Archive of Our Own ^beta

Until the age of ten, Stiles Silber lived in the heart of one of the oldest German hunting families in history. Although training didn’t typically begin until a Silber reached puberty, Stiles’ parents were older and didn’t want to risk missing out on adequately training their son. Stiles was five years old the first time he held a gun. Only seven when he took down his first werewolf. By the time he was ten, he’d already become a legend among the hunters and a cautionary tale to things that went bump in the night. The Hunter Wunderkind.

One night shortly after his tenth birthday, when Stiles had been gifted with his very own mini-arsenal, his parents went out on a hunt without him. He’d been grounded for lying to his mother about what happened to the pie she’d made for the ladies auxiliary at Church. They never returned, leaving him orphaned and alone.

A local Deputy had been the one to come to his house to break the news to him, surprised to find him making himself dinner without an adult in the house. He’d asked Stiles about any family that he could stay with, and Stiles had shrugged and handed over the list of emergency numbers his parents had given him. It would take a few days for the Deputy to go through the list, so he took him for the night until they could get hold of Child Protective Services. 

The Deputy and his wife had been certified as foster parents, and when his wife passed away, the Deputy had fought to keep his certification, so it was no trouble for Stiles to stay with him while they tried to find next of kin or someone else to take him home. The Deputy, call me ‘John,’ gave Stiles his own room, and although the arrangement was only to be temporary, he did everything he could to make Stiles feel at home.

After years of homeschooling, Stiles set foot in an actual public school. He struggled at first to make friends with the other kids. They all struck him as immature, and their obsession with the “coolness” of what he’d been raised to kill made him sick to his stomach. Eventually, an awkward kid that sat on the sidelines due to asthma got under Stiles’ skin. One day an older kid picked on the kid, having stolen his inhaler and holding it over his head. Stiles kicked the older kid in the balls and took the inhaler back, helping the wheezing kid take a hit. After that, Stiles ended up with a best friend named Scott.

While Stiles adjusted to a normal life without hours of training every day, several hunters on the emergency call list fought to gain custody of Stiles. Everyone wanted the hunter wunderkind to be a part of their families, but none of them could pass the rigorous screening process of the CPS. As time went on, despite the massive changes in Stiles’ life, or possibly because of them, he and John grew closer.

A year after Stiles had come to live with John, he came down to breakfast, hair sticking up and half asleep. Falling into his chair, he reached for the glass of orange juice that John had just poured, muttering, “Thanks, Dad,” as he brought it to his lips. 

John froze, nearly dropping the carton of orange juice. It took a second for the words to catch up with Stiles, and when they did, he froze as well. The term wasn’t a familiar one; he’d only ever called his own father by his first name because family got you killed. Swallowing, Stiles looked up at John and saw tears in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said, tears starting on his own cheeks.

John set down the orange juice and pulled Stiles up into a hug; the first Stiles could remember getting in his life. He struggled in the hold for a moment until he realized what was happening and then returned the embrace, the two crying in each other’s arms. Once the uncharacteristic display of affection was over, Stiles hesitating to let go, they sat down at the table.

“Claudia and I always talked about having kids,” John told him. “Then she got sick, and it was too late.” Stiles didn’t know what to say to that, so he returned to his breakfast. “I’ve been thinking for a while about asking if you wanted to stay with me permanently. Become a Stilinski.”

Stiles took another bite of his breakfast, considering the options in front of him. To give up the name Silber would mean giving up a lot more. He’d always assumed that he’d get possession of his family’s assets and return to their mission when he turned eighteen. He studied the man across the table and wondered what he would think about Stiles killing monsters.

A few months after the adoption was finalized, John became Sheriff. Shortly after, Stiles turned thirteen. He had a small party with John and Scott and a few deputies from the station and their families. It was a nice day at the park with barbecue and general fun. Stiles and Scott spent the day following after the brother of one of the deputies, an older boy named Derek, who seemed incredibly cool to them as he fooled around with a basketball on the court near the tables.

The calls inquiring after Stiles’ status began to die off. He believed it was due to the lack of hunting. There were no new stories about him, and soon he faded into the realm of folklore for hunters. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or upset that he could be a ‘real boy,’ especially when the strong desire to hunt and kill monsters still filled his dreams. Many nights, he woke up jumping out of bed and reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there.

Just before Stiles turned thirteen, a lawyer contacted John saying that after years of fighting through red tape, Stiles gained possession of his family’s assets, including the house and all of the artillery hidden in the depths of the basement. He asked John if he would mind moving to the larger place or if he should sell it. He’d expected John to tell him to sell it so he could keep the money since Stiles couldn’t officially touch anything in the trust until he was eighteen.

Instead, they sat down and decided together what would be done. It made the most sense for them to move into the bigger house, even if Stiles had to keep the basement a secret from John. However, John hesitated to sell his house because it was the one he’d shared with his wife, who he still loved very much.

In the end, they moved into the larger house and kept John’s house, claiming he’d move back there when Stiles didn’t need him any longer. Even though it had only been a few months, Stiles already thought of John as a father, and he couldn’t think of a time when he wouldn’t need the man in his life.

Unfortunately, much like the sun and the moon, the truth couldn’t long stay hidden. John came home from work early one day and found fifteen-year-old Stiles in the basement cleaning the weapons like he’d been taught from the time he was five years old. Once Stiles calmed John down at the sight of the armory, he explained.

“My family were hunters,” he said, deciding to be straightforward.

“You don’t need all these weapons to hunt, Stiles. Hell, kid, I can’t even identify half of these, and I’ve hunted since I was a kid.”

Stiles glanced around the basement at the weapons he’d grown up around. He’d cut his first tooth on the shaft of an arrow while his mom cleaned guns, explaining each step as she went. Cleaning the weapons became Stiles’ job when he was five years old, and he was incredibly proficient at the task by the time his parents had died. Even being out of practice, he’d managed to clean half of the weapons in less than a day.

“My official weapons training was supposed to start when I turned thirteen, but…” He trailed off as he wiped at his eyes. “My mom started taking me shooting when I was five. I preferred a crossbow to a gun, so we focussed on that more.”

“Well, that explains the archery club, but still not everything down here.” John picked up a spike with a strange light on the end of it. “What is this?”

“A sonic emitter. My family used it to control werewolves.”

John stared at Stiles, and the boy waited for him to commit him to Eichen House. He knew most people didn’t believe in werewolves, but he’d seen them. He’d even killed them. “We have to kill these dogs before they kill us,” she’d told him while teaching him what to look for to discover werewolves and other creatures.

“You know about werewolves,” John said, sighing and rubbing a hand over his face. Stiles nodded, surprised by John’s tone. “And you hunt them, even though they’ve never done anything to you?”

“They’re monsters!” Stiles shouted, hearing his mother in his words. “They need to be put down like the animals they are!”

John shook his head and rose to his feet. “We’re locking up the basement until I can figure out what to do next about these...things.”

Stiles pouted but handed over the basement key and followed John up the stairs and into the kitchen. He sat down and took the water that John handed him. “I need to make a phone call.” Stiles nodded, sipping at the water as John disappeared up towards the bedrooms. 

Stiles stayed at the table, running his fingers over the grain of the table and remembering sitting her watching his parents planning attacks against monsters. He thought about John’s reaction to everything. He hadn’t been surprised by the revelation of werewolves, but he’d been stunned when Stiles had informed him that his family hunted and killed them. He’d seemed disappointed in Stiles, and he was man enough to admit that hurt more than expected.

He’d finished the water and was debating getting up to refill the glass when John reappeared in the doorway of the kitchen, smiling. “Go get changed. We are having dinner with one of my deputies.”

“Oh-kay,” Stiles drawled out, curious about the phone call his dad made, wondering if it had anything to do with his change in demeanor. “Super dressy or just clean?” Stiles asked.

John chuckled. “Clean and without rips.”

Stiles nodded and headed upstairs to change. It wasn’t the first time he and John had gone to dinner with one of his deputies. Now that John had become Sheriff, a lot of the town treated him, and by extension Siles, like family, especially the staff at the station. Even a couple of single women were eyeing him, but Stiles growled at them; the only woman good enough for John was his friend Scott’s mother, Melissa.

An hour later, Stiles sat next to John in the cruiser as they drove to the edge of town. “Where do they live?” Stiles asked as they turned onto the road that led into the Preserve. “Or are you taking me out here to kill me?”

John shook his head. “After dinner, we are sitting down and having a long talk about how your parents raised you if you honestly think that is an option in this situation.” 

Stiles sighed and leaned his head against the window, watching the trees go by as he thought about John. After he’d taken Stiles in, he’d been afraid the older man would send him away within only a few weeks since he didn’t have to put up with Stiles and his curiosity. His own grandfather had told him more than once that his non-stop talking would get him killed one day. Despite that, he’d never really learned to shut off his mouth except when he was cleaning weapons. 

Stiles sat up when they turned onto a winding drive; the mailbox at the end had “Hale” painted on the side in black. Grinning, Stiles stopped dreading their dinner. He liked Deputy Hale. Laura was only a dozen or so years older than Stiles and always really kind to him. He knew she lived with her family in a large house in the Preserve. 

Her younger brother Derek went to school with him. Stiles had gone to a few basketball games to watch him as captain lead the team to victory. Derek dominated the court, and watching him play had awoken and solved Stiles’ bisexuality crisis. They ran in different circles since Derek was a senior and Stiles a lowly freshman, but that didn’t stop him from watching Derek.

Pulling up in front of the house, Stiles reached for the door handle, freezing when John laid a hand on his arm. “Behave yourself.”

“Don’t I always?” Stiles asked with a smirk, wondering what his father was afraid he would do when they got inside the house.

Laura waved at them from the porch as they approached. “Sheriff! Stiles! Welcome to Casa Hale. It’s great to have you join us for dinner. Dad is out back barbecuing, and Mom is working on salad in the kitchen. My siblings and I are watching movies in the living room. Pick your poison.”

“I’ll go help Alexander with the grill. Stiles, why don’t you stay with the kids,” John suggested.

Shrugging, Stiles followed Laura into the living room, where she fell onto the sofa next to her sister, Cora, that was a year behind Stiles at school, if he remembered correctly. Derek sprawled on the floor with pillows and a large bowl of popcorn that he held up in offering.  

Stiles dropped onto a large pillow next to Derek’s head and grabbed a handful of popcorn. He smiled when Derek jokingly pulled the bowl away, nearly sending Stiles tumbling into his lap.  “What are we watching?”

“ Star Wars marathon,” Cora responded, rolling her eyes. ‘It was Derek’s turn to pick.”

“Awesome,” Stiles said, kicking back. “I love these movies. Dad and I watched them the first week I lived with him.”

The girls groaned, but Derek turned a bright smile on Stiles, revealing elongated incisors that reminded Stiles of a bunny rabbit. He grinned back and settled more comfortably on the floor while the siblings bickered. Stiles had always been an only child, spending all of his time with adults, so it was interesting for him to witness the interactions between the Hales. The good-natured bickering reminded him of the classic television shows he’d binge-watched after moving in with John. Sometimes, he imagined himself in their places.

It wasn’t long before Talia Hale came into the room to call them all outside for dinner. Derek scrambled up and then helped Stiles to his feet. The two of them ran, jostling with the girls to get outside the house and to the table first. The adults laughed when they ended up in a pile of bodies at the bottom of the deck stairs.

John gave Stiles a broad smile as the kids stood up and brushed themselves off before sitting down at the table. Everyone loaded their plates with ribs and burgers. Stiles stole the last cornbread muffin while Derek and Laura got into an actual wrestling match over it. Alexander asked Stiles about the archery team at the high school, having heard from Derek that Stiles was quite adept with a bow.

“Think you might be interested in trying out for the Olympics?” Alexander asked, and the last bite of cornbread fell out of Stiles’ mouth. “I know some people that might be able to get you a tryout.”

“Sure,” Stiles said, nodding and turning to Derek, who had taken the seat next to Stiles. “You told your dad about me? How did you even know?”

“I come to all your events when there isn’t a basketball game,” Derek explained. “You’re terrific.” Stiles ducked his head to hide the warmth in his cheeks. “Maybe after the next one, we can grab a bite to eat?”

“Like a date?” Laura asked from across the table, earning a glare from Derek. “Ooooh, exactly like a date.”

Stiles stuck his tongue out at Laura before turning back to Derek, who looked like he was ready to bolt from the table. He had his eyes closed, hands curled into fists in his lap, and was breathing heavily. Stiles recognized the signs of a panic attack; he’d had a few since his parents’ deaths. 

Reaching out, his hand hovered over Derek’s back for a moment before Derek leaned back into it. Rubbing gently, Stiles asked him to breathe with him. He could feel the rest of the table’s eyes on him, but he focused on Derek until he blinked his eyes open and gazed at Stiles with gratefulness in his eyes. 

“Thanks.”

“Anytime. I get it,” Stiles told him. “And, by the way, I love going to the diner on Main after events.”

“So, that’s a yes?” Laura asked, breaking into laughter when Stiles growled at her. “That is a yes!”

“Alright, that’s enough teasing your brother,” Talia said, smiling softly. Laura pouted, and Stiles bit back a chuckle; it was hard to believe Laura was old enough to be a deputy when she behaved the way she did around her family.

The rest of dinner went smoothly. Conversation flowed easily, and by the time Stiles and John got back into the cruiser, Stiles had Derek’s phone number. The text conversation went on almost the entire ride back to the house while Stiles ignored the way John teased him.

“You liked the Hales, son?” he asked before they parted ways at the bottom of the stairs at the house.

“Yeah, they’re pretty cool,” Stiles told him. “We can keep him. I mean, them! We can keep them. ”

John’s smile was strange as he nodded. “Good to know. Good night, Stiles. You have school in the morning.”

“Night, Dad,” Stiles called out, heading up the stairs, already back to texting Derek on his phone.

The following day, Stiles stumbled up the curb when he discovered Derek waiting at the bottom of the steps by the school’s front door. “Morning,” Derek said, reaching a hand out to steady Stiles and keeping it on the small of his back as they headed into the school. 

Derek’s friends fell into step next to them. Stiles recognized Isaac Lahey from the lacrosse team. Stiles thought he was a decent guy. Stiles was pretty sure Scott had a crush on the curly-haired kid. The other two, Stiles only really knew by name. Erica Reyes and Vernon Boyd were both pretty quiet and flew under the radar, or at least they had been before they started hanging out with Derek. Something about being friends with Derek thrust you into popularity.

As Stiles walked down the hall with Derek and his friends, he wondered if that would happen to him. When they passed the freshman hall, Scott caught up with them, staring with wide eyes between Stiles and Derek. Shrugging, Stiles thought Scott would be happy to gain a little popularity. Maybe he could catch the eye of the new girl, Kira, that he’d been talking nonstop about since she’d showed up at school.

Derek and his friends walked Stiles to his locker before Isaac continued walking with Scott. Erica and Boyd said their goodbyes and headed towards the other end of the building. Stiles smiled up at Derek. “Is this going to be a thing?”

“Do you want it to be?”

“Let’s see how the diner goes first. There’s a tournament tomorrow at Devenford Prep. Are you able to come?” Stiles asked.

“Are you coming to my game tonight?” Derek countered, and they shared a smile and a nod. “See you at lunch?”

“See you,” Stiles said, smiling when Derek knocked his knuckles lightly on the locker next to Stiles and hesitated before walking away backward, keeping his eyes on Stiles until he had to turn the corner.

Stiles hurried to his table in chemistry, dropping down on the stool next to Scott. “What was that?” Scott hissed.

“Strange, right?” Stiles said. “Dad and I had dinner with the Hales last night, and Derek asked me out.”

Scott opened his mouth to respond, but Mr. Harris slammed a book down on their table, interrupting them and giving them both dirty looks. Once he had their attention, he began teaching class, and Stiles struggled to pay attention, which became problematic when his phone kept buzzing in his pocket. He knew if he took it out, Harris would confiscate it, so he watched the clock. 

As soon as the bell rang, Stiles shot to his feet and dug out his phone to see a line of texts from Derek. He also noticed that Derek had added him to a group chat with who he assumed was Isaac, Erica, and Boyd. The first message encouraged him to add Scott, so he did. Scott smiled and shot off a thank you to the group chat and then hurried off down the hall.

Stiles moved a bit more slowly, smiling down at his phone. He wasn’t paying attention to where he was going. He stumbled into someone and raised his head to apologize. A blonde with huge blue eyes tucked a curl behind her ears. “Sorry. I’m lost,” she said.

“Hi, Lost. I’m Stiles,” he said automatically.

She raised her eyebrows and giggled. Stiles grinned in return. “Seriously, where are you going?”

She glanced down at the schedule in her hand. “U.S. History.” 

“Yukimura?” She nodded. “Cool, that’s where I’m headed. Follow me.” She turned around and walked with Stiles. “Now that you aren’t lost, who are you?”

“Oh, I’m Crystal. Crystal Plata,” she said, holding out her hand.

Stiles stumbled a step but reached across himself and shook it while they continued walking. “Plata? That means ‘silver’ in Spanish, right?”

“Sure does! ¿hablas español?”

“I’m guessing that means you want to know if I speak Spanish, and the answer is no, which I know is Spanish but also English.”

Crystal giggled, and Stiles felt proud that he was so entertaining. “What brings you to Beacon Hills?” Stiles asked, going over in his mind the names of Platas he’d known. His father had been good friends with a Raoul Plata, and his daughter Claire used to babysit Stiles sometimes. She’d taught him how to start a fire in their fireplace when he was six.

“My dad wanted to move here,” she said, shrugging. “His job lets him work from anywhere, and he’d heard this was a good place.”

Stiles’ mind raced, and he tried to come up with more questions. Crystal was old enough to be in training, but he didn’t get a vibe from her like he did from other hunters. “What do you do for fun?” he finally decided on as they entered the classroom. 

Stiles headed to his usual desk, Crystal following and slipping into the empty one next to him. “I heard the school has an archery team,” she said. “I’ve been shooting since I could hold a bow.”

“Me, too,” Stiles said, smiling and relaxing. If Crystal and her family were hunters, then he might be able to begin training again without his dad noticing. “We have practice tonight and a tournament tomorrow.”

“Cool,” Crystal said, smiling. Mr. Yukimura cleared his throat and began class, stopping any further conversation between them until after class ended.

He passed Crystal off to Scott between classes and headed off to his own, passing Derek on the way and smiling when they bumped shoulders. Erica called out a greeting to him, and Isaac came up to lean against the locker next to his when Jackson Whittemore started to give Stiles a hard time about something. He spent lunch at a table with Derek and his friends. Scott joined them as well. Stiles kept an eye out for Crystal and saw her sitting with Lydia Martin and Jackson; he hoped that wouldn’t put a damper on their burgeoning friendship.

By the end of the day, when he left archery practice to head into the gym for Derek’s game, Stiles felt pretty good about the changes in his life. He waved at Derek from the bleachers as he settled down next to Erica. Boyd and Isaac were still at lacrosse practice with Scott, trying to convince the coach to let him on the team. 

“I’m glad you two are finally getting to know each other,” Erica said. “I was starting to think we’d graduate and move on without him ever making a move.”

Stiles snorted. “You’re crazy. Derek didn’t know who I was until last night.” Even as he said the words, he thought back over Derek’s words from the night before about going to all of Stiles’ competitions. Maybe Eria had a point, but he wasn’t about to admit it for fear he would make a fool of himself.

“Just because I’m crazy doesn’t me I don’t know what I’m talking about,” she said, nudging him, and Stiles winced, rubbing at the spot where her elbow had connected.

They cheered on the team, shouting extra loud when Derek scored a three-pointer that clinched the game for the Cyclones. Stiles and Erica hugged each other, jumping up and down, shouting louder than anyone else there. Derek pointed at them, giving a wink and a smile before the team scooped him off his feet and carried him around the court on their shoulders. The team was headed to the championship.

Stiles followed Erica to the exterior door of the locker room, where they met up with Scott, Boyd, and Isaac. Eventually, Derek stumbled out the door, laughing, his hair still wet from his shower. He pulled Stiles into a hug, and the rest of the group piled on top of them. Stiles’ heart felt full, and he looked forward to what would happen next for him.

The tournament the next day went terribly. Stiles had been off all day and barely hit the target. When it was over, it took everything in him not to snap his arrows over his knees. He wanted to throw his quiver onto the roof of the building. Instead, he stuck his head in his locker and screamed at the top of his lungs. Thankfully, the rest of the team had already left, so there was no one to hear him.

“We all have off days,” Derek spoke up behind him, and Stiles jumped, banging his head on the inside of the locker. “You’ll get the next one.”

Stiles slammed his locker shut and whirled around, ready to scream in Derek’s face, but he froze when he spotted the flowers in Derek’s hand. “What’s this?”

“We had a date, yeah?” Derek asked, holding the flowers out to Stiles. “Plus, I thought you could use some cheering up.”

Stiles took the flowers and sniffed them. He recognized them as flowers that grew wild in the Preserve. Black-eyed Susans, if Stiles recalled correctly. He’d studied flowers growing up, but his family focused more on those that caused harm to werewolves and had no need for those that were just pretty.

“Thank you, but what if I’d won?” Stiles asked because there would be no way Derek could’ve run to the Preserve to pick these between the end of the tournament and that moment.

“Er...they’d be for congratulations,” he responded, looking unsure. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, I need to drown my sorrows in a chocolate milkshake and a pile of curly fries!” Derek laughed and guided Stiles out of the locker room with a hand on the small of his back.

Stiles gaped when they reached the parking lot when Derek led him to stand next to a sleek black Camaro. “Laura let me borrow it,” he said, smiling as he opened the passenger door for Stiles, closing it once he settled into the seat, buckling the belt across his chest and lap.

Stiles watched Derek hurry around the front of the car, tapping the hood once as he went. He slid into the driver’s seat and slipped on a pair of aviator glasses, grinning at Stiles as he started the car. It took Stiles a moment to catch his breath from how handsome Derek looked like that; he’d always been good-looking, but at that moment, Stiles was convinced he’d never seen anyone better looking in the history of the world.  

Silence filled the car, and Stiles began to fidget. Just when Stiles felt his mind slipping into a dark space tipping him towards a panic attack, Derek asked about Stiles’ classes. It sent him on a rambling tangent about the history of male circumcision that died off when he noticed Derek wincing. 

“Sorry,” Stiles muttered.

“I’m suddenly very glad my family doesn’t believe in genital mutilation,” Derek said, and Stiles choked on his own spit. Now he’d be thinking about Derek’s dick throughout dinner and would probably spend the night searching out porn with uncut penises.

Thankfully, they arrived at the diner before Stiles could make a complete fool of himself. It was crowded, and Derek had to park in a spot at the far end of the lot. “Hope they have a table,” Stiles commented as they crossed the lot to the door.

“I’m pretty sure we’ll be alright,” Derek said, pulling open the door and waving at Erica, who pointed to a table in the back corner.

Derek put his hand on the small of Sitles’ back and led him over to the table where a tented piece of paper announced that it was reserved. “Really?” Stiles asked.

“Erica owed me a favor,” he said, waiting for Stiles to slide in on one side of the booth before sitting down across from him. “I didn’t want to risk not getting a table.”

Erica hurried over to take their orders. While they were waiting for the food and watching Erica run around from table to table, the door opened, and Crystal entered the room. “Crystal!” Stiles called out, waving.

“Who’s that?” Derek asked, following Stiles’ gaze as Crystal approached the counter to talk to the manager behind the cash register. It looked like she was applying for a job.

“Crystal Plata,” Stiles said, surprised when Derek’s lip curled in irritation before he shut his eyes and took a deep breath. “Are you alright?”

“Our family has a...history with the Platas,” Derek said, watching Crystal sit down at the counter with a pen and a slip of paper from the manager. “I didn’t think any still lived in Beacon Hills.”

“Crystal and her family just moved back to town,” Stiles explained. “She’s joining the archery team.”

“Of course, she is,” Derek muttered, pulling his phone out and sending off a text. 

Stiles frowned. Suddenly the fun they’d been having disappeared, and his dark mood from earlier was beginning to creep back into his brain. Unfortunately, the diner didn’t have a locker for him to stick his head inside to muffle his screams, so he had to do it inside his own head. Rubbing at his temples, he wondered if he could ask Derek to take him home without ruining any chance at the relationship between them continuing.

Erica set their food in front of them, breaking the silence and smacking Derek in the back of the head. Leaning over the table, she put herself on eye level with Stiles and smiled at him. “He doesn’t use his words, so you better let that motormouth of yours kick into gear.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek and headed back to the kitchen to grab another tray of plates to deliver.

“So...I’m guessing if I ask, you won’t tell me more, will you?” Stiles hated not knowing what was going on and a history of trouble between the Platas and the Hales was definitely something about which he needed to learn more. Family feuds weren’t unheard of in history, but the only ones he’d heard of in recent years were between hunter families and Packs.

Stiles dropped the curly fry he’d been about to put into his mouth and gaped at Derek. Then he looked over at Erica, whose head whipped around, and their eyes met. Her nostrils flared, and when Stiles turned his attention back to Derek, he saw him do the same thing. Groaning, he pulled out his phone and sent off a text to his father.

“The Hales are werewolves?!” 

“You said you wanted to keep them,” his father sent back, and Stiles jumped to his feet. 

“I have to go,” he told Derek and hurried to the door, ignoring the way both Derek and Crystal called out after him.

Standing on the curb outside the diner, Stiles debated his next move. He should call his dad to come to get him, but he was furious with him at the moment. He could text Scott, but then he’d have to explain what the hell had happened to him, and he knew Scott wasn’t ready for the veil between the natural and the supernatural to be lifted. He wouldn’t be able to handle it. 

When the door to the diner opened, Stiles glanced over his shoulder and saw Derek exiting. Taking a deep breath, he started to run. The woods were close, and Stiles knew that he shouldn’t go in without a weapon, especially not with a Pack of werewolves living there, but he had no other option. He could always find somewhere to hide or possibly something to use as a weapon. He knew wolfsbane grew out there.

His feet pounded against the dirt, and he could hear Derek behind him, knew he could catch him with no effort. He listened to another set of footsteps as well, and when he took a sharp turn, he spotted Crystal trying to keep up with the both of them, her phone pressed to her ear. It had been a long time since he’d run in the woods. He hadn't been able to since moving in with his dad, but he remembered most of the trails. Unfortunately, with the focus on his speed, he missed the path he’d been searching for and wound up in a clearing with an enormous tree stump at its center.

Skidding to a stop, he would’ve fallen over when Derek slammed into his back if the ‘wolf hadn’t stopped him. “Don’t touch me!” Stiles screamed, scrambling away from him. He backed up and ran into the tree stump, the pressure on the back of his knees knocking him onto his butt. He kept scrambling until he sat in the middle of the stump, holding out his hands to ward off Derek. 

“You’re a monster! Stay away from me!” Stiles hated how he sounded; missed the days when facing a monster was literal child’s play for him. He’d gotten soft while living with the Sheriff. He spotted Crystal coming through the woods, ring daggers in her hands. “Crystal! He’s a ‘wolf!”

“I know, Stiles,” she said, approaching slowly. 

Derek had turned his back on Stiles to watch Crystal. He would have laughed at Derek’s foolish mistake if he’d given any indication he was a hunter, but instead, he watched the scene in front of him. He observed Derek keep himself between Stiles and Crystal the same way Stiles used to stand between danger and his mother.

Derek was protecting Stiles.

“You’re him, aren’t you?” Crystal said.

“Who?” Derek asked, his voice gruff, and Stiles could see the hair growing on the side of his face, imagining the fangs filling Derek’s mouth.

“Not you, Derek,” Crystal said. “Stiles. You’re the wunderkind.”

“I was,” Stiles said. 

“Still are.” She tossed the daggers, and Stiles caught them by the round handles midair as Crystal pulled a small crossbow from inside her jacket, aiming it at Derek. 

“You’re a hunter?” Derek asked, turning his body so he could keep an eye on both of them.

Stiles twirled the daggers in his hands, the familiar weight sending a tremble through his system. He could smell the wolfsbane on the blades and hear his mother’s voice screaming at him to throw them straight into Derek’s heart.

Derek.

The monster had a name.

The monster had a family.

The monster had panic attacks.

The monster had fucking bunny teeth.

The monster hadn’t hurt him. 

“Show him your eyes, Derek,” Crystal shouted. “You’ll see, Stiles, he’s a killer.”

Derek looked at Stiles, his shoulders dropping, and Stiles knew before the blue began to glow what he would see. His heart broke. Derek had killed an innocent.

“We hunt those who hunt us!” Crystal shouted, reminding Stiles of his mother. “Kill him!”

“Do it,” Derek whispered, turning his back on Crystal and spreading his arms, leaving Stiles with a large and open target. “An Alpha attacked my girlfriend last year.” He let his eyes fade back to green. Tears sparkled in the fading light. “She rejected the bite. She was dying in my arms.”

“He killed her, Stiles. Kill him!” Crystal still held her bow at the ready but didn’t seem in any hurry to fire it.

Stiles could feel the power inside of him. The rush of adrenaline he used to get and couldn’t explain when his mother pointed him at a monster and ordered him to kill. He prepared to throw the knives when a tear broke free of Derek’s eyes and began to travel down his cheek. Blinking, he realized that Derek had continued talking.

“She pleaded with me to kill her. The pain was too much. I couldn’t take it all away.” Derek held his hands out in front of him, glaring at them for their failure to help his girlfriend. More tears fell, coating his cheeks, and Stiles began to feel something else rising up inside of him. “I broke her neck. I had to stop her pain somehow, and she was already as good as dead.” Derek sobbed out the last words, dropping to his knees in front of the tree, but he spread his arms wide. “Kill me. It’s what I deserve.”

“You heard him. He confessed,” Crystal said, stepping around Derek and moving closer to the stump where Stiles still sat. “He’s a killer.”

“Kill him,” his mother’s voice whispered in his head.

“You said you wanted to keep them.” His dad’s text flashed through his mind, along with memories from the dinner at the Hale House. Laughter, happiness, movies. Everything he’d always imagined a family to be. Everything that his family - no - that the Silber family had never been. 

He wasn’t Stiles Silber, and he wasn’t the Hunter Wunderkind anymore.

Now, he was Stiles Stilinski, and he was attracted to a werewolf.

Dropping the knives, he turned his focus to Crystal. “No. I will not kill him.”

“Then I will,” she said, aiming the crossbow at Derek’s chest and her finger moving to activate the trigger.

Without even thinking, Stiles scooped up one of the knives and threw it. The round handle hit Crystal’s wrist and forced her to release the crossbow, and it fell useless to the ground. Crystal gripped her other hand around the wrist and glared at Stiles. “What kind of hunter are you?”

“A new kind,” Stiles said, not even sure where the words were coming from but knowing they were true. “Now leave before I decide to find out just how much of my skills remain.”

He growled and lunged at her when she hesitated. “You’ll pay,” she promised before running off into the trees.

Stiles started to go after her, but Derek saying his name softly stopped him in his tracks. He turned to look at him, his breath leaving him when they made eye contact. “You saved me,” he breathed out.

“You protected me first, even when you found out I was a hunter,” Stiles countered. 

“I’ve heard of the Wunderkind,” Derek told him. “Growing up, my mother told us about you. Have you really killed hundreds of ‘wolves?”

Stiles smirked. “Not hundreds, but more than anyone should have by the time they turned ten.” Derek took a step closer, and Stiles stepped backward. “Look...I said a lot in the heat of the moment, but I still…”

“You still hate werewolves,” Derek replied, his shoulders drooping again. “I understand. At least let me drive you home, so  I know you get there safely.”

Stiles picked up the knives, twirling them and sliding them into his sleeves, so they were no longer visible. “I think I’ll be alright.” Stiles heard the confidence in his voice, something he’d thought he’d lost when his parents were killed. He started to walk away, turning back before he crossed into the tree line. Derek remained where he’d been, face crestfallen as he watched Stiles walk away. “I’ll text you.” 

Derek’s eyes lit up. “Yeah?”

Stiles nodded. “Just give me some time.” Derek’s eyes dimmed a bit, but he nodded, slipping away into the woods in the opposite direction.

Walking home, Stiles could feel Derek’s presence, but he didn’t think it was necessary to call him out for his protective instincts. Particularly after what had been revealed earlier in the evening. He wanted to ask his dad about Derek’s girlfriend’s death, but that was only one of many things he needed to talk to him about when he got home.

Half an hour later, he turned the corner onto his street and spotted his dad’s cruiser in the driveway. Pausing a few driveways away from his house, he turned his head towards the houses across the street. “You can go, Derek. I’m safe now.” There was no answer, but he hadn’t expected there to be.

As Stiles let himself into the house, he heard a howl from deep in the Preserve and knew Derek was letting him know that he’d made it home safe himself. Something he hadn’t even realized he was worried about until that moment. Another thing to add to his list of things to think about as he re-evaluated everything that he’d believed for the majority of his life.

His father sat at the kitchen table dressed in flannel sleep pants and an old BHSD shirt. A cup of coffee and a case file sat in front of him on the table. He glanced up as Stiles entered the kitchen and gestured to the chair across from him.

“That was a dirty trick,” Stiles said as he sat down. The anger he’d intended to convey was downplayed by admiration for his dad’s sneakiness. 

John nodded. “It was, but it was the only way I could think of to show you that werewolves are not that different from us.”

“Except for that pesky time of the month,” Stiles said. “And the brutal killing.”

“They’re not all like that. Talia always says that they’re predators, but they don’t have to be killers.” John tapped his fingers on the file in front of him. “I feel like I have to tell you that Derek did kill someone, though.”

“His girlfriend,” Stiles said. “Is that the file?”

“He told you?” 

“Someone else did. There’s another family of hunters that just moved to town. The Platas. They make the Silbers look like amateurs.” Stiles ran a hand over his face. “Their daughter, Crystal, goes to Beacon Hills High with me. She chased Derek and me out of the diner tonight, cornering us at a huge tree stump out in the Preserve.” John’s face tightened at his words. Stiles slipped the knives out of his sleeves and laid them on the table.

“I thought we locked everything up,” John said.

“These are hers. She threw them at me and told me to kill Derek.” John reached over and pulled the knives toward himself, inspecting the blades. “I didn’t do it. And even if I had, you'd never find evidence on them.”

John reached over and slid the knives away, leaning back to lay them on the counter behind them. Stiles wasn’t sure if he just didn’t want to look at them or was afraid that Stiles would hurt him somehow. He rubbed at the ache in his chest at the thought that his dad didn’t trust him. 

“You know about werewolves, but you don’t know about hunters?” Stiles asked. The question had been bugging him since he’d figured out about the Hales. He knew the timing of having dinner with them after his dad had found out about him hating werewolves wasn’t a coincidence. Neither one of the Stilinski men believed in coincidence.

John scoffed. “I know about hunters. I know they have a code and that certain factions don’t follow that code.”

“The Platas,” Stiles said, and John nodded. “And the Silbers.” 

John’s jaw tightened. “I figured that out after I learned your feelings about werewolves. I know another family of hunters that used to live here. The Argents. They followed the code. Well, most of them did.”

“My family knew the Argents. Gerard was an asshole, and his daughter Kate was psychotic.” He shuddered. “And creepy.”

“Kate has a brother. Chris. His late wife was like Gerard and Kate, but he and his daughter are different. They are allies of the Hales and other ‘wolf packs in the area,” John explained.

“I’ve never heard of hunters allying themselves with ‘wolves,” Stiles admitted, scratching his nails over the laminate coating on the table. “I think that I should meet them.”

“Chris was the second phone call the night I found out about the Silbers. He and Allison are in France right now but should be arriving in a few days. They look forward to meeting you.”

Stiles’ lips tightened. “Did you tell them I was Stiles Silber?”

“I did mention your former family’s name, yes.” John studied him. “Why?”

“I don’t know how much you know about hunters and their lore.” John gave a look that said he didn’t know much. “Have you heard of the wunderkind?” 

John shook his head, and Stiles gestured to himself. “Really? That explains a lot about the interest in your adoption.” His face grows contemplative. “I probably still have a file on all the background checks that CPS had to run. That would give us a list of hunters of questionable morality.”

“What is that going to do for us?”

“Just information that might prove helpful to have on hand,” John told him before slapping his hands down on the table. “Now, I think you need a shower and some sleep. I’m going to talk to Talia. Will you be alright here on your own?”

“Can I have the key to the basement?”

“Promise you won’t kill anyone?”

“I can’t promise that, but I promise I won’t kill anyone that isn’t trying to kill me,” Stiles said, chewing into his lower lip.

“That’s all I can ask.” His dad stood and pulled a key off his keyring, sliding it across the table towards Stiles. “We will need to make a copy of this.”

“Two. You should give one to the Hales, just in case they need anything, and we aren’t home,” Stiles said, preening under the proud look John gave him.

“You and Derek are going to be okay?” Stiles shrugged. “He’s a good kid. Been through way more than someone his age should, a lot like someone else I know.”

Stiles gave a dry laugh and then stood to hug his dad, walking him to the door and locking it behind him. He considered going downstairs to get mountain ash to line the doorways and windows, but it wasn’t the werewolves he needed to worry about at the moment. His brain reeled at the change in thinking. He hoped one day he would get used to it.

Stiles didn’t think he would be able to sleep that night, but he fell into unconsciousness as soon as his head hit the pillow. Exhaustion he hadn’t even felt took over him, dragging him into a dream.

The tree stump stood in front of him in a large white room. The walls were so bright that Stiles had to raise his arm to try to block out some of the light. Drawing closer to the stump, he felt vibrations running through him, centering in his chest and then spreading out to his hands. Sparks surrounded his fingers, and as he shook them, trying to get rid of the sparks, more appeared.

Soon, the sparks surrounded his entire body, but instead of pain, they warmed his body. They glowed brighter than the room around him. “Enough,” Stiles said. “I’d like to keep my vision.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, the sparks died away, but the humming remained. The room’s brightness didn’t dim, but a shadow fell over him. Glancing up, a large black wolf with glowing blue eyes stood on the stump, looking down at him. Instead of fear or anger pulsing through him, Stiles felt a laugh bubble up inside of him. He knew who it was even without having ever seen that face.

“Derek,” he breathed out, and the wolf ducked his head in a nod but didn’t move any closer. “C’mere.” Derek hesitated before stepping to the edge of the stump and lying down, sad eyes studying Stiles. 

Frowning, Stiles moved closer. He thought about climbing up next to Derek but decided instead to sit at the stump base. He leaned his back against it and put his head next to Derek’s, feeling his fur on his cheeks. The warmth from the sparks spread out again, surrounding both of them. Derek whimpered, and Stiles thought for a moment that they were hurting him, so he tried to call them back.

Instead, he heard Derek sneeze and noticed a few of the sparks dancing on the tip of his nose, disappearing into his nostrils and making him sneeze again. Stiles laughed, and the sparks started changing colors and dancing around in the air. They leaned back, Derek’s head on Stiles’ shoulder as they watched the private fireworks show.

As the sparks began to fade, Stiles felt himself becoming heavier. “I think I’m waking up.” Derek huffed, and Stiles turned to press a kiss to the tip of his nose, surprised by the naturalness of the action. Just one day ago, the very thought would have disgusted him. He couldn’t say he was disappointed in the change.

Stiles woke up in his bed, the sun shining through the window. The house was silent; his father must have already left for work. Stretching, he climbed off his bed and picked up his cell phone, glancing down at the missed texts from Scott asking how his date went. Stiles shook his head, knowing the details were something he could never tell Scott. 

It was just after noon, Stiles stomach growling, and he realized he hadn’t had anything to eat since the handful of curly fries the night before. He wondered if anyone had paid their bill at the diner. He would ask Erica when he saw her at school on Monday and pay her if Derek hadn’t already done it. The more pressing matter was his increasingly insistent stomach.

Moving downstairs and into the kitchen, Stiles read the note his dad left for him. He had gone into work and then was having dinner with the Hales. The invitation included Stiles, but everyone understood if he didn’t feel up to coming. Stiles decided to think about it and make a decision later.

Opening the fridge, he discovered that he would need to go grocery shopping if he wanted to eat something other than an orange and a glass of milk. Crossing to the drawer where they kept the grocery list and the credit card for the shopping, Stiles grabbed them both. He should probably wait for his dad to come home and drive him, but it was a nice day out, and Stiles didn’t mind the exercise. 

Grabbing the wagon he hadn’t used since he was a kid, he tossed in the reusable bags and started walking to the grocery store. He kept one hand on the handle of the wagon and the other wrapped around his cell phone. About two blocks from the grocery store, the sensation of being watched washed over him. He thought about picking up his pace but didn’t want to tip off whoever was following him that he was onto them. 

Instead, Stiles raised his phone and glanced down at the screen. He sent off his current location and destination to his dad before thinking about it for a moment. Then he sent his location to Derek along with a message telling him what was happening. The only reason he didn’t freak out completely was that it was daylight, and he was near small crowds of people.

Arriving at the grocery store, he didn’t even startle when Derek fell into step alongside him. “It wasn’t me,” he said.

“Never thought it was,” Stiles returned, parking the wagon next to the door and out of the way before pulling out the grocery list and showing it to Derek. “Thank you for showing up, though.”

“You texted,” Derek said, getting a cart from next to the door and moving with Stiles through the store. “Who do you think it is?”

“Plata,” Stiles said. “Crystal’s family. I’ve made an enemy of them.”

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” Derek said. Stiles smirked and nodded. “So, what’s on the list?”

They got through the list, and when they were done, Stiles stepped outside to find the wagon gone. Stiles sighed and shouldered the reusable bags, resigning himself to the walk home. He froze when Derek touched his upper arm. Stiles froze at the contact, and Derek pulled his hand back with an apology. “Do you want a ride? My car is at the library?”

“You were at the library?” Stiles asked as they turned to head in that direction. The feeling of being watched had returned, and he could tell by the way Derek’s shoulders tensed that he felt it, too.

“Research paper for honor’s English,” Derek replied. “How quantum physics is applied in literature.”

“You are a glutton for punishment, aren’t you? I struggle with research topics because I start talking about one thing and end up somewhere else entirely.” Stiles laughed. “The only reason I know so much about the history of male circumcision,” he said, referring to a conversation from the night before, “was because I’d started researching the real cost of healthcare for an economics paper.” 

Derek laughed and gestured to a car when they reached the library’s parking lot. “Kind of miss the Camaro,” Stiles teased as he knocked his hand on the slightly rusted trunk of the ‘66 Ford Mustang while Derek unlocked it.

“Be nice to my baby,” Derek teased, his head going up and turning toward the street. “Your father’s coming.”

A couple of minutes later, his dad’s cruiser passed them, heading towards the grocery store. Shaking his head, Stiles texted him and saw the cruiser do an illegal u-turn and head back to the library. “You’re alright?” John asked as he hopped out of the car, the engine still running, and pulled Stiles into a hug.

“I’m fine,” he responded but returned the hug with just as much enthusiasm. “Someone was following me.”

“Did you see them?” His dad had his Sheriff’s voice on, and Stiles’ bristled until he reminded himself that he only did it because he couldn’t allow himself to get too emotional at times like these.

“No, but I felt them,” Stiles responded, relieved when his dad nodded. “Okay. I know you will hate this, but I really don’t want you going or being anywhere alone right now. Derek, can you stay with him at the house until I get home from work?”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Stiles snapped.

“Maybe I do,” Derek countered and took the bags from him, settling them into the trunk of the Mustang and then pushing Stiles toward the passenger side of the car. 

“See you at home, Dad,” Stiles called and watched as his dad waited until Derek was on the road and then followed them back to the house. He didn’t pull away until Stiles and Derek were both inside, the door locked behind them.

Derek helped Stiles put the groceries away, the silence stretching between them. Stiles’ mind kept going back to the dream from the night before. “Hey, Derek, can…” he started to ask just as Derek said, “Stiles, I had a dream…” The both of them trailing off and gesturing for the other to go first.

“Can you full shift?” Stiles asked, frowning when Derek shook his head.

“It’s a trait that runs in the Hale Pack, but I haven’t been able to achieve it yet. My mother says it’ll happen when I get older. It has to do with status, so if I become an Alpha, it’ll happen. She mentioned other ways, but hell if I can remember. She tried explaining it when I was ten, and I just wanted to watch cartoons.” Derek shrugged and used his claws to cut the plastic rings off the soda bottles. He seemed relaxed, not having to hide his wolfy side. 

“Can I see your Beta shift?” Stiles asked. He’d seen plenty in the years he’d been hunting but always when too much was going on to pay attention. After getting peeks of Derek’s, his natural curiosity began overpowering him.

Derek froze, his hand still in the fridge, and his claw punctured the bottle he was putting away. “Shit,” he muttered and hurried to drop it in the sink. 

Stiles grabbed the paper towel and moved to clean up the mess in the refrigerator. “You don’t have to show me.”

“Are you sure?” Derek asked, washing his hands and turning off the faucet. He grabbed the towel hanging on the stove and dried his hands off. “Up until last night, you wanted to kill anyone like me.”

Stiles heard the nerves in his voice and nodded. “I get it. No pressure. Just if you ever feel like showing me, give me a heads up, yeah?” Derek nodded. Stiles finished up in the refrigerator and turned to throw away the paper towel, studying Derek. “What were you going to say earlier?”

Derek rubbed at the back of his head, glancing out the window while Stiles dug around to pull out a pot to boil some noodles. He was still hungry, and pasta was pretty quick and filling. “I had a dream about you last night.” Stiles made an interested sound, and Derek continued. “We were in a white room, and oddly enough, I was fully shifted.” Stiles stood up suddenly, dropping the pot he’d been holding, and turned to stare at Derek.

“The tree stump was there?”

“The Nemeton? Yeah,” Derek responded, picking up the pot and setting it in the sink to fill with water.

“The neme-whatnow?” Stiles asked, turning on the faucet and watching the water run, trying not to focus on the fact that he and Derek apparently shared a dream the previous night.

Derek chuckled. “It’s like a magical tree stump.”

“The word ‘duh’ comes to mind,” Stiles muttered, laughing when Derek shoved him in the shoulder. He turned the water off, reaching for the pot of water, but Derek pushed him out of the way to grab it and put it on the stove. “So, what makes it magic?”

Derek shrugged. “The tree that had been growing there was magic, and then it got sick, and someone chopped it down. There’s residual magic, but it’s not always good.” Derek frowned. “We had a nogitsune blow through town a few years ago. Thankfully, a kitsune was following it and defeated it.”

“How did I miss all of this?” Stiles wondered. “I was trained to look for signs.”

“You’ve been out of a hunting family for six years now,” Derek said, smiling softly. “That isn’t you anymore.”

“You saw me last night.” 

Derek shrugged. “You still have skills, but you felt safe with your dad. You stopped looking for trouble.”

Stiles thought about Derek’s words as he started chopping up some onions and green peppers to add to the sauce. He could see where he was coming from, but it didn’t explain how easily everything came back to him that night on the Nemeton. Maybe he would get answers from Chris Argent when he got to town; someone had to know something. He glanced up at Derek watching him and smiled. Until then, he’d just have to keep his mind occupied somehow.

After they ate, they settled onto the living room couch, looking for something to watch. “I’m sorry you’re stuck babysitting me,” Stiles said as he scrolled through Netflix, watching Derek’s face for any sign that something interested him. 

Derek’s sudden laugh startled Stiles. “Ever since you came to the house for dinner. Actually, even before that, I’ve been trying to find reasons to spend time with you. I can’t say that you need to apologize for this.”

“Before we came to your house?” Stiles asked, thinking back to his conversation with Erica at the basketball game. “You didn’t even know who I was.”

“I knew who you were,” Derek said, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve known who you were for years, or at least, I knew you existed somewhere in town, but I never had any idea you were once a hunter.”

“The more words you say, the more confused I get,” Stiles said.

“And people wonder why I don’t talk much,” Derek muttered. “How much do you actually know about werewolves?”

Stiles closed his eyes and tried to go through his mental files, pulling out information he hadn’t dwelled on in many years. He sighed as he realized there was really only one central theme in the knowledge he’d retained about werewolves. “I know how to kill them.” Derek winced. “Sorry.” He figured it would be a mistake to add that he knew how to torture them as well.

“Do you know anything about their lives? About Pack hierarchy?” He hesitated and looked away from Stiles, eyes unfocused in the direction of the television. “About mates?”

“Mates? Like soulmates?” Stiles asked. He’d spent his childhood hearing how inhuman werewolves were, he knew Packs existed, but he never thought about them having families and relationships. He knew real wolves had mates, but he’d never even considered that might apply to werewolves as well. “Or like, you are destined to be with one person and can never have a choice in the matter.”

Derek tilted his head from side to side. “A little of column A and a little of column B,” he finally said. “There isn’t just one person for us, but there are signs that someone would make a suitable mate.”

“Like a big neon arrow over their head?” Stiles asked, smirking when Derek burst out laughing.

“Nothing quite so visually obvious,” he said. “For most, it’s a scent.”

“Scent and scent marking are important to ‘wolves,” Stiles said. “They don’t like when you pee in their territory.” The disgusted look Derek gave him caused Stiles to slap a hand over his mouth to keep in the giggles. “Sorry, continue,” Stiles offered when he got himself under control.

“About six years ago, I was on a full moon run with my parents. We always stuck close to home because hunters had lived in the territory. This was the first full moon since we’d found out they had been killed on a raid on another Pack.” Stiles' breath caught, and Derek nodded. “Your parents. I am sorry for your loss.” 

“Thank you, but I can’t help thinking it might have been for the best, despite the fact they were my parents, and I loved them,” Stiles returned, a sad smile on his face. Silence filled the kitchen for a few minutes, Derek allowing Stiles to be lost in his memories. “So, it was the first full moon after the local hunters’ deaths. Well, except for mine.”

“We didn’t know about you,” Derek said, and Stiles snorted. “I mean, we’d heard of the wunderkind, but your family never let you hunt locally.” 

Stiles had noticed that but never really gave it any thought. If he had, he would’ve just thought there weren't any local ‘wolves, but maybe they had been trying to protect him in their own way. It could have been a strategic move, or it could have been the only way they knew to show their twisted form of love while raising him to be a cold-blooded killer.

“So, we had no idea the Silber’s son who always smelled strongly of wolfsbane, and mountain ash was the wunderkind. If we’d known, we might not have run so far from home that night. We had a false sense of security, but I guess you weren’t hunting anymore anyway.”

“I couldn’t get to any of the weapons. Probate and all that,” Stiles said, grinning wryly. “That and Dad was super overprotective at first because so many questionable people were trying to get custody of me. I think he was afraid someone would try to kidnap me.”

“Probably a realistic fear,” Derek agreed. “Anyway, the first full moon and Mom told us we could venture out further than we had been, but he had to stay away from town. If people saw us, they wouldn’t understand. There were only a select few that knew about us. Your dad being one of them.”

“He’s a good choice. I had no idea he knew about werewolves until he found out I was a hunter,” Stiles told him. “Why didn’t he know, though? That my family were hunters?”

“We never told him. He knew some people didn’t like us, but your family didn’t bother us, so we didn’t bother them,” Derek explained. “We didn’t trust them, but as long as they didn’t attack without provocation, we had no issue with them. We didn’t know what they were doing in other territories. My mom honestly thought they might have retired.”

“Hunters don’t retire,” Stiles muttered, something his family had repeated time and time again to a young boy that just wanted to go to Disney World. 

“You did,” Derek said. 

“Forced into hiatus,” Stiles said. “I was ready to return when Dad found out.”

“But what you said to Crystal...” Derek’s eyebrows drew together over watery eyes, and his entire body tensed.

Stiles reached to lay a hand over Derek’s, frowning when Derek jerked his hand away. “And I meant it. I’m still a hunter. I just don’t hunt the good guys anymore.” He paused. “Dad said that the Argents are like me.” 

Derek nodded. “Some of them. Chris and his daughter Allison became good ones after the death of her mother. Surprising since she’d killed herself because she’d been turned.”

“Did they kill the ‘wolf that did it?” Stiles asked, knowing that was the kind of thing that he wouldn’t have a problem avenging. 

“Thankfully, not,” Derek said. “Or you would never have met my mother.” Stiles jumped to his feet, his mind a mess of thoughts and emotions. “She did it to save me. Allison’s mother was killing me because she found out about Paige.” Derek rubbed his hands over his face. “I was ready to let her kill me, but my mom came running in and stopped her.”

Stiles sat back down, conflicted in his opinion of what had happened. After all, Paige’s death had been a mercy killing. If anyone had been to blame for that, it was the rogue Alpha that attacked her. Talia hadn’t killed Allison’s mom, but she had attacked to protect her son. Sighing and stretching, he cracked his neck a couple of times. 

Finally, Stiles nodded at Derek to continue, concluding that Allison’s mom’s death was on her hands. Although hunters were readied and trained to think lycanthropy was a fate worse than death, she’d made the conscious decision to end her own life. Talia’s actions were also justified, even if they weren’t the greatest choice.

“I’ve forgotten what we were talking about,” Derek confessed after a moment.

Stiles went back over the thread of conversation until he found the point it had gone off track, something far too familiar for him. “The first full moon run after my parents’ death,” he told Derek, who nodded.

“Right.” Derek nodded, rubbing his hands over his thighs and taking a deep breath. “My sister and I were twelve and sixteen, so we took off as soon as my mom gave us the go-ahead.” He smiled as he spoke, a happy memory forming in his head. “We tumbled through the trees, getting closer and closer to the school and town. We landed at the edge of the lacrosse field, sprawling out to catch our breath when I caught a scent in the air.”

“Aw, did you smell Thumper?” Stiles asked, teasing. He felt safe when Derek’s eyes sparkled with delight.

“That depends how you feel about pet names,” Derek teased.

The sudden change in topic threw Stiles, but he realized it wasn’t a change a moment later. “Me? You smelled me?!” 

Derek nodded. “I didn’t know what it was at the time. I just knew that I wanted to find the source. I took off running, Laura falling in behind me and begging me to either turn around or shift back because we were leaving the safety of darkness and heading right into downtown.” 

He rubbed at the back of his neck. Part of Stiles wanted him to stop talking because he looked uncomfortable, but his curiosity was killing him. He leaned back in the chair, feigning relaxation. “You don’t have to continue if you don’t want.”

“Lie,” Derek said, glancing at Stiles’ chest, and he flipped him off before he could stop himself, making Derek laugh. “Even without the lie, you smell of curiosity.”

“What does curiosity smell like?” Stiles asked, giving in to the urge to ask a million questions. “Is it the same for everyone, or do people have unique scents? Are there any scents that are just vile, like for evil people?”

Derek chuckled. “Everyone has a unique base scent, which can affect how their emotions smell.”

“Like chemosignals and pheromones?”

“For ease of explanation, yes,” Derek responded. He held up a hand when Stiles opened his mouth. “That night, I smelled the woods after a hard rain with a touch of sugar, like cotton candy. Laura managed to get me to shift back, but I couldn’t stop seeking out the scent. I followed it to the sheriff’s station. I stood outside the doors, looking through the glass, and all I could see were the same officers I’d always seen.” He frowned. “I thought I’d imagined the scent.”

“I was probably on the couch in Dad’s office. I spent a lot of time there when I first came to live with him. He didn’t feel right leaving me home alone with all the unsavories that were interested in getting custody of me,” Stiles explained. “If you’d come inside…”

“I could do that. What would I have said? ‘Oh, excuse me, someone in here smells delicious, and it’s imperative I find out who.’”

Stiles snorted. “Did you really talk like a college professor at twelve?” Derek shrugged. “So, you thought you imagined things that night. When did the scent lead you to me?”

“I kept smelling it around town, but Laura said she didn’t smell it, which isn’t unusual. Mates smell different to other people, but she never teased me and always helped me search. I kept being led back to the Sheriff’s station but never saw anyone the scent could belong to.” He sighed. “After Paige’s death, my mother took me into the police station to give a statement. The Sheriff, your Dad, didn’t want me freaking out in an interrogation room, so he took me into his office and sat me on his couch.”

“Shit, you must’ve been overwhelmed,” Stiles said. “I spent a lot of time on that couch.”

“To put it mildly,” Derek agreed. “At the same time, it helped keep me calm during the interview. Not calm enough because that was the night your dad learned about werewolves.” The tips of his ears turned pink.

“What happened? You didn’t attack him, did you?” Stiles felt an itch in his fingers, and as much as it pained him, he knew that he wouldn’t stop himself if Derek had hurt his dad. Even if the event had happened years beforehand.

“No. No!” Derek said, his eyes telling Stiles he knew exactly what he was thinking. “I flashed my eyes, and my fangs cut into my lower lip. The cut healed before your dad could hand me his handkerchief.”

Stiles' stance relaxed, and he nodded, gesturing for Derek to continue. “I had heard that the Sheriff was fostering a child, so I made the connection between the scent and you. I still didn’t know who you were, though.”

“I’ve lived in Beacon Hills my entire life,” Stiles pointed out. “Why didn’t you pick up my scent before I came to live with the Sheriff?”

“At first, I believed it was because you’d just moved to town. It wasn’t until after you started at Beacon Hills High and I connected the scent to you when you passed me in the hall the first day. I asked around about you and found out that you’d always lived in Beacon Hills, so I went home and asked my mother about it.” He huffed out, rubbing his hands over his thighs again. “She had to ask our Emissary, who didn’t have an answer. It wasn’t until last night when I found out who you were before you came to live with the Sheriff that we figured it out.”

Stiles thought about what he was saying, and his mind made a connection. “My scent was hidden, wasn’t it? I was constantly surrounded by wolfsbane and mountain ash so that you couldn't smell me.” Derek nodded. “I feel like I’m finding another reason to hate the way I was raised every day,” Stiles mumbled.

Derek reached out and took his hand, giving him a tight smile when Stiles looked up, and their eyes met. “I hate that you were a hunter, that there is a part of you that is still a hunter, even if you want to live by a different code, a better code.” Stiles frowned and tried to pull his hand away, but Derek tightened his grip. “I hate it, but I know you wouldn’t be the person that you are without first having lived that way. You are smart and resourceful and strong.” 

“And a killer,” Stiles muttered.

“I killed Paige,” Derek countered.

“To stop her suffering,” Stiles argued. “I killed because my parents taught me that all werewolves were monsters. I killed them because my parents told me to!” He choked back a sob, trying to stop the litany of images flashing through his mind, the faces of the ‘wolves he had killed.

“You were a dutiful son. A good son. You continued to be the same when you came to live with the Sheriff,” Derek insisted. “You are good, Stiles.” He took one of his hands and tapped at Stiles’ chest twice. “This, this is good.”

Stiles shook his head but didn’t fight when Derek pulled him into his arms, letting him cry into his shoulder. The hand on his back soothing and gentle until he calmed into spastic hiccups. When they finally faded away, Stiles tried to pull away as well, but Derek kept holding him, stroking his nose against his temple.

Eventually, the excitement of the last couple of days caught up with Stiles, and he fell asleep still wrapped in Derek’s arms. When he woke up a few hours later, the house was dark, and he was stretched out on the couch, covered by the afghan his mother had crocheted that usually sat on the back of the sofa. His father snored away in the armchair, and there was no sign of Derek. 

“The changing of the guard,” Stiles muttered, rolling over and snuggling down into the pillow underneath him that smelled like Derek. He fell back to sleep with a smile on his face.

Stiles startled awake when someone shook his shoulder. Blinking against the bright light of the room, he smiled up at his Dad, who held out a mug of coffee. He helped Stiles to sit up before relinquishing the mug. “I have to go to work.”

Stiles nodded. “I’ll see if Derek can come over.”

“He’s at work, but Talia offered to let you come over to the house and stay there until he comes home. She thought you might enjoy exploring their library.” 

Stiles perked up. Studying and Research had always been his favorite part of being a hunter, even when he could only look at the pictures in the old books. He thought about the small cache that remained in the basement. He knew that Talia would probably be interested in those, and he would feel like loaning them to her or donating them to her library would be a small step in making up for the many deaths he’d caused.

“Yeah, that sounds great.” He stood and started crossing to the basement door, unsurprised when his father followed him down. 

“I’ll drop you off before I go to the station,” his Dad offered, taking a stack of books that Stiles pointed to and carrying them upstairs. “We can stop and make a copy of the key to the basement on the way if you still wanted to do that.”

“Definitely,” Stiles answered, grabbing the rest of the books, including a small one full of childish sketches he’d started as a child just for nostalgia’s sake.

Talia stood on the porch, smiling, when the Sheriff pulled up in front of the house, exiting while Stiles walked around to the trunk to grab the books they’d stashed there. “Good morning, John, Stiles. How are you?”

“Doing well, all things considered,” John responded. “Stiles brought a small library of his own.”

Talia glanced over and wrinkled her nose as Stiles grew closer. “Hunter’s books,” she said. 

Stiles froze. He hadn’t even considered what the books would smell like, even after the talk with Derek the night before and how he’d remained hidden from Derek’s nose for so many years. “I’m sorry. I’ll have my Dad take them home.” He turned to return to the car, stopping when Talia touched his arm.

“The scent is residual, so I don’t think there’s anything that will harm us on them,” she told him. “It’s just something unpleasant but will hopefully fade the longer they remain.”

Stiles nodded. “Your sense of smell is strong enough to differentiate between a presence and a…” He trailed off, trying to find the right word. 

“Yes,” Talia told him. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t help you carry the books inside, though?” Stiles nodded. “The library is through the double doors behind the staircase.” 

Stiles headed inside, hearing his dad and Talia talking in low tones and knowing even without hearing the words that he was the topic of conversation. Entering the library, he found one of Derek’s uncles sitting in an armchair near the window; a book open on his lap. He sneezed and sent a glare in Stiles’ direction when he entered.

“Ah, the wunderkind,” he deadpanned and turned his attention back to the book in his lap. “Take care not to hurt my family, child, or I will kill you.”

“Noted,” Stiles said, his tone as even while every inch of his skin crawled the ‘wolf’s proximity and general demeanor. Setting the books on a table far from where the ‘wolf sat, Stiles rubbed his fingers together, wondering if he should wash his hands before he began exploring the Hale’s books. 

“There is a washroom outside and to the right,” the ‘wolf said.

Stiles followed his directions, stopping in the doorway. “Thank you, uh…”

“Peter,” he supplied without looking up from his book. “Talia’s younger brother and Derek’s favorite uncle.”

Somehow Stiles doubted the last statement, but he nodded, making a note to remember the name. He found and stepped into the washroom, turning on the sink to watch his hands. On returning to the room, he found Peter standing at the desk, looking down at the books Stiles had brought. He flipped a page, and Stiles realized it was his book that he’d created.

“Interesting,” Peter said when Stiles got close. 

“What? It’s just childish drawings.” Stiles scoffed. He’d brought it more for himself to relive memories from his childhood and hopefully find something good that happened at that point in his life.

“You said you’d never heard of the Hales. Didn’t have any idea we were werewolves before the other night at the diner,” Peter said, and Stiles nodded. Peter flipped back a few pages and tapped it, looking Stiles in the eye. “Explain this.”

Stiles leaned over the table, trying to keep his distance from Peter, his hunter senses tingling in the back of his skull. He distracted himself with Spiderman references for a moment before Peter tapped the page again, drawing his attention to a drawing Stiles had done. It wasn’t familiar to Stiles, and he checked the corner of the page where he saw his mother’s writing.

“Talia Hale and Stiles,” Stiles read and a date putting the drawing having been done around the time Stiles was five before his training had begun. The jagged black lines were clearly the child’s work, but Stiles recognized a black wolf with glowing red eyes as the subject of the drawing. The wolf wasn’t alone on the page, and Stiles recognized a stick figure representation of himself by the spots dotting his face. The pink line between the black wolf and Stiles was a tongue. It was a drawing of Talia kissing Stiles, and there was a smile on Stiles’ face.

“I don’t remember this,” Stiles said, running his fingers over the drawing. 

Talia came into the room at that moment. “I do, and I’m surprised your family allowed any reminder of it to remain.”

Stiles looked up, a million questions on the tip of his tongue, but Talia turned her attention to Peter. “Brother, dear, I think it would be best if you went somewhere else while Stiles and I do some research. Perhaps you could join us at a later time.”

A touch of Alpha command laced her words, enough that Stiles could feel it, and still Peter hesitated before leaving the room grumbling under his breath. From the frown on Talia’s face, his words weren’t kind. She stared after him, head tilted slightly for a moment. “Go,” she barked, and Stiles jumped, nearly dropping the book he had picked up. “Sorry, my brother tends to eavesdrop like a child with no manners,” she explained.

Stiles bit back a laugh at the grumbling even he could hear coming from the hallway. He’d never had siblings, and suddenly he was extremely happy for that fact. He turned his attention back to Talia, who held Stiles’ book with the wolf drawing in it.

“You were only five, I think. It was before you’d become a hunter. Your mother had taken you into the woods. I think to have you learn about different plants.” She paused and closed her eyes. “You got separated, probably saw something interesting run by and followed it. I was out patrolling the Preserve because there had been word of a danger heading in the direction of Beacon Hills.”

“What kind of danger?” Stiles interrupted.

“One that was dealt with quickly,” Talia responded, her lips twisted into a fond smile. “I heard your mother shouting for you, but she didn’t call you Stiles.”

“My birth name was unpronounceable by everyone except her. My birth father used to call me ‘Sterling Silber’, and somehow it got shortened to Stiles. When Dad adopted me, we legally changed it to Stiles. It goes better with Stilinski anyway.”

Talia nodded. “That’s why I didn’t make the connection right away,” she murmured. “I scented the air, finding a scent that didn’t belong, and followed it. I found you sitting on a rock playing with a couple of sticks. I think they were having a conversation, but it was hard to tell.”

Stiles laughed. “My mother used to say that when I was small before playing wasn’t allowed anymore, I could make anything into a game. She used to tell a story about me using pieces of a shredded tire on the side of the road while my father changed the tire.” They shared a sad laugh before falling into silence for a moment.

“I watched you playing for a minute until you looked up and spotted me. Your eyes got big, and you slid off the rock, shouting ‘Doggie!’ and ran over to me, running your hands all over my fur. It took me by surprise, to be honest, and that’s when my eyes glowed. You squealed and clapped your hands and called me ‘Ruby.’”

“I have a stuffed dog named Ruby,” Stiles told her, laughing. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and shuffled through the photos until he found one and showed it to Talia. It was Ruby sitting on his bed when he’d first moved back to his childhood home with his Dad.

Talia smiled down at the picture. “You held my tail, and I led you back to your mother. As soon as she saw me, I tried to act like a dog and wagged my tail and licked your face.” She sniffed, but her smirk belied her derision. “She didn’t seem concerned until you told her about my eyes, and then I barely got away with my coat.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said. “You saved me and nearly got killed for it.”

Talia laid a hand on the Sitles’ shoulder close to his neck. “You didn’t know. You were a child who was excited by something he’d never seen before. I’m afraid that interaction is why you started your training so early, even though my Pack was never a threat to you and yours.”

“I don’t understand how my mother thought you would hurt me when all of your actions said the exact opposite. I never saw what I was taught as prejudice, but that’s exactly what it was.” Stiles sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. “I know it’s wrong, and I know that you and your Pack are good people, but sometimes…”

“Stiles, it’s been less than a week since you found out that not all werewolves are monsters. There’s still going to be a part of you that will automatically revert to the old ways; we just have to be patient and hope in time that part becomes an unpleasant memory.” She smiled when Stiles did. 

“I just have to make sure I surround myself with the right kinds of people,” Stiles said, smiling, and Talia nodded in agreement.

“John tells me that the Argents are coming to visit.” Stiles nodded. “They are good people, at least Chris and Allison are. The rest of the clan are psychopaths.”

“Don’t hold back. Tell me how you really feel.” Stiles' chuckle died when Talia leveled him with a severe gaze. “You’re serious. They’re that bad?”

“Gerard and Kate Argent never followed the hunter’s code.” Stiles opened his mouth, but Talia talked over him. “I know that your family did not either, but at least they killed. They didn’t torture for sport.” 

Stiles grimaced. He’d never witnessed his family torture a ‘wolf or other supernatural needlessly, but they’d never condemned another hunter for the same action. The name Kate sounded familiar, but he couldn’t pull up the memory of why. “Do you have a picture of the Argents?”

Talia laughed. “I don’t, but I’m sure Chris or Allison could accommodate you.” She closed her eyes and sighed heavily. “Perhaps we should skip studying the books for today and do something a bit more enjoyable. Have you ever made braided bread?”

The day passed quickly, the house filling with the scent of blueberries and cream cheese, while Stiles did his best to follow Talia’s instructions. He frowned when they pulled their loaves out of the oven, his looking nothing like hers.

“Don’t worry so much. That’s better than my first attempt. It took me years to get it right,” she assured him as Derek came into the kitchen, his nose lifted into the air.

“Guess we’ll have to keep practicing,” Stiles said.

“Is that Blueberry Cream Cheese Braided Bread?” Derek asked, reaching out to grab a piece, yanking his hand back when Talia slapped the back with a wooden spoon.

“It is, but you will wait until after dinner,” she told him. “Now, you’ll take Stiles into the living room and watch movies until dinner.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, smiling at Stiles as he grabbed his hand and pulled him into the living room. “I’m going to shower and change. You pick something to watch.”

Stiles nodded and watched him go, noticing for the first time that Derek wore the green polo and blue jeans that made up the uniform for the local nursery. He imagined Derek working with plants and giggled at the image of him coaxing a plant into cooperating. He was still sporadically giggling when Derek made his way back down to the living room.

“Do I want to know what’s so funny?” he asked, settling next to Stiles. 

He’d changed into a soft pair of black sweatpants and a white tank top. Stiles struggled not to stare at his muscles, focusing instead on the screen in front of him as he scrolled through Netflix. They spent most of the time before Talia called them to dinner, arguing over what to watch. They had just decided to watch the newest Disney movie when Talia entered the room.

“It’s time for dinner, boys,” she said, smiling fondly when they both let out a whine. “The television isn’t going anywhere, but the food will get cold quickly.”

Laughing, Derek stood and pulled Stiles to his feet. He didn’t let go of his hand as they walked into the kitchen together, which led to a lot of teasing from Laura and Cora. Stiles ignored him as he took a seat between Derek and Laura. The conversation over dinner covered a crazy amount of topics, and a food fight nearly began when Derek got tired of being teased and picked up a dinner roll. Talia stopped him before he threw it, giving him a dangerous look when he grumbled unkindly under his breath.

After dinner, Derek drove Stiles back to his house. John called while they were on their way to tell Stiles he would be home in a couple of hours. They locked themselves inside. Stiles went into the kitchen to grab some of the ice cream he’d hidden from his Dad, carrying them into the living room, and found Derek staring out from behind the curtains in the front windows.

Immediately, Stiles' shoulders tensed. “What’s wrong?” 

“The same car drove by twice before I closed the curtains,” Derek said. “It might be nothing, but…” He trailed off, looking sheepish.

“No, I get it. Can you describe it? Did you get a plate number?” Stiles asked as he set the ice cream down on the coffee and pulled out his phone. “We should tell my dad about it.” Stiles glanced towards the basement door. “I should get some weapons.”

Derek held his hand out. “Give me your phone. I’ll text your dad. If you really want to get weapons, I won’t stop you, but you do have me to protect you.”

“Since my greatest danger seems to be from humans, I’ll avoid anything with wolfsbane,” he promised, and Derek nodded, still not looking happy about having Stiles armed even though he’d already seen him in action.

Stiles hurried to the basement door, unlocking it but leaving the door open, something that had been against the rules when he was a child. The door remained locked except when someone passed through it. He wanted Derek to know he could come downstairs when he was done on the phone. 

Crossing the room once he’d reached the bottom of the stairs, Stiles unlocked the gun safe closest to the back wall. His father had stored the ordinary weapons separately from those used to hunt werewolves. Stiles had been surprised when his memory held enough to punch in the proper sequence of numbers and heard the lock disengage. Pulling open the door, he breathed out a surprised breath. The number of weapons looked like so much more than he’d remembered. 

Shaking himself out of his shock, he hurriedly grabbed a set of ring daggers like those he’d gotten from Crystal, these free of wolfsbane. He grabbed a .50 caliber handgun and a box of ammunition. He did a quick check to ensure the gun was in working order and cleaned it before reassembling and loading the clip. 

Stiles heard Derek come down the stairs and turned to greet him, but it wasn’t Derek. The woman’s face was familiar, and he had a sudden memory of being left with a babysitter for a week, a miserable week of feeling uncomfortable around a teenage girl who either paid too little or too much attention to him. 

“Kate,” he said before she raised the gun in her hand and hit him across the temple with it. 

He never even had a chance to fire his gun. His last thought before the world went black was, “So much for being the Wunderkind.”

Derek coughed and groaned when someone smacked him across the face. Blinking, he flinched at the flashlight shining in his face. Growling, he lashed out, catching some with his claws. The scent of blood filled the air, and Derek struggled to get to his feet. “Woah, Derek. It’s John. What happened? Where’s Stiles? Where’s my son?”

“I...I don’t know,” Derek said. His heart broke at the slash on John’s arm where he’d caught him with his claws. He could see John’s blood on his hands and clothes. The urge to vomit filled him, but he quickly clamped it down. “I was texting you and looking out the window for the car.” Derek glanced towards the window and saw the tiny bit of broken glass scattered across the windowsill and the floor. “I thought I saw someone approaching the window, and then I got hit in the face with something. It’s the last thing I remember.” Derek inhaled, coughing and sneezing. 

“Okay, first off, you are going to go upstairs and get what is probably wolfsbane of some sort off your face,” John ordered, using his grip on Derek’s arm to pull him to his feet. “Then we are going to figure out who took my son and where.”

“I’m so sorry,” Derek said, blinking. His eyes filled with tears both from whatever coated his face and the dread that he’d failed the one thing he’d promised Stiles he would do. He’d failed to protect him just like he’d failed to protect Paige. To add insult to injury, he’d actually injured the person Stiles liked most in the entire world.

“You have the duration of your time upstairs to cry over this, but once you are done, we are all business,” John said, his own eyes damp.

“Same goes for you, sir,” Derek said, heading towards the stairs.

“Call me ‘John,” son,” he said to Derek’s retreating back, his scent thick with tears and worry.

After he’d cleaned up, Derek made a quick stop in Stiles’ room, where Derek grabbed a few things they might need when they found him. They were in John’s cruiser within half an hour of when Derek had woken up, Derek sitting in the passenger seat with the window rolled down. 

He’d smelled Stiles as soon as he’d stepped out of the house. His scent had been utterly devoid of emotion, meaning he was either dead or unconscious. He assumed that because they had taken him with them, Stiles was still alive, if not well. He had thought that if they’d moved Stiles into a vehicle, the scent would cut off, but someone must have left a window down because it was still pretty potent in the air.

John had his phone on speaker, shouting at Siri to send out various texts updating people of the situation. They were a mile away from the house when the phone rang, and John put it on speaker. “Chris,” he greeted. “You got my text.”

“I did,” the man on the other end of the phone. Derek recognized Chris Argent’s voice from meetings with his mother. “Allison and I just got to town. Someone broke into our house.”

“Fuck,” John muttered, surprising Derek with his out-of-character utterance. “Anything taken?”

“Didn’t go inside. We’re headed toward you.” The voice trailed off, and there was a squeal of tires as a black SUV passed in the other direction and whipped around behind them. Before Derek could panic, Chris continued. “We’re behind you now. Where are we headed?”

“Following Stiles’ scent,” John explained, smiling at Derek, who was leaning out the window and pointed to the right.

“Then we’ll follow you,” Chris responded before ending the call.

John's grin grew wider when Derek leaned further out the window. “So many dog jokes come to mind right now,” he said, laughing when Derek glared at him.

“I see where your son gets his sense of humor from,” Derek snarked back, but his lips quirked up in the corners before he turned his attention back out the window.

They reached the center of town, and the scent disappeared. Derek growled, and John stopped the car. Hopping out, Derek tried to pick it back up again but could only find it going back in the direction from which they’d just come. Cursing, he threw a punch at the light pole in front of him, the object bending under the impact.

“I saw nothing,” the Sheriff muttered as Chris and Allison joined them after properly parking the SUV a few feet away. 

“What happened?” Chris asked, his hand at his waist, undoubtedly over a gun. His daughter Allison stood next to him, looking adorable with dimples and soft brown hair, but Derek knew she was adept at hiding weapons on her person. 

They were both staring at Derek’s hands, and he saw that the ends of his shirt were still stained red; his nostrils flared, and he smelled John’s blood. He should’ve taken the time to change his shirt after cleaning up, but he’d been too focused on getting on with the search for Stiles.

“Lost the scent,” Derek growled out, ready to hit the light pole again but managed to reign in his anger.

“Okay, do we know who took him?” Chris asked. 

Derek shook his head, trying to remember what he had seen in the window before the attack. The harder he tried to focus, the blurrier the image became, so he moved back further in his memory. “The car that drove by the house!” Derek shouted, startling the other three from their quiet discussion.

“What?”

“I texted you the description and partial license plate of the car that passed the house a couple of times,” Derek explained. 

John nodded and ducked back into his car, speaking quickly into the radio before he came back out, pulling his gun and leveling it on Chris, who moved his own hand away from his weapon. Allison revealed a loaded mini-crossbow aimed at the Sheriff. “The car is registered to you, Chris Argent,” John said.

“Which one?” Chris asked. “You know me, John. You know I would never do anything to your son, even if he is the Wunderkind.”

“John, he’s not lying,” Derek said. “Deep breaths and put the gun away.” He glanced at Allison. “And the crossbow.”

“Let me get my phone out,” Chris said. “I can check the garage where I store my vehicles here.” 

John nodded but didn’t put the gun down. Chris reached carefully into his jacket pocket, thankfully on the opposite side of the gun at his waist. Pulling it out, he kept the screen tilted so that Derek could see what he was doing. 

“Dammit,” Chris said after a moment of watching a black and white video of a row of cars, one spot empty. “My BMW is gone.” He fiddled with the keypad on the phone for a moment as John and Allison put their weapons away. “The security company got a signal that the alarm had been tripped. Before they could call me, they got a call from someone claiming to be Allison. She didn’t have the security code but could answer all the questions.”

Allison sighed and ran her hands over her face. “Kate,” she said just as the woman’s face came into focus in Derek’s memory, an evil smile on her face before she raised a gun and shot at the window.

“Does the car have GPS?” John asked.

“She would’ve disabled it,” Allison said, looking like she wished she were wrong.

Chris looked thoughtful as he continued to tap away at his phone. “The main GPS most likely, but not the one that I installed myself inside the center cap of the tires.” He smiled as he held up his phone with a blinking light on a map.

Derek grabbed the phone, recognizing the far side of the Preserve where the roads are closed to the public. There were a bunch of abandoned cabins there that Derek’s family used to rent out to make extra money until stories of wolves in the woods started scaring off tourists. Without a word, he took off running, ignoring the shouts of protest behind him.

Running through town and hitting the closest edge of the preserve made the trip quicker than taking the roads. He only realized he’d left his backup without a location when he was more than halfway there. He was about to try and use Chris’s phone to call them when he caught Stiles’ scent in the air. His stomach churned at the odd tinge to it. There was a touch of fear, but there was something else, and it made Derek pick up his pace.

He skidded to a stop a few feet from the edge of the clearing where the cabins were located. Frowning, Derek saw Kate’s back as well as an older man, that must be Gerard, but he didn’t see any sign of Stiles. Focusing, he listened to their conversation. They were arguing, struggling to keep their voices low, which means there was someone human close enough to listen in on them.

“You should just kill him,” Gerard argued.

“You’ve always said that having the Wunderkind would be an advantage to our cause! It’s why you killed his parents, isn’t it?”

Gerard nodded. “It would’ve been a coup then to have him join us, but that Sheriff had to meddle, and now he’s ruined the Wunderkind. He’s become a soft, beast lover.” 

“We can retrain him,” Kate snapped. “He’s still got the instincts. You heard what Crystal said about that night in the woods.” Gerard scoffed. “We get him to kill one time, and the thirst will come back, I guarantee it!”

“It’s the killing once that I doubt,” he said. 

“The seeds have already been planted,” Kate responded, her smirk sending a shudder through Derek as he watched them disappear into one of the cabins. 

Listening, Derek only heard two heartbeats coming from there. Moving into the clearing, keeping to the shadows of the other cabins, Derek followed Stiles’ scent. He held back a sneeze at the strong peppery tinge to it. Stiles’ anger wasn’t pleasant to his nose, and he hoped he could calm him down as soon as he found him.

He finally heard Stiles muttering to himself at the cabin furthest from the one the Argents occupied. Derek didn’t stop to wonder why that was and hurried up to the window. His eyes widened as he looked in to see Stiles pacing around a room plastered with photos of werewolves in different stages of the shift. There were a few feral ‘wolves attacking humans, and Derek’s urge to vomit returned. He ran a hand through his hair, nose wrinkling at the scent of John’s blood, He debated taking off the shirt and disposing of it, but Stiles chose that moment to turn around, his eyes meeting Derek’s through the glass.

Derek’s face broke into a relieved smile, and he pressed his hands to the glass. The smile disappeared when Stiles’ eyes went to his wrists, and he let out a roar of rage loud enough to put a ‘wolf to shame. He raced at the windows, grabbing a baseball bat on the couch as he passed, swinging it at the window. 

Derek raised an arm to protect his face from the glass exploding outwards. He tumbled backward to the ground when Stiles leaped onto him, his hands coming around his throat. “You monstrous bastard!” he screamed in Derek’s face. 

Derek grabbed Stiles’ wrists, careful not to hurt him. He could see sparks in his field of vision as it became harder to draw breath. Derek arched his back and rolled, startling Stiles enough that he released his grip on Derek’s throat. Moving his hands, he pulled Stiles’ above his head, stunned when Stiles spit in his face.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Derek growled. The peppery scent nearly choked him as he watched the fire in Stiles’ eyes grow. 

“You killed my Dad!” he shouted. 

Derek reared back, loosening his grip in shock at Stiles’ words and the intensity behind them. It was enough of a drop in his guard that Stiles managed to wriggle his arms free, and Derek had to struggle to grab his hands to keep Stiles from choking him again. “I didn’t kill him,” Derek said once he’d gotten the upper hand again.

“His blood is on your sleeves!” Stiles said, twisting his wrists to shove Derek’s into his face. 

“It’s his blood, but he isn’t dead! It was an accident,” Derek tried to keep his voice low and even. The last thing they needed to do was draw the Argents over to them, although with the glass breaking, it was possible they already had an audience. 

“If he weren’t dead, he’d be here with you,” Stiles snarled, but his body started to relax beneath Derek. 

Leaning down to press their foreheads together, Derek whispered, “I ran off as soon as I realized where you were. He’s safe with the Argents.” Stiles tensed. “The good ones. Chris and Allison.”

Stiles’ shoulders slumped, and his head fell back against the ground. Derek risked loosening his grip. He brought one of Stiles’ hands to his chest, pressing it flat against it. “Your father is alive, Stiles. I swear it.”

Stiles shook his head, but before Derek could argue, he spoke. “My father is dead. My Dad is alive, though, right?” Understanding the difference, Derek nodded. “Okay. Okay.”

“Okay,” Derek said, leaning in to brush their lips together. He knew that it wasn’t the best moment for their first kiss, but he didn’t want to miss the chance.

“I told you he’d gone soft.” Gerard’s voice jerked them out of the moment. 

Derek leaped to his feet. Stiles used his arm to pull himself up to stand next to him, weakened from his earlier burst of adrenaline, most likely. He moved, so their arms pressed together, facing Gerard and Kate, who both looked furious, guns held out in front of them. Moving carefully, Derek reached to pull Stiles’ arm around his back, shoving his hand into his back pocket. He felt the moment that Stiles realized what Derek was doing, his hand closing around the objects hidden there.

Kate shook her head. “Disgusting,” she spat at Stiles. “I really thought there was hope for you to return to greatness.” 

She raised her gun higher, aiming it directly at Stiles’ head. Before she’d even managed to pull the trigger, Stiles yanked the ring daggers out of Derek’s rear pocket, managing to throw one at Kate’s wrist. The contact knocked her arm wide enough that when the bullet embedded into the wall to his right. Before she could recover, Stiles threw the other knife, wincing when it embedded into her throat, sending her to the ground choking on her own blood.

Derek watched Stiles gape at Kate as she laid dying at his feet. He recognized the look in his eyes, the guilt that he’d probably never felt after a kill before that day. Derek reached for him, stopping when pain flared through his arm. Glancing down, he saw the blood dripping from a bullet wound just below his left elbow. 

He turned to see Gerard with an evil grin on his face as the pain increased. Derek felt sick to his stomach as black lines began to spread out from the bleeding wound. “Wolfsbane,” he gasped out, dropping to his knees. He could feel his eyes flashing, and he couldn’t control them. 

Stiles heard the gun cock again and leaped across the space between them, grabbing the dagger that had hit Kate’s wrist and slashed at Gerard with it, sending him back a step without actually making contact with him. He let out another werewolf-worthy growl as he stepped forward, forcing Gerard backward toward the still-open door of the cabin.

Stiles smirked when he saw his Dad and another man step up behind Gerard, blocking his path. He turned his attention back to Derek as soon as he saw his Dad grab Gerard by the arms and force him to the floor. 

“I need his gun and a lighter!” Stiles shouted, sliding across the room on his knees to Derek’s side. He barely made it out of the way when Derek’s body spasmed, and he vomited black goo all over the floor.

Ripping off his belt, Stiles looped it around Derek’s bicep. The poison moved quickly through his system, and he hoped the makeshift tourniquet slowed it down enough for him to work on the antidote. A girl about his age dropped down next to him, holding out Gerard’s gun with one hand and a lighter in the other. 

“Thanks,” Stiles muttered, opening the bun and dumping a bullet on the floor. “Derek, can you open this?” he asked, holding the bullet out to him just as he fell flat out on his back unconscious. “Shit.”

Dropping the bullet, he grabbed Derek by the face, slapping his cheeks. He tried to breathe, but Derek’s pallor worried him. He hit his face again. “Derek? Derek, c’mon, wake up!” He looked up at the girl who was using an arrow to jimmy off the top of the bullet. “He’s not waking up! I think he’s dying!” He couldn’t see Derek’s chest rising and falling. “I think he’s dead.”

She shook her head. “He’s not dead,” she said. “Yet.”

Stiles looked back down at Derek, chewing his lip as an idea occurred to him. “Please, don’t kill me for this.” He pulled his arm back and punched Derek hard across the face, scrambling back when Derek reared up, eyes flashing blue and fangs showing.

“Ow. Fuck!” Stiles said, shaking out his hand, pretty sure he’d broken it. He saw that the girl had the bullet open. He pointed to a spot on the ground, and she tipped it over, creating a pile of the wolfsbane inside it and currently killing Derek. 

Derek threw up again as Stiles took the lighter and held it to the wolfsbane, pulling back when it sparked for a moment before turning to a purple smoke. Moving quickly, Stiles scooped up the ashes of the wolfsbane, ignoring the burning in his palm as he slapped the ashes onto the bullet wound.

Derek howled, his back arching. Stiles watched as the bullet worked itself out of the wound, falling to the floor with a clink. The girl snatched it up, tossing it across the room, as the black lines disappeared. The blood oozing out slowed, and the wound closed up until the skin was smooth. Stiles let out a breath of relief when Derek’s body relaxed against the ground, breathing heavily and staring up at the ceiling. His eyes quickly faded back to their usual green.

“Thank you,” Stiles said to the girl. 

“Allison,” she said, flashing deep dimples and holding out a hand that she quickly retracted when Stiles held out his own slightly mangled, blood and ash-covered one. 

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Stiles said, his eyes on Derek, barely noticing when Allison rose her feet and crossed the room to rejoin her father and Stiles’ dad.

“Hey,” Stiles said when Derek shifted his eyes over to him. “Glad to see you alive.” Derek’s eyes roamed Stiles and honed in on his hand. Following his gaze, Stiles winced, the adrenaline wearing off and pain setting in firmly. “Your face is kind of hard.”

Derek worked his jaw and tried to plant his hands to sit up, falling backward. Stiles hurried to help him sit up, letting him lean into his side. John and the other man approached, both looking concerned. “How is he?” John asked, squatting down and reaching out to cup Derek’s face, studying his eyes. Derek groaned and tried to bury his face in Stiles’ neck.

“Think he’s been better,” Stiles said, grinning until his eyes fell on Kate’s body. Gerard was still face down on the ground, hands cuffed behind him and oddly still. “What happened to him?”

John looked over his shoulder, chuckling darkly. “Chris might have given him a bit of a sleeper hold.”

Stiles looked up at the other man, his brain finally coming out of a fog and catching up. “Chris Argent.” He glanced over at the girl. “Allison Argent.” She nodded. “Am I going to jail?” he asked his Dad, looking at Kate again.

“I don’t think so,” John said. “You were abducted, and she had a weapon on you. It’s a pretty clear case of self-defense.”

Chris cleared his throat. “The Hunter’s Council will deal with both of them. So, even if the authorities found a body, they would never hold you responsible,” he told Stiles.

Stiles had vague memories of his parents talking about the Hunter’s Council with great reverence. If they could do what Chris was insinuating, they deserved at least that much respect. He looked around the cabin and shivered as the coolness of the night air began to seep through his clothes.

John noticed, trying to pull Stiles to his feet and only succeeding when Chris helped Derek to his. “Let’s get out of here,” John said. “I’ll call Talia. I’m sure she’ll be wanting…” He trailed off and looked toward the door of the cabin where a large black wolf stood, eyes flashing red as it studied Gerard’s unconscious form. 

“Ruby,” Stiles whispered, smiling when Talia looked up.

Talia stepped forward, whimpering when she pressed her nose to the inside of Derek’s arm where the wound had been. She nosed him until Derek lifted his head and smiled weakly at her. Nodding, Talia turned and left the building, walking over Gerard as she did, leaving tiny, bloody pinpricks where each paw made contact.

The group made their way out of the building slowly. Derek’s color mostly returned to normal when they got to the Stiles’ Dad’s cruiser. Stiles climbed into the back with him, dozing off before they were even out of the preserve. He startled awake when he felt a hand on his cheek and blinked up to see Derek smiling down at him.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Stiles looked around and found that they were parked in front of the local veterinarian’s office. “Why are we here?” he grumbled, clearing his throat. 

“Dr. Deaton is our Pack Emissary,” Derek explained. “Your dad brought me here so he can be sure the wolfsbane is completely out of my system.”

He glanced at Derek, his teeth digging into his lip as he held back a laugh. “The dog jokes write themselves.”

“Like father, like son,” Derek muttered.

“What?” 

“Never mind. Let’s get inside. The sooner we go in, the sooner we can leave, and I need a shower,” Derek said. He slid out of the car, holding out a hand to help Stiles out. His gaze ran over Stiles’ frame. “You could use one, too.”

Stiles' mind whirled with inappropriate humor, but for once, his brain-to-mouth filter kicked in, and he held the words back. Giving a short nod, he kept his fingers tangled with Derek and walked into the building. He waved at Scott, who had gotten a part-time job there and was working behind the counter.

“What the hell?” Scott shouted, rushing over, his hands hovering and eyes wide with panic. “You’re covered in blood! Both of you!” The glare he turned on Derek ended up making him laugh due to the puppy dog quality of it. “What did you do to him?”

“Bro,” Stiles said. “It wasn’t him.” He sighed. “It’s a long story that I can’t get into, but trust me when I say that Derek risked his own life to save mine.”

Scott’s gaze turned thoughtful but still disproving, breaking only when Dr. Deaton entered the lobby and called Derek and Stiles back to his office. They left Scott grumbling to himself, and the look in Derek’s eyes made Stiles curious as to what Scott was saying. He didn’t get a chance to ask because someone pulled him and Derek into a tight hug as soon as they’d crossed into the office.

“Mom,” Derek whined, and Stiles relaxed in Talia’s hold, feeling her run a hand over his hair. She repeated the gesture with Derek.

“Scent marking,” he said, smiling when Talia nodded.

“I hope it’s alright,” she said. “I should have asked first, but I’m just so relieved that the both of you are alright.” She cupped one cheek of each of them before pressing a kiss to Derek’s forehead and then Stiles.

Stiles glanced at Derek, reaching out a hand and running it over Derek’s neck. “It’s okay,” he said when Derek closed his eyes, lips curving into a smile before he returned the gesture.

Dr. Deaton cleared his throat, and Stiles frowned at the interruption. “If I could take a few moments to examine Derek, although all appearances seem to say that he is recovering well from his injury.”

Derek nodded and followed Deaton out of the office. Stiles took the seat next to his dad, who had been watching from one of the chairs in front of Deaton’s desk. Talia settled on the edge of the desk in front of them. “Do you need to see a doctor?” she asked, reaching out and brushing her fingers over Stiles’ bruised knuckles.

Stiles flexed his fingers. “Pretty sure they aren’t broken, but maybe after we get cleaned up, we can swing by the hospital.” He frowned. He’d always hated hospitals, but he also knew how bad it would be if he ignored a break.

“Your dad told me what happened,” Talia said. “You were very brave, and you saved my son’s life. That is not something that I will forget.”

“He saved mine, too,” Stiles told her.

Talia opened her mouth and then snapped it shut. “Derek,” she whispered, and Stiles’ head jerked toward the door Derek had exited through. “Get the young man out front and come here.”

Minutes later, Derek was dragging Scott into the office. Deaton followed; his face was a little less blank than usual. “Do you smell it?” Derek nodded, and Talia turned her attention to the humans in the room. “We need to get out of here. John, do you have any weapons?” John pointed to his service revolver. “Your phone?” John nodded. “Call the Argents and ask them to meet us here.”

John pulled his phone out while Deaton moved behind his desk, moving a set of false books, pulling out a case, and laying it on the desk. Opening it, he turned it towards Stiles. The interior was lined with black velvet, displaying several knives. “Choose a few you are comfortable with,” he told Stiles.

Stiles wiggled his fingers over the selection, and before Derek could blink, every one of the weapons had disappeared somewhere on his body. “Remind me never to get on your bad side,” Derek said admirably. 

“Just remember our anniversary,” Stiles said. “And tell me what the hell is going on.”

“Someone has surrounded the building with gasoline,” Talia stated. “There are only two heartbeats out there, though.”

“The Platas,” Stiles said, confident that it was the hunters on the offensive.

“Crystal?” Scott asked. “What did she do?”

Stiles sighed and looked at his best friend. “Crash course. Werewolves exist. Hunters exist to eradicate them.”

“So, the hunters are the good guys?” Scott asked. 

A collective sigh went through the room. “Sometimes yes, but usually no,” John said. “In the case of the ones outside, definitely not.”

Scott still looked confused, and they didn’t have time for all of this as Derek heard the strike of a lighter. “We’ve gotta get out of here,” Derek said. 

“There is a tunnel underneath the storage room,” Deaton said, pointing in that direction as John made a call to the fire department. “It lets out through a manhole about a hundred yeards behind the building.”

“It sounds like the hunters are out front,” Talia said, and the group moved into the storage room. 

The tunnel was dark, but Talia and Derek led the way until they reached the ladder at the end. Derek stopped his mom from climbing the ladder, afraid to let her be the first one out in case the hunters were lying in wait. They had a quiet argument that ended when Stiles pushed between them, a knife between his teeth, and began to climb. 

Derek reached up to stop him and ended up with a foot to the nose. The crack he heard meant something had broken, but he’d heal within minutes. Shaking his head, he followed Stiles up. Sticking his head out, he found Stiles squatting down next to the dumpster against the back wall of the clinic. 

Flames licked up the far side of the building, and Derek heard animals crying out in distress. He heard Scott say he was going back, and Deaton and John tried to argue with him. Fading footsteps told him that they’d lost that argument. Derek was relieved the animals would be saved, but he worried for Stiles’ friend.

He didn’t have time to concern himself because Stiles made his way out from behind the dumpster. Hurrying out of the tunnel, he fell into step next to Stiles, allowing his shift to come over him. They reached the corner and saw Crystal and her father standing a few feet from the building, watching the front doors.

Stepping out from the building, Stiles shouted, “Hey, Crystal! Fancy meeting you here.” Derek rolled his eyes at his glibness.

Crystal whirled around, a large rifle held up and aimed at them. Her father held a small gun, and Derek could smell the mix of gun oil and wolfsbane wafting off of them. He wrinkled his nose to keep in a sneeze as Stiles twirled the ring daggers around his fingers. Derek saw the twitch of Crystal’s fingers and prepared to jump between Stiles and the gun when one of the daggers flew through the air, the ring end hitting Crystal between the eyes, sending her back a few steps, dropping the rifle.

Raoul watched his daughter fall, and before he could react, Derek leaped forward, grabbing him by the wrist and twisting it, forcing him to drop the gun. Using his other hand, Derek grabbed him by the throat and lifted him into the air. Stiles stepped up behind them, laying a hand on Derek’s shoulder, his scent filling Derek with calm. Keeping his grip, he lowered Raoul back to his feet.

“These ‘wolves have done nothing to you,” Stiles said, speaking slowly and carefully. “By the code of the hunters, they are not your enemy.”

“They’re monsters,” Raoul spit out. 

“You’re monsters,” Derek retorted, wrinkling his nose when Stiles’ scent soured for a moment. 

The air around them filled with sirens and flashing lights. Derek forced himself to shift back but kept his hold on Raoul. Stiles’ weapons disappeared as the adults joined them. A police officer came and took Raoul into custody while an EMT looked over Crystal, who was still unconscious. A few moments later, a dozen dogs and cats were milling around them on leashes, Scott at the other end, gasping loudly and looking grey.

“Shit,’ Stiles said, rushing to his side. “His asthma.” He started patting down Scott’s pockets, trying to find his inhaler, and couldn’t. 

John waved over one of the EMTs, and Derek took the leashes from him, moving the animals towards Deaton, who had a phone pressed to his ear while he talked with one of the firefighters. Talia stood next to Scott while the EMT looked him over. Her eyes met Derek’s and flashed red briefly and he knew there would be a talk with Scott’s mom very soon.

During all the commotion, Chris Argent appeared, talking to the officers standing guard by the car holding Raoul. John joined them, talking animatedly about where Raoul would be taken and what would be done with Crystal. It took nearly two hours before Derek, and his mother stood in an empty parking lot. Stiles and his dad had gone with Scott to the hospital while Deaton moved the animals to a safe place until repairs could be made. 

“It’s been a bit of a week, hasn’t it?” Talia said, and Derek nodded. “Let’s go home.”

A couple of days passed before Derek saw Stiles again. When he didn’t come to school for the first few days, a part of him feared that he might have decided to transfer out. When Derek stepped out of his car on Wednesday morning, his heart started beating faster as soon as Stiles’ familiar scent reached his nose. He hurried between the cars to find him sitting on the steps leading up the front door, his arms wrapped around his knees.

Derek dropped down onto the steps next to Stiles, leaning into him. He frowned when Stiles leaned away from him, resting his head against the railing leading up the middle of the stairs. His eyes were downcast and sadness twisted through his scent, turning Derek’s stomach. “What’s wrong?” he asked when Stiles had remained quiet long enough for the bell to ring, and everyone disappeared into the building. 

“I’m a monster,” Stiles said after a few more minutes of silence.

“No-”

“I am,” Stiles shouted, turning on him. “You said it! Hunters are monsters! I’m a hunter. Ergo I’m a monster!”

Derek felt the words like a physical blow. He leaned away from Stiles, nearly missing it when Stiles shifted his weight to leap to his feet and run down the stairs. Derek watched him go, but instead of crossing the parking lot, he turned and crossed the lacrosse field. Derek jumped to his feet, chasing after him, reaching the far end of the field just as Stiles disappeared into the woods on the other side.

Picking up his pace, Derek ran, trying to keep Stiles in his line of sight, but lost him as the trees became denser. Inhaling, Stiles’ scent was easy to follow, especially with the added tinges of anger and sadness and even fear that tainted its usual perfection. It didn’t take long before Derek knew where they were headed, so he slowed his pace slightly while keeping track of Stiles’ scent and pulling out his phone to make a phone call.

Breaking through the trees, he found Stiles sitting in the center of the Nemeton. Legs curled to his chest and face buried in his knees. He could smell his tears and see his shoulders shaking in silent sobs. Approaching slowly, Derek laid a hand on the edge of the Nemeton to climb up next to Stiles. 

Stiles’ head whipped up, and a shock ran through Derek, sending him back a couple of steps. Frowning, he looked between his hand and the stump. He locked eyes with Stiles’, wincing at his tear-streaked face. As they stared at each other, light glowed around Stiles, reminding Derek of the dream they had shared.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles stammered out, the light dimming. “I don’t even know what happened.”

Derek approached again, watching Stiles watch him. His toe bumped one of the stump’s roots, and he leaned forward to lay a hand on the cut edge again. There was no spark this time, no pain, so Derek climbed slowly up onto the surface and crawled towards Stiles. They never broke eye contact, and Derek came to a stop, resting his butt on his heels.

“You’re not a monster,” Derek spoke softly, his eyes still locked with Stiles’. “You are a hunter, but you are not a monster. The Platas, Gerard and Kate Argent. They are monsters. Not you.” Stiles looked like he didn’t believe him. Sighing, Derek ran his hands over his face, and when they dropped to his lap, he saw Stiles glowing slightly again. “Am I a monster?” he asked.

Stiles shook his head emphatically. “I’ve killed so many of your kind.”

“Stiles, you didn’t know. You were raised to believe that all werewolves were evil, but you’ve learned differently.” He dared to reach a hand out, hovering it above the dim glow surrounding Stiles. He watched as the light grew but instead of pushing Derek away, it surrounded him as well. 

Warmth filled him, and he looked back up at Stiles, who was watching the glow as well. “Since I’ve met you since I’ve known who you were, the only people I’ve seen you hurt are those who hurt someone you cared about. Any human being would have done the same thing.” The glow got brighter, lighting up the clearing even more and surrounding the stump.

“Growing up, my mom always told me that I’m a predator, but I don’t have to be a killer. You’re a hunter, but you don’t have to be a monster.” He let out a breath of relief when Stiles gave a slight nod, sparkles filling the clearing much like in their dream. “However, we need to figure out what else you are because I’ve never seen a hunter do this before.”

“There are stories,” Stiles said. “Stories my mother didn’t know I had found when I was younger. I hid the book when I found it.” Moving around, Stiles dug into his backpack and pulled out a leather-bound tome, handing it to Derek. “It’s full of hunter lore. It includes all of the rules we were supposed to live by and the legends passed down through the centuries. The Argents are mentioned a lot in there, as well as the Silbers.”

Derek flipped through the book, his hand stilling on a page with an eerily familiar drawing. A fully-shifted wolf and a boy were sitting on a large tree stump, surrounded by a glowing orb. He looked up at Stiles in shock. “It’s like our dream,” Derek said, and Stiles nodded.

“It’s why I asked if you could fully shift. The story is of a great hunter, the greatest ever seen. It was supposed to be a cautionary tale to other hunters, that this hunter needed to be stopped before he reached his destiny.”

Derek’s eyes trailed over the words on the facing page. They widened when he read of a Hunter and ‘Wolf forming a bond and changing the laws of the hunters forever. Flipping back a few pages, he started from the beginning and found so much of himself and Stiles that fear ran through him. The longer he read, the more charged the air around them grew.

Smelling blood, Derek’s head snapped up, and he saw Stiles had bitten into his lip hard enough to break the skin. Moving slowly, Derek reached out, using his thumb to release the injured lip from his teeth. Rubbing his thumb over the blood, he drew out the minimal pain, a tiny tendril of black making its way up his arm.

Stiles used a finger to trace the line, stopping when he reached the unbroken skin where the bullet wound had been. Derek took Stiles’ hand in his. “If you knew this story…” He trailed off, unsure what he was going to ask.

“I didn’t know this one,” Stiles said. “Not until the other night, after the…” He gestured and made crazy sound effects, drawing a smile from Derek. “I went home and read the book, looking for something, anything to convince myself that I wasn’t a monster.”

“And this story didn’t do that?” Derek read over the words again. “There is no one else that this could possibly be, and it says you’re basically to become a hero to the ‘wolves.” He reread it, trying to look at it from Stiles’ perspective, from that of a hunter, and felt the accusation in the words. “This is written to make you sound a like a freak, like a-”

“An abomination,” Stiles said. “It actually says that a few pages later. ‘This hunter is an abomination of our kind and should be destroyed immediately upon discovery.’ I don’t understand. If my parents knew this, why...why didn’t they kill me?”

“You were their son,” a new voice spoke up, and Derek looked over his shoulder to see Chris Argent entering the clearing with John and Dr. Deaton. “They loved you and kept you hidden. This story wasn’t well known in the hunter community, so many didn’t realize what you were, and your family did everything in their power to keep you hidden from those that did.”

“Did you know?” Stiles asked.

“I suspected when your Dad called. I think I always wondered when the tales of the Wunderkind first started going around.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m the one that gave the book to your mother. I think I had hoped it would bring them, and you, back to the side of the right.”

Stiles nodded. “That makes sense, but it backfired.”

“Did it? You’re alive, and you’ve clearly met your destined partner in this.” He gestured to Derek just as Talia broke through the trees, several members of the Hale Pack behind her.

“I can’t shift fully,” Derek argued. “So wouldn’t it be my mom?”

Derek’s father chuckled. “I might have a problem if your mom traded me in for a younger version.”

Deaton stepped forward, closer to the Nemeton than any of the others. “Derek, have you tried to shift here? On the Nemeton with Stiles?” Derek shook his head, looking at Stiles with wide eyes.

“Try,” Stiles said, reaching out with both hands to cup Derek’s face. 

Taking a deep breath, Derek pulled forward the shift. He could feel the contours of his face shifting and the hair on his cheeks rubbing against Stiles’ palms. He started to open his eyes when he’d reached the furthest point of the shift he’d ever reached but froze when he felt himself going further.

He whimpered at the pain that sparked through him, listening to Stiles’ low voice murmuring encouragement. He focused on his voice and his scent as it grew stronger, still laced with negative emotions but overall comforting in a way that no scent outside of his Pack’s had ever been before that moment.

He allowed the change to flow through him, burying his face in Stiles’ neck, huffing in the scent, and allowing it to distract him from the pain. What felt like hours but was probably only moments passed, and Derek felt Stiles tugging at his hair. “C’mon, Derek,” he whispered. “Open your eyes.”

Blinking, Derek startled at the muted colors of the world around him. Stiles’ amber eyes stood out, still bright as always and the smile on his face nearly overshadowed the light surrounding them. Looking over his shoulder, he saw a proud smile on his mom’s face and shock on John’s. He glanced down, and instead of his hands on the stump, he saw paws. He looked back up at Stiles, who burst into laughter when Derek’s tail gave a wag.

Giving a low rumble of lupine laughter, Derek licked out against Stiles’ cheek, his blue eyes glowing when Stiles rubbed at his wet cheek. “Like mother, like son,” he said, reaching out and rubbing his hands over the fur on Derek’s head, scratching behind his ears.

Derek wanted to remind him he wasn’t a dog, but it all felt too good to make him stop. He lifted his head when he heard someone approaching. He growled lowly at Chris, who stopped just short of actually touching the stump. 

“I mean no harm. My daughter Allison means no harm. We offer our services to you both as the right kind of hunter. We hope you will agree to meet with us,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender. 

Stiles looked at Derek, who ducked his head in a nod before turning his attention back to Chris. “We agree to a meeting. I think we have a lot to learn from each other. Will you and Allison be settling in Beacon Hills?”

“We will,” Chris answered. 

“I look forward to getting to know you both,” Stiles said. Chris returned the sentiment before backing away and heading off into the woods, allowing John and Talia to approach the tree.

Stiles watched, trying to pull back on the glow surrounding them, having figured out that it really did seem to be emanating from him and not the tree. “I assume you will be able to explain this to me,” he said to Deaton over his Dad’s shoulder. The vet nodded. “I will come to your office soon.” Another nod, and the man disappeared.

Soon, Derek and Stiles were left alone with their parents. Talia reached out towards the tree, and they all let out a breath of relief when the glow faded completely, allowing them all to climb onto the stump and surround Derek and Stiles. Talia pressed a kiss between Derek’s ears while Alexander reached out to ruffle Stiles’ hair.

John sat looking torn between hugging Stiles and petting Derek. He threw his arms around his son, pulling him close. A moment later, Derek ducked his head underneath John’s arm, joining the cuddles while Talia and Alexander each kept one hand on Stiles and one on Derek. The glow began again, creating a warm bubble around the five of them.

Meetings and schoolwork filled Stiles’ days for the next week, giving him little to no time to see Derek. They talked at lunch and texted as often as possible, but Stiles wanted to see him, talking to him about how he felt now that he could shift fully. It wasn’t exactly something they could talk about over the phone or in the middle of a crowded lunchroom. 

Scott spent a few nights at Stiles’ house learning about the supernatural, something he was surprised to discover that his nurse mom already had extensive knowledge about from too many crazy incidents in the emergency room. It took him some time to come around to believing, but when he’d finally accepted the existence of werewolves, he shrugged it off and turned his attention to video games. Stiles fully supported that distraction.

On Friday, during the lacrosse game, Scott had another asthma attack, severe enough to send him to the hospital. Stiles knew it was serious when he arrived and wasn’t allowed back to see him. He paced the waiting room, jumping when Derek appeared, and wrapped his arms around Stiles, holding him close. While he leaned into Derek, he noticed Talia striding past with Melissa, serious expressions on both of their faces.

“What’s going on?” Stiles asked. 

“My mom offered Scott the Bite,” Derek whispered into Stiles’ neck. “Melissa accepted, but they want to run it by Scott first.”

Stiles pulled back from Derek’s hold. “What? She can’t! Hunters will come!” Stiles could feel his heart racing as he tried to escape into Scott’s room. 

“That’s why we’re waiting for Scott’s permission. Then it’s not an attack,” Derek said, holding Stiles still without hurting him. “We talked about it with Chris after the incident at the vet’s office.” Derek paused. “Are you alright with this? The only hunter that Scott or I would care about is you.”

Stiles took a deep breath, leaning his head against Derek’s collarbone. He tried to focus his racing thoughts, finally pushing out the emotions and pulling out the logic. He knew that the Bite if it took, would save Scott from his asthma that had nearly killed him on more than one occasion. He also knew that the Bite could kill him, and he wasn’t sure how he would react if his first friend died.

Melissa came out of the room, her eyes searching until they fell on Stiles. “He wants to talk to you,” she said. “Both of you.”

Nodding, they followed Melissa back to the room. Scott sat up in bed, an oxygen mask over his face. Stiles hurried to his side, nodding at Talia, who stood by the window, watching. Scott’s usually tanned skin was pale, and Stiles couldn’t remember a time he’d looked worse after an attack. He squeezed Scott’s hand. 

Scott’s smile was small under the mask, his breathing still labored. “Should I do it?”

“It’s your choice, bro,” Stiles said, wet laughter choking him at the idea of Scott looking to him for permission. 

“I might die.”

“You might,” Stiles agreed.

“I might die, anyway.” Scott rubbed a hand over his chest, coughing. Stiles helped him sit up a little more, rubbing at his back. When he got under control, he looked at Derek. “What do you think?”

Derek’s eyes widened, surprised Scott even cared what he thought about the decision. “I think the Bite is a gift. You’ll be stronger, faster. Your senses will improve. Your asthma will be gone.”

“Not bad, eh?” Stiles asked, his tone a bit sharp.

“Hunters, bad hunters, will be after you every day of your life. You’ll have to be careful not to give the secret away. You’ll always be looking over your shoulder and hoping to one day find someone who accepts you for everything that you are,” Derek said, his eyes on Stiles the entire time. The tips of his ears pinked as he said the last sentence.

“I do,” Stiles whispered. “And you’ll always be my best friend,” he told Scott. 

“Do it,” Scott and Stiles said at the same time.

Talia approached the bed, and Derek stepped back. Melissa pulled him to the side and started moving the wires connected to Scott over to Derek. “We don’t need anyone coming to check on him.”

Once the wires were moved, and Melissa had closed the door, Talia lifted Scott’s wrist to her mouth. “This will hurt.” Scott nodded, his teeth clenched around the sheet that Stiles had shoved into his mouth. Melissa sat behind him, arms wrapped around his chest while Stiles held his other hand.

In the end, the transformation took less time than Stiles had expected. Even Talia had been surprised by how quickly the bite began to heal, and Scott’s breathing evened out. Within an hour, Scott was hooked back up to the machines, and Melissa was looking for the doctor to discharge him so that he could go out to the Hale House to learn control. 

The alarm on Stiles’ phone went off, and he cursed under his breath. “Appointment with Deaton. Need to finally figure out what’s up with the glowing.” Derek looked between Scott and Stiles, torn between where he was needed the most.

“Go with Stiles,” Talia said. “We have enough Pack at the house. Come over after you're done, and we’ll have dinner. I’ll call your Dad, Stiles.”

“Thank you,” Stiles said, allowing Derek to lead him out of the hospital and to his car, parked on a crazy angle at the back of the parking lot. “In a hurry?”

“You were at the hospital,” Derek replied, unlocking the passenger side door and helping Stiles into the seat. 

“With Scott.”

“You were worried, and I don’t like when you worry,” he said when he slid into the driver’s seat. “This whole situation is so strange. I want to spend all of my time with you, yet I haven’t spent any with you at all. I want to talk to you about my full shift, share the way it felt to do that for the first time.” He started the car and backed out of the spot. “I’ve done it a couple more times, and it gets easier. Less painful.”

“That’s good,” Stiles said, reaching over and laying a hand on his arm. “I spoke with Chris and Allison. They called a few other hunters, and we’re having a meeting next week with them and a few Alphas, including your mother.” He smiled when Derek nodded, already aware of the meeting and determined to attend.

“We came up with a new hunter motto,” Stiles told him. “‘We protect those who cannot protect themselves.’”

“I like it.”

“I do, too,” Stiles agreed as they pulled into the parking lot of the clinic. 

Derek started to get out of the car, but Stiles stopped him by squeezing his arm. “Hold on,” he said, and Derek settled back into his seat, turning his attention on Stiles. “I want to spend all of my time with you, too, but I’m not sure what it all means.”

“I would think it means we like each other,” Derek offered. 

“But is it just because of the prophecy in the book?” Stiles asked. “What if the feelings aren’t real?”

Derek wanted to argue immediately, but he paused, knowing Stiles would want him to think it over first. “You liked me before you knew I was a werewolf, right?” Stiles nodded. “Did you like me before you came to dinner at our house that night?”

Stiles thought about seeing Derek in the halls, watching him walk by. He remembered the thrill that would run through him if their eyes happened to meet. Taking a deep breath, he answered. “I was attracted to you before that night, but I didn’t know you.”

“I didn’t know you either, but I knew I loved your scent,” Derek said. “I knew it made me feel safe even if I couldn’t bring myself to talk to you. I don’t think that was just because of the prophecy. After all, it’s not like we don’t have anything in common.”

Stiles smiles, thinking about the Star Wars marathon that first night at the house. He remembered laughing and making jokes comparing the Lord of the Rings novels and the movies and Derek sharing stories of being a hobbit for Halloween three years in a row. The easy silences they had sometimes fallen into when they were together. They may not have known each other long or even spent much time together, but they’d been through more than most couples did in a lifetime.

“I think...I think maybe I don’t really care if it’s the prophecy or not,” Derek said. “I know deep inside me that we belong together, and it’s all that really matters.”

Stiles nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Derek asked, and Stiles nodded. “Okay.” Derek slapped his hands on the steering wheel. “Now, let's go find out why you glow like a nightlight every time we get close to the Nemeton.”

Deaton stood in the doorway at the back of the clinic. Even though the building still needed serious repairs, they were able to meet in his office. A majority of the items that had lined the shelves were in boxes, but the desk and chairs were clear, so they all took seats. “We’re moving to a new location,” Deaton explained, gesturing to the boxes.

“Let us know if you need any help,” Derek offered, and Stiles nodded in agreement. 

“I will, but I’m sure you aren’t here to discuss my new location.” The room stayed silent, and Deaton let out a large sigh. “Yes, so, I did some digging on the Silber family, Stiles. I needed to find out if there was any history of magic in the line, but I came to a dead end. As far as my research shows, every member of the Silber family has been a purely human hunter.”

“So, then what happened to me?”

“As I said, every member of the Silber family, but I should have said every biological member of the Silber family,” Deaton corrected himself.

“I’m adopted?” Stiles asked. “I mean, I know I’m adopted by my Dad, but….the Silbers adopted me, too?”

“Technically, the Silbers found you,” Deaton explained. “It took some digging, but I found an old correspondence between your mother and another hunter. It seems that you were found in the woods of Beacon Hills, wrapped in a blanket and lying among the roots of a large tree.”

“Let me guess, the Nemeton?” Stiles said, and Deaton nodded. “So, I was abandoned by my real parents, and the Silbers just decided to keep me?” His head was a jumble of thoughts, and his heart pounded loudly in his chest. He jumped at the scrape of a chair against the tile floor and felt Derek’s arms wrapping around him. “What the fuck?” he muttered.

“If my assumptions are correct, based on the Nemeton’s reaction to you.” He took a breath. “I believe you are actually a child of the Nemeton. A fae born of spirit and magic.”

“I’m a fairy?” Stiles asked. 

“A fae, yes. A magical being, which would explain your connection with Derek and with the Nemeton.” Deaton finally settled into his chair, resting his elbows on the desk and steepling his fingers in front of his face. “I’ve reached out to other fae that I am aware of, and they have agreed to come to meet with me. We can find you a mentor to help you learn to understand your powers.”

“Is it really safe for a wide net of people to know about Stiles? He’s already got hunters gunning for him.” Stiles snorted, and Derek rolled his eyes, relieved that he seemed to be getting his sense of humor back. “No pun intended.”

“I did not give anyone details about Stiles. I thought we could meet with them, and Stiles could decide if any of them feel right to him,” Deaton explained.

“I want Derek there,” Stiles said, and Deaton nodded, seemingly unsurprised.

They talked for a short while longer before Deaton stood and dismissed them, stating that he had to get moving. Derek led Stiles back out to the parking lot with a hand on the small of his back. Quiet filled the car on the way to the Hale House, and Derek would’ve worried if Stiles’ scent wasn’t warm and filled with the sweet licorice scent of curiosity.

They pulled up in front of the house. The door flew open as soon as Stiles stepped out of the car. A blur shot down the stairs and across the yard. Moving quickly, Derek tackled Scott to the ground before he could tackle and possibly injure or kill Stiles. He struggled to hold Scott back when he wolfed out and clawed at Derek.

“Scott!” Stiles snapped, and just like that, his shift faded, and Derek let him go. Stiles pulled him to Scott to his feet and into a hug. Derek tried to hold back the growl of another wolf, getting his scent all muddled up with Stiles’, even though he knew it was his best friend.

Once the hug broke apart, Stiles stepped up to Derek and pulled his arm around his shoulders. “Scent away, big guy,” he teased, and Derek preened at having a mate so understanding of him and his instincts.

John came out on the porch next, waiting for Stiles to reach the top before pulling him into a hug. After a minute, he pulled Derek into the embrace as well. “How’d it go?” he asked, leaving one arm around each boy.

They explained what Deaton had told them, and John shook his head, smiling fondly. “My wife used to walk through those woods all the time. I can’t even imagine what I would’ve done if she’d found Stiles that day and brought him home.” He pressed a kiss to the side of his son’s head. “Just think, you could’ve been my son from the very beginning.”

“I could have found you a lot sooner,” Derek said. “You wouldn’t have been hidden by wolfsbane and mountain ash.” Derek hadn’t even thought about the possibility of someone else finding Stiles as a baby. Even his own mother could’ve been the one to find him.

Stiles shook his head. “It wouldn’t have been the same,” Stiles said. “I wouldn’t be the person I am now if I hadn’t grown up the way I had. I wouldn’t have been the Wunderkind, and I would never have become the hunter from the prophecy.” 

He leaned against his Dad as Scott and Melissa came to stand with them. Talia and Alexander stepped out onto the porch to join the group. Looking at everyone there, everyone that had in a few short years become his family, Stiles knew that everything had happened exactly the way it was meant to be.