Archive of Our Own

i.

Sometimes, Derek hated himself for ever creating a pack.

He hated himself for that fateful night when he ripped out Peter’s throat (or at least, sort of), he hated himself for deciding to stay in Beacon Hills to build a pack, and he hated himself for going out of his way to choose the worst betas in the history of terrible betas.

He especially hated himself for telling the teens that it was possible for a werewolf to get drunk by putting a sprinkle of wolfsbane in their drinks. That had been one of his worst decisions since coming to Beacon Hills— one that Laura would never let him live down if she were still around.

But as it were, Peter made sure that Derek knew it had all been a dumb idea. And Derek supposed that if he had to settle, Peter might as well be who pissed him off with feigned superior intelligence these days.

Okay, so, maybe he didn’t hate ripping Peter’s throat out that one night. In fact, sometimes he debated doing it all over again.

“Derek!” A voice filled the air, snapping Derek out of his thoughts, and he could have committed murder. Because of course, just having to deal with his beta’s wasn’t enough. 

Stiles’s voice was slurred with both alcohol and amusement.

“Boyd, Boyd, look,” he said, grinning. “It’s our magnificent Alpha in all of his magnificence! Hey, Derek, did you know that Erica once told me your eyebrows remind her of giant fluffy caterpillars? Now, I just have to ask— do you think your eyebrows look like giant fluffy caterpillars?”

And the worst thing was, Derek couldn’t even hate himself for this current conversation. No, he couldn’t, because somehow, it wasn’t only his betas that drove him up the walls. And the idiot standing in front of him right now was definitely not Derek’s fault.

Sometimes, he had to ask himself how the hell he’d gotten the most annoying pack member in the entire world and he’d never even turned the idiot.

Stiles was red-faced and glassy-eyed as he stumbled across the loft, the betas close at his feet. Derek glared at him first but the boy only beamed back, a hoodie string dangling from between his grinning teeth. 

“Well, Derek? Do ya? Do you think so?”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Well, see, that’s totally not the correct answer. In fact, that’s not even in the hundred-mile range of correct answers.”

Derek set his jaw and glared over at Isaac next— he was the closest to Stiles— and the beta quickly shrunk into himself. Then he glared at Erica, but she only grinned back, a bright mischievous look in her eye and the smell of wolfsbane hanging in the air around her. In fact, the smell of wolfsbane wafted off of all of them— even Boyd, who Derek would have hoped knew better. 

Derek’s second in command didn’t even seem to be paying their conversation any attention, though. No, Boyd seemed far more concerned with the bag of Doritos in his hands and if Derek had ever seen this side of the beta, he would’ve thought twice— no, three times— about turning him.

Honestly, he should’ve thought three— no four— times about turning any of them.

And then there was Stiles.

“Dude,” the teenager said, dropping onto the couch with a heaved sigh. “I’m so tired. Like, dig a hole and cover me in dirt, tired. Hey, does anyone have a shovel?”

Derek closed his eyes and tried to take a deep breath, reminding himself that murder was illegal. Especially the murder of teenagers. But then, of course, because the entire world hated him, a floorboard creaked as someone stepped up behind him. 

“Well, nephew,” Peter said, his voice a drawl. The man always seemed to show up when something in the loft was going wrong. It was like he had a red alert for the best times to be a pain in the ass or something.“I do believe your betas are quite drunk. And then there’s Stiles, of course.”

“Oh, really?” Derek asked through gritted teeth. “Gee, Peter, and what about this scene tipped you off?”

“Drunk werewolves,” Peter said, ignoring his seething tone. “Are not a good idea. Especially drunk teenage werewolves. They already lack control as it is.”

As if Derek didn't know that. It was times like this he seriously debated ripping Peter’s throat out all over again. “What would you have me do?”

Peter’s eyes glinted and he seemed to seriously consider that for a moment. He glanced over the three betas— and then at Stiles— who were all gathered around Boyd and his Doritos now. Then the man smirked. “Personally, I’d say introduce them to Chris Argent.”

Derek automatically growled, eyes flashing red. But Peter just glanced back at him, still smirking, and shrugged at Derek’s expression. 

“You asked for a suggestion, nephew. It’s a suggestion.”

“Get out of my sight, Peter.”

“So touchy,” Peter muttered, turning back around. Derek watched the man with a clenched jaw until he moved back toward his little lair in the attic. Then he uncrossed his arms and turned back to the three betas that he oh-so-regretted ever turning. 

And Stiles. God, why was this a thing he had to deal with tonight?

See, there was one sure-fire way that Derek might use too often to keep his betas in line. But sue him, okay? He’d made a lot of bad decisions in his life and sometimes he seriously thought the betas were one of them, so if he had to go asshole Alpha on the untrained puppies, that’s what he’d do.

The only problem? It worked well enough on werewolves. Skinny, hyperactive humans on the other hand were a totally different story. Though, Derek hadn’t really tried that out before.

Still, one problem at a time.

 He made sure that Peter was definitely out of sight— and mind— before crossing the room with a growl. The betas didn’t even seem to notice him for a long moment, with Boyd frantically trying to defend the few chips that were left as the others grabbed at any open side of the bag. Derek was about two seconds too late before, with a loud riiip, the bag tore at both ends and crushed chips along with a plume of red dust went everywhere.

Derek snarled then— and four pairs of eyes snapped to where he stood. He clenched his hands into fists at his sides and allowed his eyes to glow bright red, looking over them all. 

“Get up.”

It took another moment. But then slowly, the three betas stood and Derek swore if they would’ve been actual wolves, their tails would’ve been between their legs. He didn’t look at Stiles yet— who was sitting on the couch— but the boy’s scent had suddenly changed. Derek could’ve sworn he caught a skip in his heartbeat.

He brushed that off though, focusing on his betas first.

“Tomorrow, we train at six AM sharp, so I suggest you three go to your rooms and go to bed. And if I hear even one peep that suggests you’re doing otherwise, I’m going to take Peter’s suggestion and invite Argent over for a lesson in how a hunter would deal with drunk, out-of-control teenage werewolves. Is that understood?”

Three meek nods made him feel a little proud— secretly and silently, of course. Derek let the red fade from his eyes and nodded.

“Good.”

One by one, the betas turned and started down the hallway. Derek watched them go, arms still crossed, until each bedroom door had closed and then he fixed his attention on Stiles. The boy was still sitting rooted to his spot on the couch and Derek raised an eyebrow— something in Stiles’s scent flushed brightly.

“Stiles.”

The boy just swallowed. Derek sighed.

“You’re not driving home drunk. You can stay on the couch tonight.”

“Uh-huh.”

Derek frowned at him then. And Stiles finally blinked then and visibly shook himself, before grinning a little slyly. 

“I mean yes, of course, oh great Alpha of ours. Whatever you and your beautiful caterpillar eyebrows demand.”

Derek resisted the urge to snap a little at that. Though he could’ve sworn he heard someone laughing— probably Peter from the direction the sound came from. Grinding his teeth together, Derek moved down the hall, grabbed a couple of blankets from the spare closet, and came back to see Stiles still watching him. 

And yeah, there was definitely something different in his expression. Probably because he was drunk and Derek was sure that an inebriated Stiles Stilinski was a Stiles Stilinski without his usual— which were already very blurred— limits. 

But the boy seemed to be focused solely on Derek’s face, his eyes.

Derek tried not to shift under the attention, flashing his eyes red as he threw the blankets at Stiles’s face. “Text your father. I don’t want him showing up with a gun.”

And yep, Stiles’s heart definitely skipped at least two more sudden beats. Out of fear, though. Probably. Right?

Right.

Derek ground his teeth together even harder and turned away, stalking down the hall. A quick listen at the door of each of his beta’s rooms proved that they had indeed listened to his threats and gone directly to bed. Derek smirked to himself a little at that. 

Though, he didn’t glance back to check on Stiles because he swore the idiot teen was still staring holes into his back. Derek didn’t know why it made him feel… off. Odd, he supposed. 

God, sometimes he hated himself for ever creating a pack.

ii.

In the few weeks that had passed since Derek questioned every one of his life choices, he came to realize that Stiles wasn’t showing up at the loft as often as he used to. He was surprised it had taken him so long to notice. After all, the loft was quiet, things seemed to have calmed down some, and a presence that was Stiles-less would usually be something he’d notice right away. 

And cherish.

Derek, however, started to feel a little uncomfortable when he sat in the silent loft, the betas out who-knew-where and Peter out doing who-knew-what. He hadn’t realized it before but Stiles was literally always around. Like, always around.

The teen was always there, somewhere in Derek’s presence. Talking, fidgeting, or just getting up in Derek’s personal space as if that was his one purpose on Earth.

But since that one night when he’d come by the loft drunk and been gone before Derek was up in the morning, Stiles and his annoying self had been strangely absent. And Derek didn’t think that should bother him as much as it did.

But it did.

So, he made a decision. And the night he swung through Stiles’s window, trying to convince himself that he was just making sure the idiot wasn’t dead, the idiot actually almost killed himself. 

That might have been partly Derek’s fault.

Because maybe he’d done a little less swinging through Stiles’s window and a little more creeping, but he was trying to make sure Stiles’s dad— a literal Sheriff and wolfsbane bullets owner— didn’t catch him, okay? And that was totally something Derek had the right to be nervous about. He still couldn’t tell if the Sheriff liked him or not, especially during the awkward moments when Derek would run into the man at the store or getting gas and the Sheriff would just silently eye him, one hand at his empty holster like a silent threat.

So, yeah, Derek tried to be quiet when entering Stiles’s room that night. And the boy was still awake, standing across his room in front of what looked like a bulletin board.

Derek stood still for a second, debating the next best possible course of action, then cleared his throat. And Stiles swung around so fast that he stumbled back into the board and it went crashing down on top of him, taking them both to the ground. A strange, strangled noise left his mouth as he fell.

Derek froze. Then he rushed forward.

“Stiles?”

“Jesus, fuck, oh my god. Derek, dude! What the actual hell?”

Derek slowed to a stop and tried not to stare as Stiles struggled to untangle himself from what looked like a bunch of different multicolored strings. There were colors of blue, yellow, and red. And there were a lot of pictures, papers, and random scribbling on bright pink sticky notes too. 

After a long moment of cursing, Stiles finally managed to climb to his feet. Then, he gave Derek a look that was so obviously infuriated, Derek almost felt a little cowed.

But he just straightened his shoulders and eyed the board. “What is all of that?”

“What is— godammit, Sourwolf, are you freaking kidding me? What the hell are you doing here? It’s like two in the morning!”

Derek frowned. “It’s nine at night.”

“I… er, well,” Stiles fumbled for a moment, then paused. He glanced down at the mess at his feet, then looked toward the open window before squinting back at where Derek stood. From the scent of exhaustion wafting off him and the bags beneath his eyes, Derek wondered if he’d been up since two o’clock yesterday’s time. 

“You look terrible,” he said. And instantly, he regretted everything. Stiles’s scent soured even more.

“Yeah, well, thanks, asshole. I haven’t showered or slept in a while.”

“Why?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m doing research.”

“On what?”

Stiles’s pale face instantly paled. If that was even possible. “Nothing. None of your business. Nothing.”

Derek raised an eyebrow and Stiles’s heartbeats stuttered a few times. But the boy just muttered something under his breath and turned away, crouching down to pick up some of the papers. 

Trying not to feel too awkward about the knowledge that it was partly— well, mostly— his fault, Derek moved over to help.

Except, Stiles instantly made a noise of protest and scrambled for the papers nearest to Derek. But Derek was quicker and grabbed the closest one, pulling away before Stiles could rip it out of his hands. And it was a photo, not a piece of paper, he realized. 

When he turned it over, he realized it was a photo of him.

In it, his eyes were flashing— an image from years ago. Years ago, when Scott and Stiles had framed him for murder and Derek had been taken into the station. Derek stared at it for a long moment before staring at Stiles.

“What is this?”

“Nothing.”

“Where did you get it?”

“Err… my dad.”

Derek stiffened and glanced at the door. Stiles followed his gaze, then burst out laughing, some of the tension fading from his scent as he waved a hand through the air.

“Oh, don’t get your werewolf panties in a twist, Sourwolf. Pop’s on the night shift.”

Derek looked sharply back at the boy. Then down at the picture in his hands.

Stiles swallowed loudly. “I’m doing research.”

“On what.”

“Werewolf stuff.”

Derek turned his eyes back upward and gave the teenager another flat look, a tint of red in his eyes this time. And Stiles’s heart rate instantly picked up in speed.

Derek blinked at that. The boy took a stuttering breath and then turned away, running a hand through his hair before gathering up the rest of the papers and tilting the board back up against his wall. Derek watched as he stuffed the rest of his ‘research’ into the drawer of his desk and thought that he had more than one right to be a little suspicious of that.

Still, Derek only turned the photo over in his hands one more time before moving forward to set it on the desk. Stiles’s face was a little red when he turned back to the boy. 

“You’ve been avoiding the loft.”

The boy’s scent flooded with confusion. Stiles blinked at him, then tilted his head. “That’s why you came creeping in through my window like the world’s hairiest stalker?”

Derek growled. Stiles chuckled nervously.

“I mean, have I really been avoiding the loft, though?”

“You have.”

“And that.... bothers you?”

This time, it was Derek’s turn to balk. Because yes, was the first word that came to mind and that made absolutely no sense whatsoever. So, he just crossed his arms and glared. “No.”

“Uh.. huh. Right. Then why are you here, big guy?”

“The pack was worried.”

Stiles looked at him for a long moment. Then he rolled his eyes, snorting. “The little puppies that you call werewolves were worried about me?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, sure. Now, I don’t have to be a werewolf to know you are definitely lying about that, Sourass.”

Derek growled again but somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt like this time was more of an experiment than anger or anything else. And Stiles’s nervous chuckle cracked at the end once more, his fingers twitching as he watched Derek's face. 

For some reason that made Derek smirk a little.

Though, when Stiles narrowed his eyes, he quickly covered it up with a grunt, turning around and heading back toward the window. 

“Pack meeting tomorrow. Be there.”

“Um,” Stiles said. “Excuse me, dude, but do I look like I go furry on the full moon and lose my eyebrows? I’m not one of your betas, so you can’t boss me around. Maybe I’ll be there, maybe I won’t.”

This time, it was definitely an experiment. Derek shot a look over his shoulder and flashed red eyes, a small, strange thrill running down his spine as Stiles immediately froze up.

“Five o’clock, Stiles. Be there.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And go to bed. You look terrible.”

And just like that, it was like Stiles had been snapped out of a trance. The boy glared at him and grabbed an empty can of coke off his desk, flinging it at Derek’s head. But he ducked it easily and smirked before pulling himself out of Stiles’s window. He could hear the teenager sputtering at his back.

Derek didn’t feel quite so odd moving across Stiles’s lawn this time, knowing the boy was at the window staring at his back. It didn’t make him feel quite so weird or out of place.

No, there was something about a certain realization that made Derek’s chest tighten a little bit and a strange feeling of fluttering form in his chest. And, yeah, he supposed that was a little weird.

But he didn’t really mind it.

iii.

See, Derek thought he’d taken a lot of steps since all those years ago when he’d come back to Beacon Hills.

He didn’t, for example, actively want to murder Scott anymore. Or Jackson, as the years went on. Or any of his betas, even when they stepped a foot out of line— well, with a few exceptions. He didn’t constantly feel the need to snap and growl whenever something didn’t go his way, though, even if that had always been a lot easier than trying to figure out another plan.

Derek was pretty sure that was considered character development or something— at least, that’s what Stiles had said. Stiles, who finally started coming back to the loft again after Derek’s paid visit. He’d arrived at the pack meeting half an hour late the next day, with a gleam in his eye that proved he knew exactly what he was doing. But Derek was honestly just relieved that the boy had shown up.

And that was never something he thought he’d admit out loud. Character development, right?

Because see, Derek had kind of missed how Stiles would waltz into the loft unannounced, all nervous energy and scents of something electric. He tried to convince himself that he had just been uncomfortable with losing what might have been a possible pack member— though, he still hadn’t quite figured out exactly what Stiles was. But it was easier to tell himself he had been nervous instead of admitting that he might have actually missed and really started to like the pale-faced idiot.

Those were the things he told himself, anyway. Until one day, Stiles went missing.

Once upon a time, Derek might not have noticed right away. It might have taken him a while to realize that Stiles wasn’t constantly breathing down his neck and honestly, Derek kind of hated himself for that realization. But then there was a pack meeting that night and the moment a half hour had passed without the teenager arriving, Derek was on edge.

There had been a group of hunters circling their territory— he knew that much. His pack had been keeping an eye on them but they hadn’t made a move yet, so he’d made sure none of his betas had either.

Then Scott offhandedly mentioned that Stiles hadn’t been at school. And Derek instantly felt a wave of dread like a pit in his stomach.

Stiles was missing. That was something he quickly realized when swinging through the teenager’s bedroom that night, one quick scent telling him that the boy hadn’t been around for at least twenty-four hours. And Derek would like to say that didn’t make him immediately panic, but it did. 

And he’d never been so terrified before.

It was strange. Yeah, he was good at focusing on others before himself. After his family, his sister, and even Peter, Derek stopped worrying so much about himself. Because sometimes things happen, right? 

Then he got a pack. One he liked to claim that he hated, but if anything ever happened to any of them, Derek wasn’t really sure what he’d do.

And then there was Stiles.

Fucking Stiles.

The moment Derek stepped into the teenager's bedroom and realized he was missing, his heart dropped into his feet like a sack of rocks. He stood there for a moment, staring at nothing, then blinked. And his vision focused on the bulletin board across the room, which had been set back upright.

Slowly, feet heavy, Derek crossed the room and stared at it. Two words were circled with red string.

Red eyes.

Derek stared at them for a long moment. His heart did something strange.

Fucking Stiles.

In a second, Derek was pulling himself back out the window. Because dammit, if he couldn't  live without the idiot. That was a thought Derek never saw himself having but once it entered his mind, it was the only thing that fueled his next steps. He knew Stiles’s scent by heart and dammit if he wouldn’t tear this whole town apart to find him.

He would. Derek knew he would. And honestly, that realization didn’t even scare him.

Turns out, he didn’t have to. Which… fine.

It was Scott who picked up Stiles’s scent across town in some abandoned warehouse and Derek tried not to feel bitter about that. The most important thing was that they knew where the boy was being held and Derek was all red eyes and fangs when they finally arrived, spotting two hunters standing guard near the warehouse's entrance.

Hunters. Of all things.

Derek fucking hated hunters.

Scott was saying something at his back— maybe to him, maybe to the others, but Derek didn’t even bother to listen. Beyond the doors of the warehouse, he could hear a faint pitter-pattering heartbeat and knew instantly who it belonged to. There was something else distantly in the air too— a scent that held the tang of fear and the slightest hint of pain.

No, Derek didn’t listen to whatever Scott was saying. Before he could even catch himself, he was shifting and letting red bleed fully into his eyes, breaking out of their cover and moving toward the hunters without a thought.

His, he thought. They had what was his.

The men didn’t even have a chance to load their guns before Derek was tearing through them. Faintly, he heard the sounds of his pack howling at his back and from inside the warehouse, the sounds of chaos erupting as the other hunters caught wind of the attack.

Stiles’s heartbeat almost instantly picked up in pace. Derek shoved through the warehouse doors with red on his claws.

He saw the boy instantly. In that red hoodie that for some reason made Derek’s stomach feel strange, wrists bound, an evident bruise on his cheek, and a cut over his left eye. Derek saw him instantly.

The rest was kind of a blur after that.

There were a lot of things he was afraid of, though he’d never say that out loud. Losing people— though, that hadn’t been a new once since he stood in front of his burned house with Laura’s hand tightly clutching his own. But losing Stiles? That was utterly terrifying. Derek honestly had no idea what he would do.

That was the main thought lingering in the back of his mind all the way up until he found himself crouched in front of the boy, carefully undoing the ties around his wrist with unclawed fingers. Stiles was saying something, but Derek barely listened. He just focused on the ropes, then on the red marks that they had left behind. Something dark and angry climbed up his throat.

“Derek? Derek.”

Finally, he snapped back to reality. Derek meet the boy’s eyes and automatically winced at the blue forming around one. If there were more hunters, there was so much more anger Derek could take out on them. But the warehouse was silent around them.

Except for Stiles’s loudly beating heartbeats, that is. Derek growled lowly and tried to blink away the red that started to leak into his eyes again.

“Derek,” Stiles said again, softer this time. “Derek, I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Look at me, big guy. I’m okay.”

And Derek was. He was looking, he was always looking. Dammit, he was always looking.

“Just let me…” Stiles started to push himself up with a groan and Derek automatically growled, flashing his eyes. Stiles stilled, staring at him, and Derek held his gaze.

“We’re going to the hospital. Now.”

“The hos— what? No way, dude. Melissa is at the hospital which means my dad will end up being at the hospital and I cannot deal with another grounding right now. No, dude, I’m fine. We can go back to the loft or whatever.”

Derek’s throat automatically tightened. He lifted his chin and kept the red in his eyes, trying to look as Alpha as possible. It had worked before. “We’re going to the hospital, Stiles. This isn’t a choice.”

Stiles stared at him for a moment longer. Then something in his scent changed and he blinked, pulling away with a frown. “Uh, excuse me, Derek? What the hell are you trying to do here? I’m not one of your pups, asshole, remember? You can’t flash your stupid eyes and expect me to do whatever the hell you want. That's not the way this relationship works.”

Derek was taken off guard for a second, but then he growled again, frustration pricking at the back of his skull. Stiles’s eyes just flashed and the boy looked beyond him.

“Hey, Scotty? Care to give me a ride back to your place?” Stiles looked back at Derek squarely. “Maybe I'll skip going to the loft this time, Sourwolf.”

“Stiles—”

“No, thanks for the save. Honestly. Dying would’ve sucked, you know?”

And it was like a punch to the stomach. Derek could only stare as Stiles moved around him, limping toward Scott, who embraced the boy with a bright smile on his face. And Derek couldn’t explain what else he felt as Stiles moved away with him, only a single glance back allowing Derek to breathe again.

His betas approached him carefully. Derek didn’t even react.

See, he thought he'd taken a lot of steps since all those years ago when he’d come back to Beacon Hills. But something about this felt like a step back.

A very large step back.

+ i

The thing is, there were a lot of things Derek had grown to love about Stiles Stilinski.

He hated to admit it out loud, but it was true. Over the years that Derek had gotten to know the boy, some part of him had decided he felt a lot more for Stiles than he did any of the other betas. For anyone else, really.

It had started slow— like one day, the jokes that Stiles always made forced Derek to suppress a smile. Then there was a point when he realized he could catch Stiles scent as easily as if it was imprinted into his brain. And then suddenly, he’d find himself studying the moles of Stiles’s face whenever the boy showed up at the loft. 

Every time, he wanted to know how far they went. And if there were constellations all over his skin too, just like the ones on his face.

There were a lot of things Derek had grown to love about Stiles Stilinski. It was the boy— it was everything about him.

It was his eyes.

The sparkle of amber that always made Derek’s heart skip. He could remember vividly the first time he’d really noticed it, and Derek didn’t know what to think about that. Sometimes, he didn’t even want to think about it.

Stiles had come to him late one night, months and months ago. Months before the warehouse, hours after a fight against a rogue Alpha that had attempted to make its territory part of the Preserve. Derek had been careless, then, and as a result, the Alpha had managed to claw him right across the back. 

He’d had worse, but it still hurt. And pissed him off. Something that Derek was pretty sure the betas had noticed because they’d each suddenly had somewhere else to be other than the loft the moment the fight was over. 

All of them except for Stiles.

No, the boy ended up showing up at the loft around midnight, a silhouetted figure that paused in the doorway for a long moment before carefully stepping inside.

Derek had tried to tell himself that he hadn’t caught Stiles’s scent long before the boy had even stepped foot into the building. He tried to tell himself he didn’t catch Stiles’s scent the moment it was within range— right as he was in the middle of cleaning his wound— hating himself a little bit for being so careless. And he tried to tell himself that the scents of cinnamon and spices hadn’t made his heart skip at least three beats, drawing his attention instantly away from the pain.

He'd really tried to tell himself all of those things. Each lie that was obvious even in the silence where he kept them. 

Forcing himself out of his head, Derek glanced up for a brief second, where Stiles was still standing in the doorway of his loft looking awkward. Derek did his best to ignore the boy, turning his attention back to the bloodied rag at his side again. But, after another long moment, Stiles moved forward and crossed the room, moving hesitantly closer to Derek’s bed.

Derek ground his teeth together and tried to ignore everything about the boy.

“Well,” Stiles said. “That looks… bad.”

Derek blinked. Then he paused, frowned, and looked up.

Amber eyes caught the moonlight and goddammit, Derek swore he’d never had his heart skip a beat as it did in that moment. He instantly cursed himself and tried not to react even more as Stiles bit down on his lip, taking another step closer.

“Do you need help there, big guy?”

No, was the first response that formed on Derek’s tongue. But for some reason, he couldn’t make himself say it. So he just stayed silent and Stiles’s eyes brightened a little bit as he moved over, settling down onto the mattress at Derek’s side.

 Derek watched quietly as the boy picked up a roll of bandages. Nimble fingers unrolled a long strip and Derek averted his eyes as Stiles shifted on the bed, laying the bandages carefully across his torn skin.

There was something comforting about his touch. Derek closed his eyes and tried not to think about the last time a touch like this had been so careful— so soft. Every touch was like an emotion unsaid and Derek wasn’t sure he could remember the last time someone had touched him like they really cared.

He was so lost in his thoughts, it took him a moment to realize Stiles had finished. The boy didn’t say anything but when Derek glanced over his shoulder, soft amber eyes met his own. 

Derek thought he could lose himself in them. He could drown in the way that Stiles looked at him and it would probably be the only way he ever wanted to go.

“Hey,” Stiles said, voice barely a whisper. “Should I stay?”

No, wasn’t the reply that formed on Derek’s tongue this time. But he swallowed any other words that tried to come out. Instead, he just shook his head and Stiles pressed his lips together, but nodded. 

There was a strange feeling of loss in the air as Stiles pushed himself up. Derek set his jaw and set his gaze resolutely on the floor for a second. But as Stiles crossed the loft and paused in the doorway again, Derek found himself raising his gaze again.

The teen offered a small smile, amber eyes catching the faint light. Derek’s heart skipped a beat again. Then, Stiles had turned away and left. 

Derek honestly thought his eyes were one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen. One of them, at least.

Then, there were the boy’s hands.

The touch that Derek had never longed for until one day, Stiles laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. Derek hadn’t had an anchor other than anger for so long, he’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be weighed down by something other than his rage. 

But then Stiles had touched him— like no one else had ever touched him before. There was no other intent behind his hand except for comfort. And when had Derek last felt a touch like that?

Maybe with Laura. Maybe when she’d held him close after their entire family had burned alive.

But then there was Stiles. Stiles and his innocent touches, long fingers that Derek could sometimes feel on his shoulder whenever he felt like he was losing control. Whenever he felt like he was drowning, when he felt like he couldn’t keep his head up anymore.

It was different from the touches of his pack. Those scenting fingers that would sometimes brush against his arm, or over the back of his hand. 

Isaac was the neediest, always searching out Derek’s touch over the back of his neck, or reaching for him instead. Erica would claim to be more independent, even though Derek could always catch her scent flooding with satisfaction whenever the pack scent was the same. And then there was Boyd— Boyd, who never avidly sought anything out. Boyd, who Derek had known from day one would end up becoming his second. Boyd, who could probably carry the pack on if anything bad ever happened. 

Derek knew how important touch and scent were in a pack. He did. 

But Stiles was different.

Stiles, with his hands and his long fingers were something that Derek constantly craved even though he’d die before ever admitting that out loud. Stiles was so different. It had taken Derek long enough to realize that, but everything about the teen was different.

His voice.

The first time Derek had heard Stiles Stilinski speak, he’d instantly been annoyed. Back then, he would never have imagined that hearing Stiles’s voice would prove to be welcoming. Welcoming, wanting, calming even. He was pretty sure that he’d been so annoyed with Stiles for so long that one day, when he realized annoyance might be closer to affection, it was a blow to the chest.

Derek didn’t think he could ever keep up with Stiles in a conversation. But he could probably sit for hours and listen to the boy ramble.

It was strange, probably. The first time that Derek realized he actually looked forward to the times that Stiles came by the loft, a million words already probably already bubbling up to explode.

It had struck Derek as a ‘maybe he was losing his mind’ realization. Because that would probably make more sense than actually wanting Stiles around, right? But then the boy had crossed the room with a bright grin on his face and Derek realized that this was probably the highlight of his day.

Stiles Stilinski was the highlight of his day.

Dark times indeed.

Fast forward two months after the day in the warehouse and Derek stood in said-annoyance's room, trying to adjust to what their new normal was. What their 'relationship', as Stiles had put it, really was.

It totally didn't make him wish they could be so much more. 

“So, Sourwolf,” Stiles said, scent bright and eyes dancing as his voice drew Derek out of his thoughts. “I did some research on whatever the hell is currently terrorizing Beacon Hills and good news! There’s only a thirty percent chance that we’re all going to die this week.”

Derek just stared at him. Stiles’s smiled dimmed a little.

“Uh, you good, big guy?”

And he probably was— yeah, he probably was. Derek wouldn’t mind listening to Stiles go on an entire rant about whatever he had been researching all night, but he was totally fine. This was totally normal.

Listening to Stiles go on and on for hours was kind of a beautiful thing, but Derek was definitely okay.

“Uh, Derek?”

Derek snapped back to reality and realized he was still staring. His ears felt warm as he tore his gaze away, nodding mutely. He was fine.

“Well, good then,” Stiles said, the concern leaving his voice. “‘Cause just because we’re not likely to die doesn’t mean we can’t. Which means we’re going to have to be prepared. You ready to hear the game plan, Sourpuss?”

Derek glanced back over, something turning strangely in his chest. Stiles looked back at him, scent so warm and bright. Again, he nodded.

Maybe Stiles was good at words but dammit, Derek wasn’t. 

“Good,” Stiles said, grinning. “Then sit back, relax, and let this Stilinski save all of your werewolf asses ahead of time again.”

He was ridiculous. Stiles was ridiculous.

It was strange, Derek thought, that he found that so beautiful.

And then, it was Stiles.

Just Stiles.

Everything about him, everything that Derek had never seen himself falling for. Stiles was like this whirlwind that had barreled into his life and Derek hadn’t been able to do anything but stand there and take it. 

He was there, Stiles was always there. In the loft, in the passenger seat of his car, standing at his side when they faced down the monster of the week. And then, then, when Stiles wasn’t around, Derek found himself seeking the boy out instead. Climbing through his window at night with a million excuses on his tongue.

Research, pack problems, an update on whatever was terrorizing Beacon Hills next.

He’d felt bonds similar to this before— with his sisters, his father, his mother, the pack Alpha. But they hadn’t been exact. Not really.

He thought Laura would tease him for being at such a loss. So head over heels. She’d probably find it amusing, if Derek was being honest.

But she’d also probably know what to do.

As it was, Derek was flailing. Holding his head above water trying to figure out exactly what Stiles Stiliski meant to him. From the boy’s bright amber eyes to the electricity of his touch. Derek was fluent in several languages and none of them could ever describe exactly what strange things his stomach did when he looked at Stiles.

It hadn’t really been like this with Paige. It certainly hadn’t been like this with Kate.

It was different and it was new.

He found himself drawn to Stiles in ways he couldn’t explain.

“Sourwolf, hey, Sourwolf. Earth to the stingiest bearded werewolf to ever grace Beacon Hills with his eyebrows.”

Derek blinked, realized Stiles’s face was inches from his own, and then snapped back to reality like a rubber band stretched too far. He growled a little, drawing away, and Stiles snorted.

“I thought I lost you there for a second, dude.”

“I’m fine, Stiles.”

“Well, that’s good to know. Now, back to the matter at hand. Should I go black or red?”

Derek stared blankly at him. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Shirts, dude. For the graduation party that Lydia is throwing.”

And how long had he been lost in his own head? Derek looked at the two shirts Stiles held and then glanced back at him, still a little lost. Stiles must have noticed because he groaned, spinning on his heel and crossing back over to his closet across the room.

“You know, I thought you came here for a reason, Sourwolf. But I think you just need a nap or something.”

“I’m fine.”

“Uh, yeah, that’s been established already. But are you?”

Derek looked at him, startled. Stiles met his gaze and grinned, before tossing the black t-shirt back into his closet. 

“Joking, Derek. Although the look on your face is making me wonder if I shouldn’t be.”

Derek just rolled his eyes. Stiles continued to study him. His scent changed a little and he suddenly looked a little nervous, dropping his eyes down to his hands for a moment before slowly drawing them back up. His heartbeat had picked up in pace.

“So, uh, fun nostalgic 'remember when' time. Hah, remember that one time I got taken by hunters?”

Derek instantly clenched his jaw, trying not to flinch back. Because how could he have forgotten? Stiles seemed to take his expression as an answer, though, because he smiled humorlessly, shrugging one shoulder. 

“Things haven’t been… wrong between us since then, have they?”

“What?”

“Well, you know…” Stiles trailed off. Then he scoffed. “No, it's stupid. I feel stupid. Never mind.”

“You’re not.”

Stiles looked back at him. Derek swallowed.

“Stupid.”

“Aw, thanks, Sourwolf. I feel so much better now.”

Derek internally cursed himself. Stiles turned back to the two shirt options and tilted his head before grabbing the red one again. Then he turned back on his heel and gave Derek a bright grin. 

“Red always has been my color, hasn’t it?”

Derek nodded mutely. Stiles raised an eyebrow. 

“Yours too, you know.”

“What.”

“Oh, you know,” Stiles said jokingly, though there was another strange twinge in his voice. He studied Derek’s face, then wiggled his fingers in front of his eyes. “The Alpha eyes.”

Derek automatically flashed them. And he heard Stiles’s heart skip a beat, heard the breaths catch in the boy’s throat. Stiles nodded quietly, then reached forward, and Derek closed his eyes, a shiver running down his spine as Stiles brushed careful fingers over them. He didn't know what to do, how to react, but it felt right as he remained stock-still. Then the boy laughed softly.

“The Alpha eyes. God, is it stupid that I could never say no to them?”

“You did once.”

Stiles’s hands fell from his face then and Derek opened his eyes to see a quiet look on the boy's face. Stiles boy chewed on his lower lip before nodding again. “Yeah, I guess I did. That was stupid, I actually could have used a stitch or two.”

Derek felt an automatic growl build up in his throat. And Stiles must have realized that because he laughed. “Oh, don’t go getting all growly on me, big guy. That was what, months ago?”

Months ago. Yeah, that's what it was.

Everything had been so off since that stupid day months ago.

“Uh, Derek?”

“I don’t hate you.”

Stiles blinked. Then chuckled nervously. “Uh, thanks?”

“No, I—” The words had spilled out and Derek cursed himself internally. “I used to regret the pack. Making them, keeping them.”

Stiles’s eyes widened. Hating everything even more, Derek shook his head.

“I mean, no, it's not that..." fuck "I was never meant to be an Alpha. Red used to be blue. That’s how it was supposed to go.”

The words came out in a rush and left a bit of a hollow feeling in Derek's stomach. But honestly? He knew them to be true. They'd come so fast, so sudden, but he knew them to be true. It was all he knew sometimes. Until Stiles came along, at least. Then, Derek had come to know two things to be true.

“I don’t hate you,” he said again. A feeling of almost desperation twisted through him as some strange words remained unsaid. “I don’t.”

Stiles stared at him for a long moment and Derek tried not to feel uncomfortable under the boy’s gaze. It was kind of like that one night so long ago, when his skin had itched and he'd felt like bolting for the nearest exit. But then Stiles took a step closer and felt Derek automatically rooted to the spot.

“Well,” Stiles said softly. “I think the red’s kind of beautiful.”

And it was like the floor had opened beneath him.

Derek didn’t know what to do or what to say as Stiles tilted his chin upward, a small smile playing along his lips. And this was different— so different. If there was any red in Derek's eyes at the moment, it didn’t do anything to make him feel any bigger. Any more superior. 

“I mean, blue’s pretty too,” Stiles said. “But red?”

But red?

“I’m, uh, I'm going to do something,” Stiles said, moving even closer. And Derek wondered what it was like to actually form words.

But then, the floor opened up again. Because see, when Derek had finally accepted that he might be head over heels in love with Stiles Stilinski, it was kind of like accepting that the moon and stars came out every night, but no one couldn’t ever touch them. Stiles Stilinski was so pretty that Derek had come to realize that he could never actually touch him.

Not in a way that would mean more, at least. Not in a way that would mean what some unsaid words might.

Some stupid unsaid words.

Except then, Stiles kissed him. And Derek felt like he was falling.

It was a strange feeling, he thought, because he’d fallen before and it hadn’t ended well. Except this was different. This was soft, gentle, and the boy kind of tasted like autumn. Like the scents of cinnamon, spices, and that hint of electricity that seemed to follow Stiles everywhere.

Derek remembered how to say words, then. But he was far more focused on moving forward instead, grabbing the sides of Stiles’s face and kissing the boy even harder, everything unsaid trying to find a way to communicate through that when even all the words had ultimately failed.

And everything about it felt right. Kind of like everything in Beacon Hills, with his pack, with himself had recently started to.

It felt right. It felt strange. 

It made Derek feel like red could be blue, or green, or gold, and it'd never matter.

Finally, when they drew apart, Stiles's eyes were bright and his face was flushed. Derek thought it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and wasn't that a thought? But then the boy smiled and tilted his head, a nervous tick to his heartbeat once more.

“Is this… okay, Derek?”

“I don’t hate you,” Derek said. The words slipped right out.

And yeah, Derek hated himself sometimes. But Stiles just laughed, his eyes shining even brighter, and the boy stepped forward again, warm breaths whispering against Derek’s lips seconds before Stiles kissed him again.

“Yeah, big guy,” he said. “I love you too.”