Maybe he had even put dog ears into his favorite books? But, seriously, he must have been a horrible, horrible person to deserve this.
This, being the McCall pack suddenly becoming the new, loved citizens of Beacon Hills. Well, to be honest, it seemed like they were all from here anyway, just had been away for a while.
Turned out that the True Alpha was named Scott, a little boy whose asthma had suddenly been cured a few years ago. (What a miracle! the people had said.) To make sure it had stayed, though, which actually meant that Scott had to learn how to control himself, he had to leave Beacon Hills for a while, now coming back like the superhero the stories made him seem to be.
The hunter of the McCall pack, Allison Argent, was a whole different story. Derek had known her family, Chris and Victoria Argent, her parents, and even her aunt, Kate, but as far as he had been informed, they hadn’t been active in the hunter business for most of the past. (Except for Kate, who had tried burning the Hale pack’s house down after seducing Peter. It had happened two years ago, and the revenge, to see the hilarious expression of Oh shit on her face, had been delicious.) Allison, though, had grown up with her grandfather, Gerard Argent. After getting brainwashed, murdering her grandfather in the resulting killing spree (“She claims it had been deliberate, that she had had a clear head for a few weeks before, that she finally had understood what he had been doing to her,” Peter had said to Derek’s mother, who had been listening in from his room.), then getting to know Scott, she had come back to life. And now she was here.
Lydia Martin, gosh. Lydia Martin was Derek’s nemesis, it seemed. Wherever she was, Laura was, too. Those two were inseparable, which is why Derek also got to know her story. Her parents had had a divorce when she was just shy of four years old, her father taking her away from Beacon Hills, from her own mother, and putting her into a private boarding school, where she had met Allison. Those two had become friends fairly easy, and as they had spilled out their secrets to each other, a friendship to never be broken had been born. As Allison had met Scott, Lydia and she had been in the pack immediately. “Wonderful story,” Derek had commented when Lydia had told him, and even though he actually meant it, the person who he was really interested in didn’t seem to pop up in Lydia’s story at all. It was disappointing, to say at least.
That person was Stiles Stilinski, son of the freaking Sheriff (Derek didn’t believe his mother as she’d told him the mage’s name who’d saved his ass, but, well.) Stiles was also the reason Derek mainly started to regret his life.
A week after the Omega-incident, the pack had suddenly shown up in school, claiming that they were now senior at the Beacon Hills High, which Derek was totally cool with; education for all, you know, but the problem he had with that was, to be honest, irrational and very dumb. (He wasn’t sorry for overreacting at all.)
To understand the problem Derek had, it must have been said that he was the lovely jock everyone liked, okay? Grannies liked to pinch his cheeks. Girls sent him marriage proposals, as did guys. Dogs laid themselves on their backs so Derek could scratch their fuzzy tummy. Even the slightly weirded-out, old fogey in Derek’s neighborhood, who literally screamed at kids to get off of his lawn, smiled a toothless smile whenever Derek passed by his house. The thing, okay, the actual thing Derek wanted to say was just: the town loved Derek, and Derek loved the town.
But the second the McCall pack waltzed into Beacon Hills? It was like the balance of the universe was suddenly thrown off – or, well, as much as it was possible. People still liked him, but they liked the McCall pack better.
Not that Derek was bitter or anything, no, of course not. (Of course he was.) It was just – it was just, okay?
This realization lead to him regretting his life, actually.
He was just sitting on the bleachers, Erica, Boyd and Isaac, three newly bitten wolves of the Hale pack, sitting with him, Erica just behind him, Isaac and Boyd left and right from Erica, as the McCall pack swayed out of school after their first day. It was like those ridiculous movies where the hot girl walks through the halls, oversized fan blowing her hair artistically out of the way. Not that any fan was in sight, sure, but just the four of them walking beside each other had the same effect. (Derek was pretty sure that he saw a girl fainting at the sight of them. Ridiculous, fucking ridiculous.)
Derek watched them with hawk’s eyes – after all, those were strangers in his pack’s territory, okay – as Stiles looked at him directly. From at least fifty yards away. Ridiculous. Not only did he look at Derek, no, he also changed his direction to come over to them. (Erica snickered in the background, as she knew that Derek had a little crush going on. Or, well, hero worship. Whatever. It was nothing, the dude was just hot. Also, for the record, Derek totally disliked him, okay? Okay. But whoever saved Derek’s life deserved a little worship, got it?)
“Your boy’s coming up, bro,” she whispered mockingly, palms coming down to his shoulders from behind.
“He’s not my anything,” Derek pressed out through gritted teeth, hand gliding through his already disheveled hair, readying himself for whatever the McCall pack wanted to throw at him.
“Dude, I thought you were, like, twenty-three, not still in High School,” was the first thing Stiles said, which? Rude.
“Thank you?” Derek replied, because what the fuck was he supposed to say to that? Oh, people always mistake me for twenty-three, although I’m only eighteen? Jesus Christ.
“To be honest, I don’t think that was meant as a compliment, Der,” Erica murmured from behind, and Derek heard that fucking smirk in her voice. His friends were an utter disappointment. Jesus, he loved them so much.
“No, I meant –“ Stiles started, but Derek butted right in. His possible twenty-three-ness wasn’t something he wanted to discuss. At all.
“What did you want?” Derek directed it at the Alpha, because the dude seemed to be chill enough, and also a bit less distracted by Derek than Stiles. (Derek didn’t read anything into it. No, of course not.)
“We just wanted to ask, or, well, Stiles wanted to ask,” Scott smirked, “if you are alright. And, since we’re here already, we wanted to ask if it’s necessary to talk about a truce between our packs. We know,” and then he lowered his voice, albeit nobody else was even near them, “that we’re not supposed to butt into your territory, but school is different than the woods, I believe.”
Before any of them had a chance to talk, Lydia threw her hair back, chin up in the air. “It would be the most logical solution, seriously. Just say yes, we can leave, you can have a nice lunch, everything is dandy.”
“Uh, yes?” Derek said, because what the hell? He did know about packs being territorial over their actual, well, territory, but school was a whole another thing, so?
“Perfect.” Lydia clapped her hands together, took Stiles and Scott by their wrist and pulled them with her, only throwing the others a smile over her tiny shoulder. Allison was the only one who looked longer at them than necessary, turning around just as Lydia called out her name.
*
Not that Derek had other problems to fight with, like being able to keep calm on the Lacrosse field whenever he saw Stilinski’s butt, or shutting the fuck up when he overheard the McCall pack talking, no, his mother also wanted him to volunteer at the Beacon Hills library.
Sure, Derek was a book lover, through and through, but that didn’t mean that he wanted to spend his valuable time stocking up the shelves or something. Especially since he knew, that Stiles also had started working there. (Maybe his mother was trying to set him up? She had had to smell his attraction – cough – towards the young boy.)
“But, Mom,” he whined, sitting in the kitchen with his hands in his hair, his mother standing in front of him with her hands stemmed on the top of the counter, “I – I have Lacrosse practice, and, like, hobbies and stuff. I don’t want to waste my time there.”
His mother didn’t have any of it. “Derek, you are going to get your butt up, you’re going to work there, and you’re going to love it, okay? You need to learn what it means to work, and since you’re eighteen now, you’re definitely old enough to do so.”
Discussions with moms were always the worst; they never wanted to listen to their children. Gosh. Derek hated it, though he kind of understood what his mother was trying to say. Nevertheless, he didn’t want to.
“But –“
“No buts, young man. C’mon, you can take the Camaro, just go,” she said, and with Camaro she had him, she knew that. Sneaky mom. Which lead him to where he was now: sitting in the library, waiting for the owner to come to interview him. (Derek knew the owner, Daryl Smith, of course he did. It was a lovely man of roughly seventy years, always a big smile on his face and a dust of smoke trailing behind him.)
“Derek,” the man of question hollered as he came out of his office, his hands and breath stinking of cigarettes. “I don’t think this interview is going to be necessary, is it? You know your way around the library, you get your key tomorrow, everything else is paperwork. Get to work!”
With that, and an awkward wave, he left. Derek was a bit dumbfounded. Not that the Daryl was incorrect or anything, Derek did know his way around the library, but …? Well, no further questions asked and everything, right?
As he made his way to the reception, rubbing his clammy hands on his jeans, Derek smelled the building, tried to figure out if he knew anybody in there and – yeah, there he was, just behind the counter.
Stiles looked like the epitome of a librarian; cute sweater, thick-rimmed glasses, coffee cup in one hand, the other sliding through his artistically messed-up hair. He was talking to a girl, Heather or something, and Derek could smell her attraction from miles away. Her face was slightly flushed, flustered eyes and talking a mile a minute. Technically, definitely a perfect match for Stiles.
But Stiles seemed a bit oblivious, his gaze flitting over her face every second, but not interested enough to look at her fully. As soon as he spied Derek, though, his whole manor lit up, mouth shifting into a relaxed smile, hip pushing him away from the counter. “Talk to you later, Hannah,” he said to Heather, and, ouch, that was a mad burn for her.
(Not that Derek complained.)
“Derek, how very nice of you to visit me in this lovely establishment,” Stiles called out, and there was something in his voice – honest surprise, yet definite contentedness – that made Derek giddy to talk to him.
“If I were to visit you, Stiles, I would have stated so.” But, of course, why instead of saying Hey, want to go for a coffee, he had to be a complete asshole. “I’m here for my job. Which, well, starts now, I believe.”
Stiles’ smile fell in nanoseconds. “Of course,” he replied, body tense all over all of a sudden, “why would you want to see me?” Stiles added in a whisper. Derek pretended he didn’t hear it.
(It was probably an overreaction, anyway. Derek read too much into Stiles’ behavior. It meant nothing. He probably was that nice to everyone, acting like that was Derek said actually hurt him. Maybe he was just humoring Derek, or maybe – maybe he knew about Derek’s, well, for a lack of a better word, crush.)
“Can I help you out, anyway?” he asked politely, and even though Derek declined, he got a tight, yet actually meant, smile in return. He shooed Derek away from the counter then, “I have customers to serve, Derek, the Beacon Hillians need their favorite, new librarian!” Stiles said, and that was the end of that conversation.
And that’s how it all started, their – well, kind of friendship. Every Wednesday, Friday and Saturday, Derek had to come to the library – almost the same as Stiles , who worked Thursdays instead of Wednesdays – to shelf books, help find customers find books they were looking for, shit like that. Derek was honest, even though he’d never admit it in front of his mother, he liked working in and for the library. (Stiles was a bonus. A delicious, pretty looking bonus.)
Even in school their relationship changed from barely-acquaints to kind-of-friends. Sometimes, if Scott and his pack were okay with it, they sat together at lunch. Sometimes, if Derek found a way to make an “accident” happen, they met each other in the school’s library. (Derek smelled him out every time, even ditched Laura once, just to meet Stiles so very, very accidentally there. She hadn’t forgiven him yet.) Lacrosse practice was a whole different thing, with Stiles sweating and pushing his wet hair out of his face every few seconds, lips bitten to a shiny, cherry-plump red, shirt clinging to his flat stomach, sometimes even revealing that lovely happy trail.
Derek was in awe every time Stiles walked past him, not understanding how not everyone threw himself on the boy. Not only that he had a body that looked like it wanted to be bend to present that pert little butt, no, his sinful mouth, that gorgeous, big Bambi-eyes, it was like Stiles Stilinski was the epitome of Derek’s wet dreams.
(Derek hoped Scott didn’t tell Stiles anything. Being aroused was one thing for Derek, but Stiles knowing that he was aroused around him, well. Derek had never been good in embarrassing situations, so he wanted to avoid at least this one.)
Which is why – Derek had honestly no idea how he got himself into those situations – it was very, very weird when Stiles had to be the one to save Derek from a girl who seemed to be crushing on him.
Derek had thought it was just a normal Friday, everything fine, everything good. He was just shelving the teenage romance books – ugh, Twilight. 50 Shades Of Gray. Ugh. – as she stood behind him. Jennifer Blake. God, Derek hated her.
Not only has she been prom queen the last three years, she was also the head cheerleader, Captain of the Beacon Hills’ volley ball team, and, which Derek hated the most, totally dedicated to get Derek as a boyfriend. Even though he had already rejected her. Several times. (It was exactly nine times, beginning when they had been twelve, ending not even three weeks ago, shortly before the McCall pack had arrived.)
“Derek Hale, what a surprising pleasure to meet you,” she cooed. It sounded dirty when she said it, like a demon hissing out a curse. “I heard from a few pals you were now working here. Really, Der?” Ugh, Der. Only Laura and his mom were allowed to call him that. Even his Dad once got some sick scratches as he run away from Derek after calling him Der. (Well, he got the scratches from falling over, not from Derek actually scratching him, but that totally counted, didn’t it?)
“Isn’t working in a library a bit underneath you?” She probably thought she sounded smart, interesting, as if not liking books was a cool thing to do. It wasn’t. Derek wasn’t interested in “those girls”. (Well, he wasn’t interested in any girls, but whatever.) “Wanna come with me? Coffee, my treat,” Jennifer – “Call me Jenny, Der.” – drawled. Even though Derek had to admit, that girl had balls. Not everyone dared to just ask Derek Hale out like that. (Totally not sounding narcissist, Derek.)
“C’mon, Der, one coffee –“
“Hey, Derek, have you seen –“ Stiles suddenly interrupted, and Derek was the happiest boy alive that moment. (If he had any grip on reading people, Stiles looked quite pleased, too, as if even a bit like mischief flickered in his eyes.) Jennifer looked from Stiles to Derek back to Stiles, her hand tightening around her purse, mouth setting into a thin line.
“Derek was just in a conversation, whoever you are.”
Seemed like Jennifer smelled concurrence from miles away.
“I’m Stiles, and I really need to kidnap Derek just for a second. Be right back,” Stiles smiled, showing off his pearly white teeth, almost baring them like Derek would if someone would threaten his. Curious, very curious.
He took Derek by the wrist, giving Jennifer a small smile over his shoulder a last time, walking to the opposite direction of where Jennifer stood, watching them with a raised brow, sour smell wafting off of her.
Only when they were behind the closed door of the director’s office, Stiles let go of Derek’s wrist, rubbing his palm nervously over his head.
“I’m – I’m sorry if I just ruined your chances, or, you know –“
“Oh God, no, I hate her,” Derek answered airily, letting go of the breath he had held for the while Jennifer had talked to him. “She’s just, uh, really pushy?”
“Guess so. Also, looks like I saved your life. Again. That makes it two times already, Derek.”
With an awkward wave – at least that was as much as Stiles’ scent told Derek, awkwardness all around them – shutting the door softly, Stiles left, probably either telling Jennifer to fuck off (hopefully in nicer words. Though, it would make it three times saving Derek’s ass, which, well. Derek didn’t like having debts, that much was true.) or, you know, doing his job. As should Derek, who stood just dumbfounded there, left behind in that room. He honestly had no freaking idea how he got himself into those situations.
*
It was maybe, like, two days after Stiles had saved Derek from Jennifer – heroically, of course – that their ways parted once again in the library. (Not that surprising, maybe, but Derek had done his best to avoid Stilinski as much as possible. It wasn’t easy, being around your crush, Derek finally understood. Before, he had had just one crush, or at least something similar to it, on a little musician girl called Paige. They had made out twice, but that was it, they definitely weren’t that combinable. He, as the uber-jock, and she as the marching band’s girl, it just didn’t fit. Both left the “relationship” smiling. It were always the other people who had their crushes on Derek, he never had to deal with those feelings himself, which made him also feel bad for the people he had rejected. The mere thought of it was horrible, and Derek didn’t want to experience the real thing, so shutting up, leaving Stiles alone seemed like the best possibility.)
It rained outside, heavy drops falling against the windows almost in an artistic way, sky gray and unwelcoming. Only a peek of sunlight came through the clouds every now and then, but more often than not the only light outside were the light poles.
Derek sat behind the counter, a steaming mug of blueberry tea warming him from the inside, as a shadow fell over his paper work, a noise of nails scratching over chalk board echoing in the background like a horror movie’s sound track. He knew that looking up would a) be the polite thing to do, but also b) be the thing to do, the guys do who die first in movies; he sat there for a quiet, few seconds, busying himself with putting together some loose sheets, finally looking up as the shadow cleared his throat.
He knew that looking up would be dumb as fucking hell, because the guy in front of him was an eerily familiar sight. The dirty, worn off leather jacket was a pretty good reminder, though, of who was standing there in front of him, claws just so sliding over the wooden counter.
“Look what we have here, pup,” Dumber murmured, leaning forwards slightly, so it looked like he was just hitting on Derek, or, well, you know, having a conversation. (Derek didn’t know if other people looked at two guys and immediately thought they were flirting, okay! He was just a mere wolf, not a mind reader.)
“Where is your little friend? I actually wanted to talk to him, but then I saw you, and I knew … we weren’t finished with what we started, don’t you think so, pup?”
Derek didn’t know what to do – fighting an Omega off in his territory, deep inside the woods where no human soul would even consider hearing him, was something entirely different from encountering a feisty one in a public space, open and human ears all around them. Standing up slowly, palms held up in front of him for the Omega to see, Derek nodded his head, frantically looking for Stiles, someone.
Nobody came, no one appeared.
“C’mon, not here where everyone can see,” Derek hissed, leading the Omega to the back, hoping that maybe, out of nowhere, a plan would come to mind. At first, it didn’t work. As Derek put his hand – claws threatening to come out – on the door handle, he prayed for a wonder, but nothing happened. It also didn’t work as the Omega pushed the door closed with his foot, turning the key in the lock, eyes glowing in the artificial light. There were no windows, no other way to escape. Derek was slowly losing hope when it came to miracles.
“You think that little Mage can just kill of my friends, just like that? Did your stupid thing of an Alpha really think that I’d just run off? Did they really think that, pup?” the Omega asked, inching closer to Derek, hand coming up to close tightly around Derek’s throat. Claws prickled against the skin of his neck, pressing in just so much to scratch it minimally, smallest drop of blood escaping.
“Your fear smells delicious, pup,” the guy whispered, and if Derek wasn’t mistaken, he was getting off on threatening Derek. Fucking psychopathic weirdo.
But, if one goes down, one goes down with a heavy boom, right? So, Derek did.
Just as the Omega leaned forward to push his nose into Derek’s neck, probably, Derek twisted the hand around his throat, pushing his claws into the soft flesh of the wrist, blood welling warmly over his fingers. The sensation was quite unique, how the skin split open so easily, revealing the red, angry meat underneath it, how it made the Omega hiss in pain. He let go of Derek, hand coming up to press against the wound, defenseless for a moment.
Derek attacked just as Laura has taught him, knee jerking into the guy’s groin, stepping on the Omega’s right foot, pushing his elbow into the crook of his neck. Breathlessly, the Omega fell to the ground, bloody arm forcing Derek to the ground as well, as the guy’s wrapped his fingers around Derek’s ankle, pressing against his Achilles; he landed right on top of the Omega’s arm, skull banging against the floor, making Derek see stars.
“You stupid, useless –“ the Omega cursed, burrowed hand clawing itself into Derek’s back, ripping open the shirt, the skin.
It was like the time stopped for a few seconds, blackness and stars in front of his eyes overwhelming Derek’s sight. Everything got blurry, and just as the blood trailed over the small of his back, leaving behind a path that burned itself into Derek’s skin, the door snapped open, wood crushing against the concrete wall of the office. The sound was so loud, worsening the pain in Derek’s head, grey, black, white, stars; all of it swimming into one another.
“What the holy fuck is happening here,” the newcomer yelled, and even though Derek suffered through some heavy blood loss, he was pretty sure that yelling made the situation not exactly, well, better. Though, if the voice, the confidence in it, had anything to say, Derek, at least, had help now.
He blacked out before things could get any further.
*
“Derek, fuck, don’t fucking do this –“
But the lights were too loud for Derek to say that everything was okay.
“He keeps slipping out of it, if we lose him too often –“
But, seriously, they all worried too much. Derek could totally run a marathon right about now.
“Derek – Derek, please –“
But Derek didn’t want to please anyone but himself right now. (Maybe Stiles, too, if he was up for it.)
Just as he thought that, well, maybe giving up would be the better, easier solution, Derek awakened to life again, artificial lights, the smell of disinfected cleanness, warm hands soothing over his hot forehead, bringing him to consciousness again.
Slowly opening his eyes, blinking hardly against the sudden brightness, Derek beheld sight of his mother, her brows drawn together in worry.
“Oh, Derek,” she just murmured as she saw her son’s eyes opening reluctantly, right edge of her mouth pulling up to a sad smile, “don’t ever do that again. You scared us to death.”
Derek wanted to say You know, couldn’t help it, but sorry, anyway, but his mouth felt like it was filled with cotton, dry and horrible, probably also smelling like a cow’s ass. The silence between himself and his mother was filled with the sudden, very loud appearance of Laura, Cora and Derek’s dad in tow. Through the gap of the open door Derek had an insight on the hallway, and, particularly, on the McCall pack, their backs turned towards Derek’s room, low murmurs trailing over to where Derek lay.
“Stiles was the one who found you, thank God,” his dad said, “he called us right ahead as he brought you to the hospital. That’s a good guy, that Stiles kid. We should invite him, and the rest of the pack, over to dinner or something –“
Derek just groaned at that thought. Not that he didn’t appreciate what Stiles did for him, you know, saving his ass (once again, Derek might add), but – garh. The problem was, Derek didn’t know how to deal with his fucking attraction towards Stiles. He still wondered how no one else had yet taken Stiles from right under Derek’s nose – like, seriously, how weren’t guys and girls fawning themselves every time Stiles walked past him (they certainly tended to do that whenever Derek walked past, especially shortly after Lacrosse training or whenever he wore a suit (which, thankfully, wasn’t all that often.))
“Fantastic idea,” Laura mentioned, though, destroying all of Derek’s hopes. (Problem was, Laura knew exactly what she was doing there. She knew that inviting Stiles over to dinner would just bother Derek, because, if Derek wasn’t mistaken, Laura totally knew about his crush. Fuck his life, seriously, big sisters were the freaking worst.)
“I’m gonna go ahead and ask him, then,” Derek’s dad said, smiling as he went out of the room, not knowing that he probably just signed Derek’s death contract. (Or, you know, make everything worse. Derek dealt with problems quite dramatically, okay?)
The door was isolated enough to not let any sounds in, just some muffled answers to friendly questions. Derek prayed that, maybe, hopefully, everything was just a nightmare, that he’d wake up any second to his room’s boring ceiling, to the birds chirping outside of his window at ass o’clock in the morning, to his mother knocking on his door to wake him up for school.
Nothing of that happened, no.
No, the thing that happened instead was that Stiles and the rest of the pack said yes to the dinner invitation, standing on the Hale’s front porch three days later at eight, only light coming from inside of the house.
Derek heard them from his room, but he didn’t bother opening the door, since his mother was nearer to the front door, anyway. (He also wanted to avoid the pack as long as possible. You know, jerking off at least three times a day to thoughts of a certain badass with lovely freckles splattered across his skin, dark, brown hair artfully disheveled standing in contrast to that pale flesh, sinfully red mouth so apparent in Derek’s mind –
And there he went, being hard again. Jesus motherfucking Christ.
“Hi, welcome,” he overheard his mother saying, of course, to motherly, welcoming Alpha she always was. (Well, except for the time when the faced enemies. Then she was literal death.)
“Derek, you comin’?” Laura asked, even knocking on the door (something she only learned to do after coming in unasked. Multiple times. It was very awkward for all parties involved.)
“Gimme’ a second,” Derek replied airily, giving himself a last, long look in the mirror, driving through his hair with his hands a last time, wiping them off on his black jeans (recommended to wear by Laura, actually. She said something about butts, but Derek tried to not listen to her talking about her brother’s booty.)
*
It was awkward as fuck.
Like, seriously.
His dad was making inappropriate Dad-jokes, his mom put food on the guests’ plates all the time (unasked, Derek might like to add), Cora was frowning, and Laura looked like someone either made Christmas come early, or, well, did something equally good in her eyes. (Her glance, which slid alternatingly between Derek and Stiles, was devilish, like she plotted something. Derek has seen that one before, and it made him fear for his life.)
The McCall pack, though, were literally the most pleasant, politest guests ever been to the Hale house. They said thank you as much as it was possible to include in their sentences, they excused themselves whenever they said something that could have been misunderstood (Derek still shuddered at the thought of Stiles saying something about playing with balls.)
Derek didn’t enjoy the evening at all. (Lie. He totally did; he loved having another pack there, especially one with Stiles Stilinski on board. Jesus Christ, he was totally gone on that boy.)
Shortly before it was time to leave, Stiles grabbed Derek by the arm and pulled him into the guest toilet, turning the key in the lock and trapping Derek between the wall and one weird-looking mage.
Just Derek Hale’s casual afternoon, duh.
“So, look,” Stiles said, his voice just above a shush whisper, “I saved your ass. Again. Either, you are going to repay me, or you need to stop being a damsel in distress, seriously. My young heart can only take so much, before I die saving you, or seeing you die. Or something. Who knows. Do you know what I want to say?” Stiles ranted.
“No?”
“Dude!” Derek got a slap on the arm for that one. Deserved, maybe, his tone was definitely of the mocking category.
“Yes, no more dying, more repaying Stiles back, got it. Anything else?”
But Stiles’ answer was shouted over by Laura. Damn her. It could have been their first moment, or something.
“Are you making out in there?” Laura yelled through the whole house. Even a deaf werewolf would have heard her.
“No, just exchanging some tactics, hoping nobody else would listen in, Laura, shut up!” Stiles replied easily, lips quirking up to a smart smile.
“Makes it already, what, four times that I saved you? That repay gotta’ be good, Hale,” Derek got whispered into his ear, and with that, and a whiff of something cinnamon-like, Stiles left the room.
*
Repay. Derek would show him fucking repay.
Well, maybe not in the near future, which he was grounded for. Maybe within a reason, he recently did almost die more often than not. But, nevertheless, Derek already had a plan for Stiles, and, sadly filling in some of the teenage clichés John Hughes loved to write about, it included a boom box, some One Direction music, red roses, and a whole lot of embarrassment for Derek. (It also included some great possibility to make out with Stiles after that, so, it definitely was worth it.)
Before that, though, Derek had to figure if Stiles even liked him like that, if he wanted to have something with Derek, if there was the possibility of something good happening between them for the future. And that, honestly, was a suicide mission in itself, since involved a certain redhead and archer. (Derek feared for his balls, to be honest.)
So, maybe two weeks of having the pack at his home for dinner, Derek strutted into the direction of both girls of the McCall pack, just stopping a few inches away from them, leaning against the locker next to Lydia’s with one shoulder, playful smirk coloring his lips.
“Well, ladies –“
But Lydia interrupted him. Rude. “Don’t even try it, Hale, you have a boner for Stiles and we all know it. What do you want?”
Derek’s impression of her definitely was correct; ruthless, but completely loyal to her friends, maybe a bit cold, but still kind of motherly nonetheless. She was strong, and Derek didn’t want to have her on his wrong side, kind of like Laura.
Derek also knew how to make those people his friends, he was, after all, still a popular guy and heard girls talking about boys and their behavior more often than not, thanks to his werewolf hearing. People like Lydia wanted to be the queens, majestic and honored, and they needed people to treat them exactly like that, like they were safety boats for a drowning person.
Which is why he put on his best I’m so desperate for your help expression. “You need to help me with Stiles,” he whined, and as he saw Lydia’s eyes beginning to glance, he knew he did well. Growing up with sisters had his advantages, definitely.
Even Allison, who seemed more like a Disney princess than anything else, looked at him with big eyes and a hopeful smile on her face.
He was so going to get his boy.
*
Okay, maybe he underestimated the time needed to make Stiles fall in love with him. Sue him, Derek was an impatient person when it came to love.
Lydia’s plan was well-thought out, or so Derek thought. The first days after asking for the girls’ help nothing changed, he just nodded at Stiles in the hallways, sat behind him in classes they shared, never let his eyes linger to long on Stiles’ legs, his arms, his happy trail whenever it peeked out from under his too-short graphic shirts.
The situation with the Omega didn’t change at all, too. Sure, Stiles had knocked him out in the library, but turning his back to him for a second to look after Derek, the werewolf had been gone, a sour smell of revenge trailing after him. After that, they haven’t found him anymore.
Sure, the McCall came by from time to time to ask for new updates on the situation, but that was also it. Sadly.
But regarding the Get Your Boy plan, stage one was completed: let nothing change, be friendly. (Basically, what Derek had done anyway, though, with the exception of not dying.)
Days passed by like that, hours gone by in seconds, a week just some moments long.
Stage two consisted of something Lydia called Heavy Flirting. Derek had to keep himself calm to not kiss Stiles whenever he leaned forward, to not stroke his neck whenever he pressed his chest to Stiles’ back to whisper into his ear, to not look at him dopily whenever he – well. Looked at Stiles. Over some time, they became something like friends, but Derek knew as well as Stiles did that there was something between them – whether good or bad, though, Derek didn’t know yet. (But he did know that he wanted it to be good. Like, very, very good.)
It was weird, befriending your crush, Derek decided. He knew he wanted more from this, knew that he wanted to hug Stiles as his boyfriend instead of just one casual friend, but he also didn’t want to push. It became something regular then; Derek restraining himself, and Stiles smiling, captivating Derek like nobody else ever did in that particular way before.
Maybe something like mates actually existed? Soulmates, Australian friend-mates, wolf-mates – Derek really wasn’t sure, but whatever it was he felt for Stiles, this heavy feeling after knowing him for such a short time, it had to be more than just a normal High School crush.
Just as he was about to ask his mother, he decided against it, because what if he interpreted too much into it? What if he was about to embarrass himself in front of his mother because of Stiles Stilinski? (Not that his mother was that kind of person, but maybe she would think he wasn’t able to get his feelings straight himself, maybe she –)
“Derek, you okay?”
His mother stood in front of him, the McCall pack behind her. Just as he didn’t know what came over him to think so intensely about Stiles, about mates, he also didn’t know when he slid down the counter in the kitchen, head between his legs, forehead burning up with shame and embarrassment.
Since Stiles, everything was just – just fucked up. Weird. Something happened to Derek the moment he looked into the mage’s eyes, and, well. There he was, having a break-down in the middle of the kitchen with strange people watching.
“I didn’t know how to –“ Derek started to say, but a hiccough interrupted him.
“He didn’t know how to tell you that we are together,” Stiles said, and – what?
“What?”
*
“Remember, when you told your mom we were together, just because you felt me having a break-down?” Derek asks Stiles three years later, the last of their pack out of the door after their first Christmas in their home.
“Jesus, I was scared stiff! She just looked at me like I ate her babies, or something,” Stiles replies, putting the last plate into the dishwasher.
It wasn’t long ago that they moved into the new-build house in Beacon Hills, a present from the Hale pack for their third anniversary.
“C’mon,” Derek says, stroking his hand down Stiles’ back, kissing the back of his neck. (He remembers the first time he did it like it was just yesterday, the way he was scared to touch Stiles, overstepping a line. He didn’t, though, which he only realized after Stiles had been the first to kiss him, to press his tongue firmly against Derek’s lips, to grip Derek’s waist tightly, pushing groin against groin. Derek was glad that Stiles had waited as long as it took for his mother and the pack to scramble out of the door, because he definitely didn’t want to have her seeing her son being so wantonly slutty for Stiles’ touch.)
“Wait a second,” Stiles suddenly calls out, pressing Derek against the counter, crowding and caging him with his arms, “that was, like, the fifth time I saved your life back then! You huge loser.” Then, he kisses Derek on the lips, pecks down Derek’s neck, leaves him panting in the kitchen.
“Time to get my reward! Since I saved your ass so many times, I wanna do something else to said ass!”
Derek agrees.