Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Cover by Hashtag_Hale. ♥

"I threw myself to the wolves,
only to learn of the tenderness in their howl,
and the loyalty in their blood."
-Isra Al-Thibeh

SIX MONTHS AGO

It’s not like Stiles asked to be magic, it just happened. Like getting a bad haircut – he didn’t say something soon enough and chaos ensued. Chaos involving werewolves, kanimas, and a bunch of questionable emo outcasts who are now his pack. And a lot of lies, mostly to his dad, but thankfully that part is over. His dad knew what he signed up for when Stiles started showing signs of being an emissary in his youth – the spider-web veins crawling up his arms and the premonitions that began after his mom died.

But it’s not like anyone could have predicted he’d end up being an emissary for the Hale family, just like his mother had been. He’s her natural replacement, if you want to get technical, and that was that, and he was thrusted into a life he could never have imagined.

But it isn’t all bad. Most of it, sure, but not all. Especially since Derek (the one he’s been drawn to from the beginning) warmed up to him in the end and they became…well, something. Something good. Call it biology, or science, or just damn good luck, but they’re something, and that’s what Stiles focuses on. It makes things easier in the long run, when he’s battling his best friend’s single brain cell over ridiculously mundane things and Derek is there to have his back.

And his front too, if you want to get technical.

“That’s disgusting.”

He flips Jackson the bird just for the hell of it. He’d obviously been thinking aloud again – another one of his traits, non-magic this time, that he just had to inherit from his mother.

“It’s cute.” Allison obviously disagrees, considering she’s giving Stiles those gosh darn puppy eyes again. Scott is asleep by her side, his head on her lap whilst she draws lazy circles into his scalp. It would be cute if Scott wasn’t drooling, which is kind of gross. “He obviously loves Derek.”

“We all do.” Erica reminds her, snapping her teeth and making Boyd roll his eyes. When did Stiles’ bedroom become a den for werewolves again?

Oh, right, when Derek decided to challenge a hunter to a duel, subsequently lost, and called Stiles to his rescue.

“That’s not how it happened,” Scott half mumbles, obviously a sleep-faker, “and you know it.”

Stiles touches his mouth curiously, wondering when the hell he’d lost control of it, and if it’s too late to regain any dignity. But from the way Jackson is eyeballing him, he figures he left it in the jeep before he came home.

“Oh, leave him alone.” Lydia, shockingly, comes to his aid, but it isn’t without Erica’s huffy protest by her side. “Let’s see how long he can keep up his façade of grandeur.”

Stiles raises his eyebrow. “My wha?”

Lydia shrugs like people use those words in general conversation often. “Playing the ‘Alpha Mate’,” she uses air quotations, “card. You know you do it.”

“Of course I do.” Stiles complains, reaching out and snatching a half-eaten bag of chips from Erica’s hands and claiming them as his own. “How else am I gonna keep you delinquents under control?”

Erica stiffens visibly, followed by Jackson, and then suddenly Scott is wide awake and twisting in Allison’s lap to look around the room. Stiles already knows what that means – he’s experienced this reaction before from the pack. It usually means one of two things: one, impending doom awaits and he should grab his baseball bat (pretty likely), or two, Derek is here (also pretty likely).

He’s gonna put his money on the latter.

“I don’t remember calling a pack meeting.” Derek says from the shadows, emerging like the creeper that he is, heavy footsteps against the creaking floorboards into Stiles’ bedroom.

So, naturally, Stiles all but pees himself anyway. He throws the bag of chips to the ceiling (it gets caught by Boyd, because, werewolves) and spins in a circle. Derek looks as amused as ever, thick eyebrows on his forehead conveying the torture and torment of his life, never to smile again.

At least until he catches sight of Stiles properly. Then he smirks, one sided and crooked, and, honestly, Stiles’ heart skips a few beats.

“How’d you get upstairs without us hearing you?” Jackson asks, somewhere in the background, irrelevant.

“Not a pack meeting.” Stiles chirps, raising a challenging brow. “A simple get together. A werewolf function, if you will.”

“A Lycaon fan convention?” Erica offers. Stiles wants to high five her, and also wonder why the hell he hadn’t thought of that one. It gains an eye roll from Derek at least, so that’s something. It’s progress. It’s the baby steps that matter.

Derek had been as emotionally constipated about his pack as he had been with everything else in the beginning. It’s better now. And when he says better, he really means it’s completely and 100% below-average.

But they’re working on it. And it’s not like Derek’s made of stone, not really, he just holds himself that way. Stiles knows it for sure.

Especially once a thought-provoking conversation about sphynx cats, and how Erica thinks they’re an abomination, and how Lydia disagrees with everything she says, begins and Derek slowly but surely starts to relax. Stiles can sense it, not only because he’s, well, magic, but also because Derek’s arm winds around his waist and holds him close.

And Stiles’ heart starts racing in his chest at the contact, making the air electric, making Erica’s hair start to get frizzy.

“Quit it.” She complains, struggling to pat it back down. Boyd starts laughing. “It’s not funny, dipshit. Electricity is dangerous.”

“More dangerous than werewolves?” Derek asks with a smirk, holding Stiles tighter, making the air crackle around them.

Jackson looks green, like he’s about to hurl and throw himself out the window at the public display of affection. Scott? Well, he actually looks jealous. It’d been a shock to the system that he’d had to share Stiles with Derek now, but, hey, fair is fair. Stiles had suffered months being ignored when Scott started dating Allison.

Oh, how the tables turn.

“Shut up.” Erica grumbles under her breath, then drags Boyd out by his hand with ease, stomping down the stairs and storming outside.

“Someone needs a timeout.” Lydia comments absently, looking at her watch. “It is late. We should get going too.”

“Us too.” Allison agrees, rising to her feet and pulling Scott with her. “And you’ve got that college interview to study for.”

“Stiles was gonna help me.” Scott looks at the ground like a kicked puppy, igniting some kind of best-bro instinct inside of Stiles’ chest.

“Tomorrow, dude.” He promises. “The interview’s not for a few weeks. You’ll ace it, Scotty.”

The grin from his best friend is worth it.

Then he and Derek are alone, probably for the last time for a long time. The air thickens, the elephant in the room making it hard to breathe.

“It’s not for forever.” Derek tells him, for probably about the hundredth time. Not like it makes the situation any better – Derek and Cora are leaving Stiles behind. “I’d never leave you behind.”

“Thought you weren’t a mind reader?” Stiles says back, not really a question, looking at his hands in his lap. Derek shifts his weight, making Stiles almost topple over into him on the bed.

“Do I really want to know what you’re thinking all the time?”

“Definitely not."

Derek laughs and shakes his head, a fond look on his face. “I can tell by your scent. I know when you’re stressing.”

“I’m always stressing,” and, hey, it’s the truth, “about something. My brain is always going, you know? Like a merry-go-round I didn’t even wanna ride in the first place. And, like, I don’t know where I’m going with this metaphor so feel free to jump in at any time now-”

“Stiles.” It’s enough to stop his rambling, at least.

“I know.” Stiles shakes his head, subdued. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like it, okay? I mean, hello?” He points to himself for emphasis. “Emissary. Your emissary, in case you forgot, so it’d really be more beneficial for you if I tagged along.”

“And drop out of university?” Derek huffs like a disapproving parent at him, but the arm around his waist tightens. “Cora is going to school for the summer and then we’ll both be back. I promise.”

He has half a mind to mumble something childish like promises schmomises! but thankfully bites his tongue. He knows he’s lost this argument – lost it a long time ago – and is just kind of…well, moping. All the time.

Derek’s hand touches the side of his face, bringing him out of his reverie and back to reality. “Stiles.”

“That’s me.” Stiles says stupidly, voice small and quiet, totally uncharacteristic. It’s not like they’re breaking up, but it sure as hell feels like that. And Stiles doesn’t have experience with long-distance relationships (or relationships in general) – hell, he’s only ever had one person, and that’s Derek, and he’s not exactly an average dude. He’s not even a dude, he’s a werewolf. Well, a dude werewolf. A dude-wolf, if you will.

Derek huffing out a laugh is enough to stop his train of thought. “There’s nothing I can say to stop you overthinking, is there?”

Stiles actually over thinks his answer.

“I didn’t think so.” Derek answers for him, his thumb brushing along Stiles’ bottom lip. “Don’t think I made this decision lightly.”

“I get it.” Stiles says, because he does. He gets that Derek has to go, he has to protect Cora, he almost lost her once. “I do. I’m just, I don’t know, feeling a little like a loose end, you know?”

Derek gets a good grip on his chin, tight enough to force Stiles to look him in the eye. There’s nothing but determination there, maybe a glint of sadness, but mostly there’s a devotion in Derek’s gaze that effectively silences all of the doubts he has. And then he’s left wondering why the hell he ever doubted Derek to begin with?

Derek will come back. Cora will come back. Stiles is just being a drama queen.

Derek smirks, the air in the room becoming thinner and more comfortable, and Stiles smiles back. It’s a half-smile, no real heart in it, and Derek surely senses it. At least he doesn’t voice it, though, and instead kisses Stiles like he’s everything to him. It’s like time stops and suddenly it’s only the two of them, here and now, no one else.

This mate stuff is the best sometimes.

Especially when he actually gets to have this. He gets to have Derek – someone who is majorly out of his league, like, unmistakably and painfully – and gets to have Derek want him back. Stiles figures he must have done something amazing in a past life, since Derek is pretty much content with kissing him senseless, all heat and hard edges, reducing him to a quivering mess without actually taking any of his clothes off.

“Anything happens,” Derek tells him, voice low and hard between kisses, “call me right away.”

“This is Beacon Hills.” Stiles bargains, a little preoccupied with Derek’s nose ghosting along his collarbone over his shirt. “Something always happens.”

“You know what I mean.”

“How could I forget?” Stiles ends up huffing despite himself, not wanting to think about it. Not wanting to think about how hunters are almost definitely after his ass, and will come back sooner or later, likely with reinforcements. He’ll just have to trust Chris Argent to let him know when the time comes. “We’ll be fine,” he hears himself saying anyway, mostly for Derek’s benefit, “and if we’re not, well, we will be.”

Derek huffs out a breath against Stiles’ neck, then shakes his head, inadvertently nuzzling the freckled skin there. “Look on the bright side, you’ll finally be able to tell Jackson what to do.”

“What makes you think he’ll start listening to me now?” Stiles barks, tracing an absent circle on Derek’s back.

“Stranger things have happened.” Derek counters. “And now you’ll be acting Alpha, so he doesn’t have a choice.”

“You say that like he doesn’t roll his eyes every time you ask him to do something.”

“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t do what I say.”

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Stiles squeaks, totally manly, squirming when Derek accidentally tickles his neck with his nose, “I’m not you. I don’t exactly have the intimidation qualities you have.”

“Maybe not. But he knows I’ll rip his throat out if he annoys you.”

Stiles smacks him, because he’s not some damsel in distress, and also, just for the hell of it. Derek stays the night and when Stiles wakes up he’s alone, nothing but the ghost of another body on the other side of the bed.

Grumbling, he gropes blindly on his nightstand for his phone, squinting at it in the brightness of the sunlight coming through his window.

Stiles: you left without waking me

Derek: Didn’t have the heart  

Stiles: next time wake me, jackass

Derek: There won’t be a next time

Promises shmomises.

Stiles: no heroics, i mean it. i’ll drag you back here by your tail

Derek doesn’t reply, expectedly. And Stiles tries to figure out how the hell he’s going to survive the next few months without him.

PRESENT DAY

“Oh, yeah, say it a little louder.” Stiles complains, running a hand over his face and scowling at his dad from his comfortable position of not involved in all this mess. “I think there’s some people in the parking lot who didn’t hear you.”

Lydia waves her hand dismissively at him. “It’s not like it’s a secret, Stiles, at least not in here. And Parrish will protect you.”

Lydia – one of his newly self-appointed best friends – with a petite figure and sharp tongue. Stiles is a little afraid of her, but only a little.

His dad clears his throat. Lydia falters, hesitates, and it’s amazing to see her so unsure of herself even if it does only last a millisecond before she’s completely composed again. “And your dad will protect you, of course. How silly of me to discount him.”

“Damn straight.” His dad concurs, proud and strong, making Stiles so, so grateful to have a father like him. Even if he is the worst son in existence.

“The whole point of being an emissary is sworn secrecy.” Stiles complains, groaning and swivelling around in a circle on his dad’s desk chair like a dramatic gazelle.

“At the Alpha’s discretion.” Lydia reminds him painfully, knowing that Derek is a sore subject around here. His dad side-eyes her. “The Alpha who isn’t here, let me remind you. And we deserve to be involved in this now, given our recent…developments.”

“That’s one word for it.” Stiles comments a little half-heartedly, knowing fine well what Lydia is. A banshee – just like her grandmother. And, seriously, Beacon Hills? A breeding ground for weird shit. Lydia is the newest addition to the roster, the newest supernatural talent they have, still learning. And Stiles isn’t really ready to add being a banshee mentor to his list of responsibilities right now.

“Don’t be cute.” Lydia scolds him, her hair swaying around her face. “I can’t explain it, Stiles. I feel drawn to Parrish.”

“What did Allison say?” Stiles asks, rising to his feet and wondering where the hell Lydia’s sidekick is. Allison has been around, sure, but not a lot recently. Something about her dad dragging her along to training sessions all around the globe, their most recent one landing them in Paris.

He figures it’s Chris’ way of keeping her out of the drama for the time being, even if he knows fine well that she’ll be dragged into whatever’s coming without the bat of an eye. Scott knows it too, otherwise he’d be pouting a lot more than he already is.

“That she’s on her way back.” Lydia says lowly. “Their flight was rerouted.”

“You mean cancelled.” Stiles corrects. Lydia sighs.

“I mean cancelled. She’ll be here.”

“I’ll talk to Derek, if I can get a hold of him.” Stiles says stiffly, not really wanting to go into it in detail. Lydia nods shortly, knowing the score. His dad, however, has the biggest stink eye imaginable, aimed at no one in particular. At least, no one in the room.

Derek and Cora had abandoned him (they didn’t abandon you, Stiles, stop saying that) and high-tailed it off to south America a few months back with the promise that they’d be back. Except they didn’t come back. Derek didn’t come back.

They’d been in contact, sure, but barely. Something about encountering hunters down there and having to lay low for a while, making Stiles intent on hopping on the first flight to get him the hell out of Beacon Hills, but Derek had ordered him to stay. Apparently his education came first – something that Stiles and Derek had argued relentlessly over. There was a lot of yelling, a lot of grumbling, but in the end, Derek had won and Stiles had stayed put.

That was almost six months ago now. And recently, they hadn’t been in contact as much as they used to be. Stiles can feel it in his bones, feel it draining his soul, his power, but pushes it down and suppresses the urge to drag Derek by his ear back to California and be done with it.

In the past few months, Lydia has gone from self-appointed human pack advisor, to a badass banshee with no consideration for her own safety. It’s exhilarating, but it’s also stressful as hell. ‘Cause being dragged back and forth through town looking for the newest decaying corpse doesn’t exactly scream wild Friday night.  But here they are, and there they were, staring death in the face, watching the blood pool around their feet, bewildered.

So, Lydia masters her powers – Stiles has no idea how she does it – and becomes a key role in the pack, werewolf or not. Derek doesn’t seemed surprised when Stiles tells him, but Cora almost hits the roof, calling them all incessantly and demanding to know exactly what the hell was going on.

“A dead body?” Cora asks over the phone, sounding frantic and excited.

“No, a body of water.” Stiles deadpans. “Yes, a dead body.”

“Did I mention how much I miss that cute little sense of humour you have?” Cora hisses through the phone, the sound of traffic drowning her voice out. “I thought banshees were a myth.”

“Obviously not, since I’m staring at one right now.” Stiles looks over at Lydia, who’s engaged in some hushed whispering with Peter, of all people. “She’s talking to your uncle. It’s not gonna end well. I’d better go.”

“Okay, I’ll tell Derek you say hey.”

“Yeah, sure.” Stiles dismisses, knowing he’s being petty, but whatever, and hangs up. If Derek misses him enough he’ll call, and if he doesn’t, well, Stiles will just suffer. He’s stubborn that way. And it’s not like he was the one to leave Beacon Hills and not come back. He wouldn’t do that.

I’d never leave you behind, Derek had said. Twice. And here he is, left behind, dragging along a pack of delinquents and a banshee. Why is this his life?

And it’s not like his life was destined to be normal or anything considering he spent most of his high school years trying to stop Scott from accidentally killing himself or worse, letting the entire school in on his Big, Furry Secret. Looking back at it now, it kind of feels like child’s play compared to the list of things they’ve faced up against in the past year. Derek is included on said list, the grumpiest and bigger sour-faced werewolf in documented history, with a soft spot for Stiles and leather clothing.

And Stiles has no idea how he managed to land a guy like Derek in the midst of complete and utter chaos, courtesy of the Argent’s and their merry band of hunters traipsing around Beacon Hills.

“Chemo signals.” Derek had said, one night when they were on patrol and he’d let Stiles tag along for the hell of it. They still can’t be too careful, what, with Nadine and Mike’s untimely exit from the action. They’ll definitely be back sooner or later, probably with reinforcements. “I knew you were interested then second I met you.”

“You say that like I didn’t have to court you for months.” Stiles had shot back, not a lot of heart in it, since Derek already knows it’s true. “And it’s not like I knew I was interested when we first met. I was kind of distracted by you ripping out jugulars and scurrying off into the night.”

To his extreme surprise, Derek had actually laughed at that. “The nose never lies.”

Stiles had smacked him. “Stop hanging out with Scott. That’s his saying, and I don’t need to hear it from both of you.”

“You got what you wanted, didn’t you?” Derek had asked, with those big eyes and thick eyebrows. “I wouldn’t change anything about what happened between us.”

Stiles had refrained from choking on his own saliva, barely, and ended up tripping over himself so badly that Derek had to steady him. “Not even the hundred times I found you bruised and bloody, near death?”

Derek had scowled into the night. “It wasn’t a hundred times.”

Well, almost. Whatever. Stiles has saved Derek enough times to know the ins and outs of werewolf first aid, and he knows how to use his powers to calm the Alpha, to shield him from the stress of the job. And it works most of the time. If only he could shield himself from the crippling anxiety from Derek being gone.

Aside from the new, risen from the ashes under suspicious circumstances banshee addition to his pack, Stiles’ life is…reasonably mundane. He does his coursework, he does the groceries, he still insists his dad eat a healthy diet consisting of things with little salt and little taste, and he still acts like a pack mom. All in a day’s work, you could say. It’s time-consuming filling Derek’s shoes – something he didn’t really want to do, but since he’s the Alpha’s mate, or whatever, that made him Derek’s natural replacement in his absence.

And being an stand-in Alpha is hard work. He’s starting to understand why Derek looks so miffed all the time, looking like he’s about to start throwing punches in every direction the second someone bothers him. Stiles is managing, but barely, and he’s basically doing it on his own. He’s got Scott, sure, his best friend since kindergarten with absolutely zero clue how to parade a pack of rowdy werewolves. And he’s got Isaac, who couldn’t corral a flock of sheep if his life depended on it never mind his pack of furries.

But they both do their best, and that’s all Stiles can ask for. He’s got no idea what he’s doing (in life, but also when it comes to being a surrogate Alpha), and he’ll take what help he can get.

It all sounds good and hopeful in the beginning, but when Derek doesn’t come back after 6 months, the pack become weary that he’s actually going to return in the first place. Loyalties are split, half with Stiles and half with trapsing after Derek to South America. Mostly that’s just Peter and Erica, who are unable to sit still for two seconds.

“Nobody’s going anywhere.” Stiles orders, finding his bravery, emitting his power and surrounding both werewolves in an amber hue, keeping them in place. “And that’s final. They’ll come back, we just need to be patient, okay?”

“I’ve been patient. For six months now.” Peter growls back, annoyed, fighting at Stiles’ magic around him. “Let me go. You’re not my Alpha.”

“He’s the closest you’ve got.” Scott offers, because he’s worthy of his best friend title sometimes. Peter does nothing but snarl in response.

“The second I get out of here, Stiles, I’m going to rip your head off.” Erica threatens, wriggling around in her amber prison, fighting against thin air. Stiles holds his ground, just for the hell of it, because seeing Erica get worked up like this is hilarious. Even if he’s being threatened with violence, he’ll deal with that second.

“We have to stay put.” Boyd injects, surprisingly, making everyone pause and look at him, his usual stern silence broken. “He said he’d be back, and I trust him. Stiles is our emissary, and our Alpha’s mate. Derek wouldn’t leave him behind.”

Stiles feels a pang of sadness, followed by anger, because Derek has left him behind, essentially. Left him to deal with his pack alone, as well as juggle looking after his dad and doing his school work. Stiles’ sadness, obviously sensed by the others, is enough to end the argument and the glowing barrier around the pack dissipates. Erica forces out an apology and Peter does nothing but stomp upstairs, barricading himself in the attic of the loft. And, well, he’ll take victory where he can get it.

So, once he’s taken Scott home and paraded Isaac back to his dad’s house, leaving both of them to mingle in the living room, Stiles bolts upstairs and calls Derek.

No answer. Typical.

He dials Cora instead. She picks up after the second ring. “Stiles? Is everything okay?”

“Well, we’re not dead yet. So I guess it’s okay.” Stiles huffs back, collapsing onto his bed and staring at the ceiling. “I just had to wrestle Erica and Peter from coming down there after you two. Not exactly my favourite evening task, you know. I’m not cut out for this surrogate Alpha stuff, Cora.”

“I think you’re doing a pretty good job.” Cora insists, followed by some shuffling, like she’s ruffling through some paperwork. “Sorry it’s taking so long. I know we said we’d be back after summer, but, well, something came up.”

“Yeah, hunters. You told me.” Stiles scoffs. “Where’s Derek? I tried calling him but he didn’t pick up.”

“He’s here. He lost his phone.” Cora sounds like she’s refraining from laughing, making Stiles curse at his own Alpha’s carelessness. “Just a sec.”

Stiles waits, until eventually Derek’s voice comes over the other side of the line. “I’m sor-”

“Nah, save it.” Stiles interrupts, sitting upright in his bed and rubbing at his eye with his free hand. “Don’t wanna hear it, big guy. How’d you lose your phone?”

“Slipped out of my pocket.” Derek says stiffly, as informative as ever.

“Right. And I guess you didn’t tell me because you were super busy taking a little Alpha holiday, huh?”

Derek doesn’t say anything, making Stiles assume he was about to apologise again but decided to bite his tongue.

“Look, dude,” Stiles starts, waving his hand around even though Derek can’t see him, “it’s hell back here. The pack are getting antsy and there’s only so much an emissary can do. One, I’m not a werewolf, and two, I’m definitely not an Alpha. I can’t do this much longer.”

“Being an Alpha is a big responsibility.” Derek says, like an asshole. “I wouldn’t have left if I didn’t think you could handle it.”

“Well, clearly you thought wrong.” Stiles huffs, losing his resolve somewhere. “Dude, when are you coming back? I’m starting to get headaches.”

“Bad ones?”

“Getting there.”

“Once the coast is clear, we’ll be back.” Derek confirms, and Stiles can hear Cora’s enthusiasm in the background. “You can astral project down here, you know.”

“Nah, I better save my energy. I’m a single mom of six now, didn’t you hear?”

“Lydia?” Derek asks, sounding like he already knows what Stiles is talking about. Stiles mhm’s. “I’m guessing that’s the real reason you called.”

Well, Derek is a mind reader, apparently. So Stiles tells him about Parrish, how Lydia feels drawn to him, how much it’s worrying him, all that. It’s a panic that’s short lived, however, since Derek doesn’t seem concerned in the slightest.

“Banshees are drawn to certain supernatural creatures.”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious.” Stiles snorts, making Derek sigh. “If I could figure out what he is, it’d save me a lot of trouble. So, any ideas?”

“I’ll look into it.” Derek promises. “I have to go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“With your brand new, sparkly cell phone, you mean?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, love you too.” Stiles grumbles back. “But you’re a dick sometimes.”

Derek laughs, then the line disconnects, and Stiles has half a mind to chuck his phone away and go to bed for the night. Instead of wallowing in self-pity, he joins Isaac and his dad downstairs for some much needed bro-time, and forgets about it.

He’ll do his research in the morning.

Researching sucks. Nah, scratch that. Researching sucks balls.

“Well,” Lydia comments sweetly, “you would know.”

Stiles pales, then immediately turns a dark shade of crimson, almost choking on the highlighter lid in his mouth. “And you wouldn’t?”

“Touché.”

Too much information. But whatever, Stiles figures they’re already way past that stage in their friendship. Lydia is basically the female Scott nowadays - minus the fur and the teeth, add some blood-curling screams and a hell of a lot more brain power.

“My dad is asking around.” Allison says from the other side of the table, all of them huddled together inside the university library. Stiles had snuck them in using his key card. “He thinks it’s weird Deputy Parrish isn’t aware of any supernatural abilities he has.”

“He seems normal.” Lydia agrees, looking down at the ancient and tattered bestiary in her hands. “At least on the outside.”

“He’s not normal, believe me. He smells like a week-old barbecue.”

Allison blinks over at Stiles in surprise. “Really?”

“Yep. One Parrish kebab coming up.”

“That’s not funny.” Lydia scolds him, but smiles despite herself. “What does it mean? He’s some kind of fire demon?”

“How ‘bout the devil himself?” Stiles offers, swirling the highlighter lid around in his mouth and rubbing the back of his head. “I wouldn’t be surprised at this point. Sounds like our luck.”

Allison’s face changes dramatically, making the air around them become tense and thick, difficult to breathe in. Lydia picks up on it too, looking up at Allison through her eyelashes. “Maybe not the devil, but…”

Allison doesn’t elaborate, instead pushing her own bestiary across the table towards the other two. Stiles peers down at it, takes one look at the page, and drops the highlighter lid out of his mouth. It clatters against the table and topples off the side, landing at his feet.

“A Hellhound?”

“Those exist?” Lydia gapes.

“Let’s just assume, for all intents and purposes,” Stiles manages, “that everything exists until proven otherwise.”

Allison snatches the bestiary back, scanning the pages with her index finger. “A Harbinger of Death,” she reads, making Stiles’ eyes water, “possesses its host without implicating itself. It can possess its host without the host’s awareness.”

“That’d explain why Parrish is acting completely normal.” Lydia says passively, picking at her thumbnail like she’s nervous. Stiles watches the movement, feeling his tattoo start to shift over his forearm.

“Wait a second, okay. We can’t just label him a Hellhound without confirming it.” Stiles offers, grabbing the book from Allison’s hands and clutching it to his chest, bewildered. “There’s gotta be some way we can test this theory.”

“What, like set him on fire and see what happens?” Allison asks, a little slyly, but Stiles doesn’t hold it against her. She’s been in a piss poor mood ever since coming back from Paris with her dad, and he can totally understand it. Being forced into a hunter training regime must be the worst thing on the planet.

Well, aside from Hellhounds being real.

“No, that’s not what I meant.” Stiles offers, letting Lydia take the book from him. “I meant we could tail him tonight and see where he goes. Hellhounds are only active at night, aren’t they?”

Allison doesn’t look impressed, and to be honest, neither is Stiles, but it’s the best idea he has.

“I’ve got a better idea.” Lydia announces, eyes focused on the book in front of her. “He’s a Harbinger of Death, like me. Maybe that’s why I feel such a connection with him. Maybe he feels the same about me.”

Allison hums in thought. “I guess we could put you in danger.”

Stiles shakes his head rapidly. “Uh, hello? Are you forgetting about your emissary over here? Are you trying to kill me?”

Lydia is on board with the plan. Stiles is very, very not on board with the plan. He fights it until the end, gets dragged kicking and screaming, a mess of gangly limbs and sarcasm, and ends up getting thrown into the mess anyway. Not like he has much choice, since Lydia being in danger is bound to push his super inconvenient magic button sooner or later, so.

Here he is, and here they are, ready to attack Lydia (gently) to see if Parrish comes galloping to her rescue. Or trotting, he doesn’t know what Hellhounds technically do.

Erica and Scott volunteer to tag along, with Erica doing most of the heavy lifting. Stiles suspects she has to let off some steam somewhere, and her outlet just so happens to be Lydia.

“Hey, easy. You don’t need to rip her arm off, dude.” Stiles protests and Erica ties Lydia’s hands behind her back. “They’re basically my arms too, you know. Ease up.”

“It has to seem as real as possible.” Erica huffs, then picks up Lydia like she weighs nothing, throws her over her back, and starts walking.

The chosen location is the prison under the Hale house. Somewhere Stiles didn’t think he’d ever willingly set foot in again, but here he is, standing in a puddle of what looks suspiciously like entrails, arms crossed over his chest, grumbling obscenities and about a thousand better ideas than this one.

Scott pats him on the back soothingly. “It’s gonna be fine, bro. Lydia’s strong and so are you.”

“Thanks for the confidence, really, Scotty.” Stiles manages, watching as Lydia gets thrown onto the cold stone floor with a delicate oof. “But this is a terrible plan. This is even worse than Nadine and Mike’s big hoorah.”

“That’s not even funny.” Erica snaps. Stiles knows it isn’t, but it doesn’t make it any less true.

“Now what?” Allison asks, small and sweet, standing by Scott’s side and clutching at his hand. Her designated spot. “We just wait and see what happens?”

“I guess.” Scott shrugs. Lydia clears her throat and manages to wriggle to a sitting position, looking hassled, her hair out of place.

“I can feel him. He’s coming.”

Everyone collectively almost shits themselves, metaphorically at least, thank god. Stiles bolts behind cover, as close to Lydia as he can get. Scott and Allison hide behind one of the pillars near the doorway, and Erica perches near the top of the stairs. And they wait.

“How’d you know it’s Parrish and not someone else?” Stiles whispers, hisses, hoping Lydia can hear him.

“I just know, Stiles.” Lydia whispers back, eyes on the doorway. “The same way you know when Derek is in danger.”

“I don’t see a sparkly tattoo on your arm.” Stiles protests, and the responding look he gets from Lydia is enough to make him shut his mouth for the foreseeable future.

It’s a terrible plan. It becomes clear just how terrible it is when the temperature in the room suddenly spikes, making them all break out in sweat. An orange glow appears in the door way but it’s not like it’s magic, it’s like fire. It crackles menacingly, raising Stiles’ body temperature and pulse to alarming levels. His tattoo starts pulsating, but he isn’t sure if it’s for Lydia or for himself.

It’s definitely Parrish, or what’s left of him. He’s practically naked, clothes apparently burnt to a crisp and hanging off his body. Seriously, what is this? Bodybuilder Hour? Between him and Derek, there’d be a serious contest. Are there no average-looking supernatural creatures in Beacon Hills apart from Stiles?

What a kick in the balls. As if his self-esteem isn’t already at zero.

Flames surround the deputy like a cyclone, his eyes matching their colour, embers moving alongside him as he steps further into the room. Just as Stiles is about to leap out of cover and shield Lydia – probably solidifying his own demise in the process – Parrish stops and the flames around him dissipate. His eyes land on Lydia and then he’s suddenly picking her up and carrying her out of the room in less than a second.

And, just no.

“Lydia!” Stiles yells, leaping after them, but Parrish doesn’t act like he’s even there, like he’s in some kind of trance.

Scott starts growling and stands in front of the Hellhound, flashing his teeth as Allison raises her bow. Erica stands next to Stiles, glaring. Parrish pauses, realising he’s surrounded, looking like he’s about to turn them all into barbecued kebabs.

“Parrish.” Lydia says quietly, hidden somewhere on his chest. Stiles can’t see her. “Jordan, it’s okay. They’re not going to hurt me.”

Parrish – the Hellhound, shit – growls. It sounds similar to a werewolf, but there’s a weird edge to it, like he’s about to ignite in flames.

“Back off.” Lydia orders. “Everyone back off.”

Scott doesn’t seem convinced, but takes a step back, carting Allison with him. Stiles stands his ground, but Erica side steps away. No way is Stiles backing off right now, not when one of his pack are in danger. If something happens to Lydia, he’d never forgive himself. Derek would never forgive him, which is even worse.

Parrish turns around, Lydia secure in his arms, and stares Stiles down. Stiles is doing a pretty good job of matching his glare, until his eyes start glowing unintentionally. Parrish falters, as if he hadn’t realised what Stiles is, and suddenly the embers in his own eyes are gone, like they were never there to begin with.

Then he’s suddenly Parrish again. Naked and confused.

Hilarious.

He puts Lydia down in shock, realising he’s completely naked and surrounded by a pack of werewolves. “What? What’s going on here?”

Erica, stupidly, laughs. “I think you’re the one who should be telling us that.”

Parrish genuinely looks like he has no idea what she’s talking about. Lydia steps in, holding out her arms for Stiles to untie her. “It’s okay. We had to test a theory, and we were right.”

“What theory?” Parrish asks, watching as Stiles manages to untie Lydia’s wrists without exerting himself. “What’s going on, Stiles?”

“Wish I knew, buddy.” Stiles says honestly, looking over at Scott. “But it kinda looked like you were just on fire, so, like, we were hoping you could tell us.”

“Fire?” Parrish checks himself for burns, finding none, then obviously realises he’s naked and covers himself. “Why am I naked?”

“Again, wish I knew.” Stiles repeats, shrugging out of his sweater and giving it to Parrish. Not that it’ll do much, since it’s about eight sizes too small for him, but it’s all he’s got to offer. “Listen, we better talk, but not here.”

“It’s fine.” Lydia promises, taking Parrish’s free hand. “You’re going to be fine.”

Parrish just looks really confused. And honestly, so does everyone else.

“A Hellhound?”

“Yep. In the flesh. Or in the fire, as it were.”

“Stiles, you better not be joking.”

“Do I sound like I’m joking, dude? I’d never joke about that.” Stiles huffs, clutching his phone to his ear whilst Deaton gives Parrish a once-over. “Stranger things have happened.”

Derek sounds a little stiff on the phone. “How did you find out?”

“Lydia offered herself as bait. A stupid idea, by the way, I was totally against it.”

Lydia shoves him gently on the shoulder. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“Details.” Stiles snorts back, tightening his hold on his phone. “Doesn’t mean it wasn’t stupid.”

“And he doesn’t know?” Derek asks, sounding unsure. It irks Stiles a little, since he’s not used to Derek sounding so vulnerable.

“Nope, he had no idea. To be honest, I think he still doesn’t believe us.”

“You told me I’m a fire monster straight from hell.” Parrish snaps, sitting upright on the examination table whilst Deaton flashes a torch in his eyes. “Excuse me if I’m having trouble wrapping my head around it.”

“You’re surrounded by werewolves.” Scott adds, obviously for emphasis. “It’s totally believable.”

“Speak for yourself.” Lydia snorts, totally not a werewolf.

“Yeah, like a Harbinger of Death is any better.” Scott rolls his eyes, making Allison hide her laugh behind her sleeve.

“Also not a werewolf.” Stiles offers, pointing at himself with his free hand. “An emissary, remember that? Also your stand-in Alpha right now, so quit bickering, you’re all driving me crazy.”

“Yes, mom.” Erica taunts him, sharpening her teeth when Stiles gives her the finger.

“Sounds like you have your hands full.” Derek says over the phone, reminding Stiles that he is, indeed, still there. “We’re going to make the trip back tomorrow.”

“Hallelujah.” Stiles exclaims, making Erica’s eyes light up and Allison clap her hands together. “Took you long enough.”

“I know.” Derek says, still stiff and weird. Stiles doesn’t like it. “We’ll probably be back at the loft tomorrow night. Late.”

“I’ll be there.” Stiles promises, and something about it makes Derek exhale a breath. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“See you tomorrow.” Derek says, then the line disconnects.

Great phone etiquette. Just great.

“Remarkably, you seem perfectly healthy.” Deaton comments once Stiles has tucked his phone back into his jeans, grumbling something about incompetent Alphas.

“I feel fine.” Parrish confirms, rubbing at his bare arms. Luckily Deaton had a spare pair of pants in his office for him, otherwise he’d still be pretty au naturale. “Doc, level with me. Are they telling the truth?”

“You’d believe him over us?” Scott barks. “He’s one of us.”

“Not technically.” Deaton corrects with a sigh. “I’m not a werewolf, nor a member of the pack. I’m a veterinarian.”

“By veterinarian, he means slightly creepy druid.” Stiles corrects, making Deaton shoot him a look.

“Creepy?” Deaton snaps. “I’ll remember that the next time you decide to get lost in an alternate dimension.”

Parrish’s eyes almost bulge out of his head. Stiles waves his hand dismissively, like it’s old news – and it is. It feels like a lifetime ago now. No use in opening up old wounds just for the hell of it.

“But, yes,” Deaton continues, “they are telling the truth, I’m afraid. I haven’t seen it with my own eyes, but I trust Scott with my life.”

Scott beams with pride, making Stiles feel a pang of sympathy for him. Scott’s estranged from his dad, has been for years, since he decided to become a class-A douche working for the FBI. Deaton is like a father figure to him, and Stiles will be forever grateful to him for that.

“How…” Parrish struggles, looking over at Lydia, who offers him a smile. “How do I control it?”

“I’m not sure.” Deaton says, making Stiles scoff.

“Not exactly what he wants to hear, dude.”

“You have a better answer?”

Well, he’s got Stiles there.

“You said you felt drawn to Beacon Hills.” Lydia chirps in, putting her hand on Parrish’s bare arm, then looks over at Deaton. “You said what Stiles did would have consequences, right?”

Deaton hums in thought. “The first time he astral projected, it did something to him. It could have drawn supernatural creatures here.”

“Oh, great. So it’s my fault.” Stiles grunts, making Scott look at him in sympathy. Erica rolls her eyes from the side lines. “You’re telling me I turned him into beast from Hell?”

“Hey.” Parrish complains, making Lydia shush him.

“No, it’s likely he was already a Hellhound before he arrived in Beacon Hills.” Deaton says. “But what you did – when you travelled through astral planes – can attract supernatural creatures if they sense a disturbance in the rifts of reality.”

“In layman’s terms,” Lydia begins, looking at both Stiles and Scott’s confused faces, “you travelled through ghost town, and brought a few phantoms back with you.”

Stiles’ face is doing a pretty good job of conveying how he feels about that. See: pretty shitty.

“It’s not your fault.” Lydia continues, looking at Parrish like he’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. Jackson is like a memory now. “And we’ll deal with it. You’re not alone in this. We’re all together for a reason.”

Parrish, for some reason, looks like he believes her.

“I don’t really think it works like that, I mean, you’ve seen him when he’s transformed.” Scott counters, causing one very confused Sheriff Stilinski to close his mouth. “He’s completely butt naked.”

“That’s not really what I mean.” The Sheriff says bleakly, looking to Stiles for help. Help that he’s nowhere near qualified to give.

“Yep,” Stiles says anyway, putting a gentle hand on his dad’s shoulder and guiding him back down onto his chair, “he totally has no control over it. I mean, if he did, why’d he choose to be naked?”

“To show off the bod’?” Scott offers, a smirk on his face, making Stiles roll his eyes. It had been a mistake to confide in Scott about his lack of self-confidence around supernatural should-be underwear models.

“Parrish has never been one for showing off.” His dad says, mostly to himself, mumbling. “Why would he start now?”

“It’s not the point.” Stiles says firmly. “The point is he has no control over how and when he…shifts. Burns. Bursts into flames?” Stiles looks to Scott. “Help me out here?”

“Flambés.” Scott goes with after a short moment of deliberation. Stiles deadpans, hell, even his dad deadpans. “What? It’s not like I’m an expert. And Deaton isn’t sure what to make of him.”

His dad sighs heavily and rubs at his tired eyes. “I’ve put him on leave until this is sorted out. The station can’t really afford it, he’s one of our best deputies.”

“The station can’t really afford it if he burns the walls down around you.” Stiles says without thinking, then reels himself in. “Not that it’s a possibility – I mean, it is, but also it’s not going to happen. Not whilst he’s with us.”

“You can’t seriously tell me you’re going to watch over him as well?” His dad snaps, looking mad, and totally over the situation. Stiles doesn’t blame him. Scott looks down at his shoes like a kicked puppy, knowing there’s really no arguing with the Sheriff at this point.

“What choice do I have?” Stiles shrugs and tries to keep his cool, putting his hand back on his dad’s shoulder for comfort. It doesn’t work by the look on his dad’s face, but it’s the thought that counts. “And he can’t hurt me. I’m immune.”

“Uh.” Scott interrupts. “We don’t really know what for sure, Stiles.”

“Hey, I beat him in a duel before.”

“A duel?” His dad parrots in disbelief, looking like he’s about to grab both of them by their ears and drag them out of his office.

“More like a staring contest.” Scott explains, making Stiles guffaw. “He got Parrish to put down Lydia. Nothing else worked.”

His dad totally isn’t buying it, but decidedly doesn’t voice his concerns. “How much longer are you going to be in charge?”

Stiles pales immediately, unsure. He hadn’t informed his dad that Derek is coming back, and soon, like, tonight. He didn’t want the scrutiny but now it looks like he’s going to have to face the music.

“Until tonight.” Scott answers for him like an asshole. “Derek and Cora are making the trip back tonight.”

“And you knew.” It isn’t a question.

“Yep.” Stiles says nonchalantly. “Since yesterday. I talked to them.”

“They’re coming back for Parrish?”

Stiles shrugs. Scott shakes his head. “They’re coming back for good.”

“Hallelujah.” His dad says, totally sarcastic and in no way eagerly anticipating the Alpha’s return. Stiles winces before he can stop himself. “I’ll be sure to stop by and have a word with them.”

“Uh, that’s not necessary.” Stiles holds up his hands in defence. “At least not tonight. Tomorrow is fair game.”

His dad does nothing but grumble incoherently, as any father would, and not-so-politely shoos them out of his office. Scott sniffs the air once they get outside, tilting his head sideways like a dog would, one ear in the air like they’ve heard something incompetent human ears can’t.

“Spidey senses are tingling?” Stiles asks, half jokes, jingling his car keys in his hand as they descend the station steps. Scott shoots him a look. “What? ‘Werewolf senses’ just doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

“There’s a storm coming.” Scott tells him once they climb back into his jeep, both collectively exhaling in defeat.

“Is that a metaphor?” Stiles asks as he starts the engine. “Or do you mean a real storm?”

“A real one, at least I hope.” Scott has the audacity to grin, and damnit, it’s contagious. “You’re the psychic here. You tell me.”

“Not psychic.” Stiles reminds him with a tap on the forehead as he reverses out of the parking lot. “And definitely not a weatherman. You think the storm’s got anything to do with the Hellhound?”

“Parrish.” Scott corrects, looking out the window. “I don’t know.  I was kind of thinking it’s because Derek is coming back to Beacon Hills.”

Stiles scoffs, because that’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “Derek doesn’t control the weather. There’s a thing called global warming, you know, look it up.”

“You get cranky when you’re nervous, dude. It’s unbecoming.”

Stiles side-eyes his friend, putting his foot on the gas. “You’ve been hanging out with Lydia, haven’t you?”

“Little bit.”

So that would explain why Scott sounds so wise all of a sudden.

“You’re worried he won’t feel the same?” Scott asks after a long stretch of silence between them, nothing but the noise of the engine and the sound of the tires against the asphalt to ease it. Stiles feels as transparent as glass, letting his silence be his answer. “If it’s anything like it is with me and Allison, he’ll feel the same. Actually, there’s no doubt in my mind, dude. You’re mates.”

“Distance can put a strain on it.” Stiles reminds him, mostly talking to himself, veering right on his way to the loft. The jeep whines in protest, almost giving up on him, just like everything else.

Scott starts shaking his head by the time they pull up to the loft, squinting up at the tall building, watching as it disappears through the clouds. “I miss him too. And I can’t believe I’m saying that out loud right now.”

Stiles’ face alone conveys his disbelief.

Scott’s already out the jeep and stomping off towards the loft before Stiles manages to scramble back to his senses and stumble after him. He manages to catch up to his friend as he ascends the stairs, heavy boots on the metal steps.

“If it comes to it,” Scott adds, seemingly as an afterthought, side-eyeing Stiles strangely, “you can be my emissary. The offer’s always there.”

“I’ll try to remember that.” Stiles says with a grin, smacking Scott on the shoulder and pushing down his deep-seated anxiety about the general situation. And if he stress eats two entire packets of twizzlers once they get inside, well, nobody mentions it.

Everyone gathers at the loft as per Stiles’ orders. Hey, it pays to be acting Alpha sometimes. Even Parrish turns up, even though he’s technically not part of the pack right now. Stiles’ dad isn’t too happy about the recent turn of events, with his best deputy turning out to be another supernatural creature to deal with, but hey, what can you do? This is Beacon Hills. From now on, everyone is suspected to be supernatural until proven otherwise.

It makes life tough, but right now, knowing Derek and Cora are on their way back, makes everything okay. Stiles feels satiated just knowing Derek will be back, knowing he’ll be able to see him and touch him soon. It’s a little pathetic, really, but it’s the consequence of his gift.

“Someone’s chipper.” Erica teases, nudging Stiles with her elbow as she passes, carrying a few books. “How cute are you?”

“Cute enough to make you hit the ceiling if you don’t stop teasing.” Stiles shoots back, making Scott laugh and Isaac roll his eyes.

They’re tidying the loft before Derek gets back. Heaven knows if there’s even one book out of place, all hell will break loose. Well, not like it hasn’t already, since there’s a Hellhound wandering around, following Lydia like a lost puppy, helping them tidy up. A wild night.

“Are you sure Derek will be okay with me being here?” Parrish asks eventually, after hesitating for a good thirty minutes, long enough for Stiles to work himself into a frenzy, wishing he’d just spit it out already. “He doesn’t even know me.”

“He knows enough.” Lydia says, patting Parrish on the back and looking over at Stiles. “But maybe we’ll take it slow.”

“Yeah, maybe you can hide in the kitchen until the reunion is over.” Stiles offers, not really knowing how tonight is going to play out. Sure, Derek knows Parrish is a Hellhound, but he doesn’t know Stiles has basically taken him under his wing for the time being.

Something tells him Derek won’t be very happy about it, but he can dream.

At some point, when it’s almost midnight and the pack are getting weary, Isaac and Scott huddle up on the sofa with Parrish and start filling him in on Pack Business. A term Stiles has coined to protect the pack, and obviously the other betas are completely okay with sharing their deepest, darkest secrets.

“Oh,” Scott beams, pointing at Stiles, who freezes in the middle of the room and looks over, “and Stiles is totally the Alpha mom.”

Stiles chokes and drops the books in his hands. Luckily, when he’s surrounded by werewolves, someone is already catching them in mid-air. Boyd, who starts smirking at Stiles’ embarrassment.

“He’s what?” Parrish asks, bewildered. “I thought he was the emissary.”

“He is, but he’s more than that.” Isaac presses, looking at Stiles fondly. “He’s Derek’s mate.”

Parrish looks like he’s about to wig out. “An Alpha’s mate? And you let me threaten to arrest him all those times?”

“In your defence, you didn’t know.” Stiles offers, letting Boyd finish tidying up and making his way over to the three of them. “Hence why I’m ordering these delinquents around right now. But when Derek’s back, I’m officially off duty.”

“You’re a good Alpha.” Scott confirms, because he can, because he’s honestly the greatest best friend ever.

“Don’t get used to it.” Stiles says back. “And don’t tell Derek you prefer me over him.”

“I’m not stupid.” Scott rolls his eyes, and Stiles is about to come up with some witty retort when his tattoo starts glowing and gets everyone’s attention. It’s showtime.

He herds everyone into the kitchen – which is an arduous task considering the kitchen is relatively small and cramming six people into it isn’t doing it any favours. But he manages, and also manages to scramble back into the main room by the time he hears the door slide open.

You know what they say about love at first sight? Well, despite already being in love, Stiles can understand what the fuss is about. He always thought it was just a corny way of making money out of romcoms, but the second he lays eyes on Derek, after a long and tedious near-seven months, the world feels brighter.

Derek is alone, no Cora behind him to greet Stiles in her patented Hale Headlock or Hale Hair Ruffle, and that suits him just fine. Because Derek looks like he’s just won the lottery.

As far as reunions go, this one is definitely up in the top ten. Maybe the top five. Since Derek pretty much envelopes Stiles in a hug the second he’s close enough, without saying anything, simply inhaling deeply at his neck. Stiles does his best to keep up with this new affection, pawing at Derek’s back and resisting the urge to pat him reassuringly.

“Hey stranger.” Stiles says, half choked up, a slight glow around them. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“I live here.” Derek retorts, trailing his nose along Stiles’ neck and up to his jawline. “And so do you.”

“Sometimes.” Stiles admits, craning his neck to give Derek more access. “Recently more than you do.”

Derek hums thoughtfully, but it’s like Stiles’ jab goes unnoticed when he leans back to look at him. Derek’s eyes flash blue when their eyes meet, and Stiles just about bursts into flames.

Stiles’ face must do a good job of conveying the disgusting devotion and irrevocable love he feels, because Derek smirks, and, really, it’s the best thing since sliced bread. Then there’s kissing and nothing else matters, since Stiles starts glowing a bright orange, enveloping them both in colour.  

Derek’s lips are the same as they always are: tentative, careful, but with hard edges and rough stubble. And heat. It makes Stiles start sweating, wrap his arms around the Alpha’s neck and hold on for his life. And whilst he’s had minimum kissing (absolutely zero) in the past seven months, he figures he still knows what he’s doing, but lets Derek take the lead. It’s time he stepped down as acting Alpha anyway.

By the time Stiles has gotten his hands in Derek’s hair, fisting them and tugging, there’s a few muffled grumbles and shouts coming from the kitchen. When he opens his eyes he realises the entire room is glowing. No, it’s not just glowing, things are levitating. Again.

Boner killer.

And judging from the startled yelps coming from inside the kitchen, he can only assume he’s made the pack start floating too. Derek huffs out a laugh, tightens his hold on Stiles’ waist and presses a wet kiss to his cheek.

“They’ll have to get used to that again.”

Stiles chokes. “I’ll have to get used to that again.”

Not like he’ll ever get used to kissing Derek anyway, since every time their lips meet it’s like it’s the first time again. Like he’s about to crap his pants with nerves and possibly uproot the entire building in the process.

“Stiles!” A shout comes from outside the door, sounding hassled and irritated. Cora.

Derek starts laughing. It’s like music in Stiles’ ears. “She was waiting outside.”

Stiles concentrates, really, really concentrates, and eventually, after pushing Derek away momentarily, everything falls back to the ground. Gravity has been restored.

Cora’s trademark unamused face is truly a sight for sore eyes when she steps inside, dragging a suitcase with her. “Thanks. Like I didn’t just spend enough time in the air on the plane over here.”

“Sorry.” Stiles lies, since he’s not sorry. Definitely not sorry, especially since Derek’s hands are on him again, an arm around his waist, like he’s afraid to let go ever again.

“You two done?” Cora asks, with feeling, dumping her suitcase in the middle of the room and coming closer. “Is it my turn to say hello to Stiles?”

“I’m not a pet, you know.” Stiles grumbles. “You don’t have to take turns.”

Cora rolls her eyes. “You’re his mate, Stiles. I had to wait outside out of courtesy.”

Stiles’ eyes widen and he looks at Derek, half plastered to his side. “Is she serious?”

“Kind of.” Derek says, as informative as ever.

“Come on,” Cora swats at Derek until he lets Stiles go, “it’s my turn.”

As expected, Stiles is in a headlock not two seconds after, getting his hair tousled and ruffled like a kid. He bats at Cora’s hands half-heartedly until she lets go, giving her the finger for his troubles. She smiles and pats him on the shoulder affectionately, and Stiles thinks, yeah, his family is home.

The pack are equally as enthused to see their Alpha. It’s obvious that Derek doesn’t know what to do with their overwhelming appreciation for his return, or with the weird and awkward one armed hugs he’s receiving. Stiles watches it happen with his arms crossed over his chest, finally feeling a sense of relief wash over him. Derek is back, he kept his promise and came back, didn’t leave Stiles behind. He’s back and now Stiles can stop acting like the boss.

Well, in theory. He’s still going to boss the pack around for the hell of it, just to see the look on Erica’s face when he pulls the I’m the Alpha’s mate card.

Even Peter offers Derek a handshake, who takes it suspiciously, but hey, old habits die hard. Peter is still a creep, still a weirdo, but he’s also still part of the pack and that’s what matters in the end.

Parrish is notably absent from the reunion, but no doubt Derek has already sniffed him out, still hiding in the kitchen with Lydia. Stiles rubs the back of his neck nervously, gnawing on his bottom lip, waiting for their entrance. He saunters closer to Derek out of instinct, since he’s the only one who’ll be able to hold him back if shit does, indeed, hit the fan.

Which it tends to do around here. Stiles knows from experience.

“We thought you weren’t ever coming back.” Erica accuses Derek the second she’s able to, watching Stiles as he approaches. “Summer school, my ass.”

“Hey.” Cora protests.

“We had some problems.” Derek defends himself, glancing side-ways as Stiles moves to stand next to him. “But we’re back now.”

“Yeah, I can see that. I have eyes.” Erica huffs, making Scott roll his eyes.

“Then use them.” Scott offers. “Derek, seriously, it’s good to have you back, dude.”

“Traitor.” Stiles snorts. Scott does his world renowned puppy face back at him. “Hey, you’re the one who said I was a better Alpha.”

“You did?” Derek raises an eyebrow, but it’s playful, and Scott starts looking nervous. Isaac steps in.

“We love both our parents equally.” He bargains, smirking.

Peter groans aloud. Stiles shakes his head. Derek looks like he’s really not sure how to respond to that, not sure how to respond to affection, or love of any kind. At least when it comes from someone who isn’t Stiles, respectively. It’s a little sad.

Lydia clearing her throat breaks up the welcoming party pretty quickly. Parrish is standing behind her like he’s her shadow. A 200-lbs shadow, mind you, but still. He’s looking straight at Derek, eyes glowing like he can’t help it, and Stiles feels the threat in his bones. And if he can feel it, he knows Derek definitely can.

“Derek,” Lydia begins somewhat sheepishly, “this is Parrish.”

“Nice to meet you.” Parrish says politely, but the fire in his eyes is a little off putting. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I can’t say the same.” Derek says, and seriously, brutal. Stiles swallows the lump in his throat and stands his ground, listening as Derek starts growling lowly from somewhere deep inside his chest.

“I told you.” Peter shakes his head and crosses his arms, looking at Lydia. “This was a bad idea.”

“Shut up.” Lydia snaps back, making Stiles fight the urge to leap over and high five her. “Derek, it’s fine. Parrish is okay, he knows about us. He knows what we all are.”

Derek doesn’t respond, instead settling for baring his teeth. Not good. Parrish – or the Hellhound inside him – bares its own teeth in response. Definitely not good.

Shit? Meet the fan.

Stiles has about 0.00001 seconds to open his mouth and begin his well-rehearsed and slightly naïve explanation as to why there’s a Hellhound running around the loft without a leash, and why Derek hadn’t been informed, but before he can he’s being manhandled behind Derek’s back, a strong arm pushing him to safety. Derek is reaching back and gripping onto Stiles’ shirt, definitely rumpling it, making Stiles wonder why the hell he even bothers ironing things nowadays.

Not that it’s important. He watches, peers over Derek’s brick wall of a back, about to ask why the hell he’s being protected like a damsel in distress, before Parrish starts growling menacingly. Well, it looks like Parrish, but it’s likely the Hellhound inside him, somewhere burrowed deep and scraping to the surface, sniffing out the threat in the air.

“Hey,” Isaac tries to dilute the intensity with his startled voice, “it’s fine, guys. It doesn’t have to be like this.”

“There’s a time for talking and a time for shutting up.” Peter barks, grabbing Isaac by the arm and dragging him away from the stand-off. He’s probably enjoying the conflict, like an asshole.

“Derek.” Scott says, obviously having absolutely no idea where he’s going with it. Derek’s responding growl is enough to cause the rest of the pack to take a few steps away, letting the chaos unfold before them.

“Derek.” Stiles tries, attempting to wriggle out of his grasp. Derek turns his head to the side and snarls, loud and clear, a direct order. To stay behind him. “Okay, cool. Yep. Forget I said anything.”

Hey, Derek can be absolutely terrifying when he wants to be. This just so happens to be one of those times.

Plus, the Alpha is back, so it’s not like he can argue right now. And being an Alpha’s mate and disobeying him in front of everyone? Not a situation Stiles wants to be in right now. He doesn’t want to divide the pack any further than it already is.

“Jordan.” Lydia tries to get Parrish’s attention, which kind of works since he glances at her, teeth bared and skin glowing. It’s kind of like Stiles’ magic. “You have to relax. This isn’t helping your case.”

“He started it.” Parrish says, voice distorted, making Stiles scoff.

“What are you, twelve?” Stiles complains, not really enjoying the way Derek’s fist tightens around his shirt. “This isn’t the playground, dude. So you can back off if you know what’s good for you.”

Briefly, very briefly, Derek radiates with pride, probably because Stiles is defending him, but as soon as he senses it, it’s gone and replaced with anger. Shit.

“You brought a Hellhound to my home.” Derek growls. Lydia winces. Stiles winces. Hell, everyone winces. Everyone’s guilty.

“Allegedly.” Stiles adds, because he’s an asshole, and immediately regrets it.

“It was my idea.” Lydia injects to defend him, making Derek growl louder. Scott saunters forward, as if he doesn’t know whether to leap in front of Lydia or not. “He needs our help. Did you expect me to leave him to it, maybe burn the town down around us and kill everyone in the process?”

If Stiles could growl, he would have. Poor choice of words, very poor choice of words. Considering Derek and Cora’s hellish background, their family and the fire, Lydia closes her eyes and curses herself.

“Watch your mouth.” Cora snaps, moving forward to stand with Derek, effectively also shielding Stiles from the pending assault.

Derek, surprisingly, doesn’t react, and somehow that makes it worse. Stiles starts getting worked up, agitated, like he’s soaking up all the emotions Derek is feeling but not emoting. His skin starts glowing, illuminating the three of them, like his body is automatically shielding them from the horror.

“I apologise.” Lydia says genuinely, subdued.

Then, on cue – like, seriously, learn to pick your moments, dude – Parrish ignites into flames. The clothes on his back burst into flames and are reduced to ashes at his feet, his body illuminated in an intense fire that matches the one in his eyes. Not good. Definitely not good.

Derek tenses visibly, like he doesn’t know what he’s up against, but Stiles can see it as plain as day. And if Peter’s dramatic, multiple year-long healing process after being almost burned to death is anything to go by, Derek doesn’t stand a chance. And just, nope, not happening.

Derek and Cora, because they’ve both got the equivalent of fifty-two death wishes between them, charge forward to attack, leaving Stiles behind. Which, also nope, not happening. Not again.

So, he does what he does best – tries to diffuse the situation. Unfortunately that means he has to protect Parrish at all costs, because he’s not about to lose someone else. He yells, something like gibberish, mostly because he’s too overwhelmed to form real words, and raises his arms, feeling magic radiate through to his fingertips. Parrish starts glowing, more than before, the flames and the magic around him fighting each other, until eventually he starts levitating.

Cora charges forward, misses, and ends up diving head first into the adjacent wall with a pained groan that hits Stiles right in his chest. But he has to do this, otherwise innocent blood is going to be shed tonight.

Lydia rushes to Stiles’ side in an instant, gripping onto his arm like she’s trying to help, tears in her eyes like she’s thankful for his aid. Scott appears at his other side, like he’s afraid Stiles might disappear again, gripping onto his other arm. And, seriously, best friends ever.

The others watched with their mouths open, watch as Parrish floats aimlessly in the air, now close to the ceiling, like a levitating bonfire, thrashing around and growling.

Derek? Well, Derek is glaring. No, he’s shooting daggers. At Stiles.

“Put him down.” He orders, no arguing, Alpha voice in full effect. “Now.”

“No.” Stiles says, a little hazy, keeping his focus on Parrish in the air. “He’s here to help, not to engage in this pissing contest with you.”

Derek looks like he’s been betrayed. “He’s a Hellhound, not a friend. He can’t help us.”

“You don’t know that.” Scott says, then winces when Derek growls at him. “He can’t control it. He’s just like us.”

“Cora threatened me. It set him off.” Lydia adds, her small and petite voice sounding really quiet amidst the panic in the room.

“And your attitude isn’t helping.” Stiles finishes, knowing he has to take this one home, knowing that it’ll probably hurt Derek in the process, but needs must. “Look, I know he isn’t exactly screaming perfect ally material right now, but trust me, Derek. He’s on our side. He needs our help just like we could use his.”

“I’m not trusting a Hellhound.” Derek looks feral. It’s a look Stiles isn’t used to, one he isn’t keen on seeing ever again. “Put him down.”

“Pretty sure I already said no.” Stiles barks back, watching as the flames around Parrish dissipate in the air, until he’s just a confused and levitating naked dude. Which would be hilarious any other time. “Look, he’s cool. You can chill out.”

The noise that comes out of Derek’s mouth can only be described as a roar. But not you’re run of the mill, werewolf roar, no, an Alpha roar. Stiles has only heard it once before, and it’s still as deafening as the first time. Still as hurtful. Still as menacing. But still not enough to make Stiles obey – the perks of being an emissary.

Scott and the others, however, immediately take a step back, subdued. Scott kicks the ground at his feet, looking over at Stiles pleadingly, like he’s trying to apologise. But Stiles gets it. Lydia is still by his side, unfazed, watching Parrish with worried eyes.

“Put,” Derek snarls, moving close to Stiles, “him down.”

Stiles closes his eyes, thinks about it, then opens them again, making them glow orange. Derek’s eyebrow twitches. “Fine, have it your way.”

Parrish drops to the ground with a pained grunt and Lydia rushes to his side instantly, dropping her hold of Stiles’ arm. Derek hesitates for a split second, watching, and it’s long enough for Stiles to shield Parrish, illuminating him and Lydia, protecting them.

Cora stumbles forward, pieces of dry wall in her hair, looking tired and frustrated. She rolls her eyes at Stiles and shakes her head, obviously having given up. She’s always been the easier Hale, respectively, but Derek…well, Derek is complicated. And stubborn. And kind of an asshole when he wants to be.

See: right now.

Except he kind of looks like he’s about to start ripping out jugulars left and right. “Stiles.”

“Derek.” Stiles challenges, fighting against himself and his instincts, hating the conflict between them. “I won’t let you hurt him.”

“He’ll hurt us. Don’t you know what a Hellhound is capable of?”

“Obviously I do. You know me, I wouldn’t go into this without knowing all the facts.”

“Clearly you overlooked the fact that you’ve put the entire pack in danger.” Derek spits, making Stiles want to start crying. Thankfully, saving his dignity, he manages not to.

“Funny you say that, considering my spidey senses ain’t tingling.” Stiles waves his arm at Derek for emphasis. “See? No danger here. The only danger is you.”

“Spidey senses?” Scott asks, because that’s just who he is. Can never pick his moments.

“Everyone out.” Derek barks, obviously had enough. Stiles has overruled him  - with good reason, he hopes – and it’s probably a kick in the balls. “Now.”

No one argues. Scott lends Parrish a hoodie so he can maintain some dignity on the walk back to the car. Stiles puts the keys to his jeep in Scott’s hand as he leaves.

“You’re not coming?” Scott’s brow furrows, taking the keys. Stiles glances back and looks at Derek, who’s staring broodily out the window, Cora by his side.

“No, I’d better stay. Damage control.”

Scott nods like he understands, and obviously wants to stay too, but doesn’t voice it. He tugs Erica along with Boyd following closely behind, both of them looking like kicked puppies. Derek really knows how to make a reunion memorable, for all the wrong reasons.

“I’ll take Parrish home.” Lydia tells him, the last one to leave, looking at him with wide eyes. Isaac is standing with her, looking just as lost. “Thank you.”

“Take Isaac back to my dad’s place. We’ll talk about it.” Stiles promises, then waves them away, closing the door behind them.

“I said everyone out.” Derek grumbles, not bothering to turn around. Duh, like Stiles hadn’t heard him, he’s just choosing to ignore it.

“Not the best welcoming party I’ve ever had, I gotta be honest.” Cora offers, moving away from Derek and walking towards Stiles. They meet in the middle of the loft, and Stiles isn’t sure if they’re about to engage in a duel or have a cuddle. It’s hard to tell. All Hale’s are difficult to read. “But it’s definitely in the top ten.”

A cuddle, then. Definitely. Stiles offers a lopsided smile and gives her a one-armed hug, watching as Derek sighs heavily from the window.

“Good to see you.” Cora offers once they’ve parted. “But we need to talk about this. I don’t like it.”

“Believe me, neither do I. But what was I supposed to do?” Stiles asks, talking with his hands.

“Not invite him into the pack without consulting me.” Derek states stiffly, making no movement. Cora rolls her eyes.

“As much as it pains me to admit, he’s right, Stiles. What were you thinking?”

“Excuse me for never encountering a Hellhound before.” Stiles complains. “And I’m not an Alpha, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I wouldn’t have had to make decisions like this if you’d have just come back when you were supposed to.”

“We came as soon as we could.” Cora states, as informative as her brother. Suddenly, she smirks and says, “So, you can just make people levitate on cue now?”

Stiles blinks, then catches up with the change in atmosphere. “Yep, I’m a menace. So don’t test me unless you wanna be hitting the ceiling.”

“How many times have you said that in the past seven months?”

“At least two hundred.” Stiles shrugs, grinning when Cora laughs. “Mostly to Erica, you know how she is. It’s been working, though, right? Nobody died.”

“Yet.” Derek adds moodily. Cora gestures with her head for Stiles to deal with it, before grabbing her suitcase and hauling it to another room, intent on unpacking and forgetting about this stupid day.

Stiles sucks in a deep breath and saunters forward, standing next to Derek at the window, peering down at the pack still herding Parrish into their cars. He watches as Scott slams the door of Betty – his beloved jeep – and curses under his breath. He swears he sees Derek smirk in his peripheral.

“It’s not funny.” He complains. “She’s been through too much to get taken out by a werewolf’s inability to be gentle.”

Derek doesn’t say anything, expectedly, but it still makes Stiles backpedal considerably. “Uh, I mean, I should say Scott’s inability to be gentle. That’s not to say that all werewolves can’t be gentle. Because they can – they definitely can, you’re, uh, evidence of that. I mean, yeah. I don’t know where I’m going with this.”

“You haven’t changed.” Derek says strangely, making Stiles glance at him with a raised brow.

“You expected me to?”

Derek shakes his head. “No, you’re still just as annoying as you were.”

Well, gee. Feeling the love.

“Yeah, well, love you too, dude.” Stiles scoffs, spinning his body around to face Derek, who’s doing a pretty good impression of a talking statue. A talking Greek god statue, carved out of marble.

Shit, Stiles, focus.

“Look, Derek, I know you gave us an order and I was just, well, me, and didn’t let you tell me what to do. But you’re just gonna have to trust me on this, Parrish needs our help. And if the hunters ever come back, it can’t hurt to have a beast from hell on our side, can it?”

“He’s a liability if he can’t control the shift.” Derek offers, which is totally a fair point. “You know how to train a Hellhound?”

“Well, ah,” Stiles stammers, “no?”

“I don’t either.”

“We’ll figure something out. We always do.” Stiles promises, wanting nothing more than to reach out and touch Derek’s arm, but doesn’t. He doesn’t want to push his luck. “Besides, he’s got Lydia. She seems to be doing a pretty good job of ordering him around.”

“I’ll talk to Deaton tomorrow, let him know we’re back.” Derek says. “See what he can tell me.”

Derek and Deaton have been on…speaking terms, if that’s anything to call it. Being that Derek doesn’t want to rip out his throat anymore for endangering Stiles, and Deaton is more than happy to oblige if it means he’ll be able to help. It’s a weird alliance, if he can even call it an alliance at all.

“You know,” Stiles begins, rocking back and forth on his heels, intent on clearing the air if it kills him, “I really didn’t think you’d ever come back.”

It works. Derek turns his head to look at him, obviously listening to his heart for a lie, but there isn’t one.

“I had my doubts, you know?” Stiles continues, looking back out the window, watching his jeep’s tail lights in the distance. “When you stopped calling. I thought you’d left me behind, got tired of all the drama of Beacon Hills and just…tapped out.”

“You think I’d do that?” Derek asks, his previous anger gone and replaced with something similar to sadness. It’s more like heartbreak, like he’s being torn open. But Stiles has to say it, has to get it off his chest.

“I didn’t, until you stopped calling. What happened to your phone?”

Derek’s brow furrows. “I told you I lost it.”

“You’re a werewolf. How do you lose anything?” Stiles asks, like genuinely asks. Surely they’d be able to sniff out any of their belongings in a moment’s notice.

“I just did.”

Great explanation.

“Okay, dude, whatever.” Stiles is doing a pretty good job of storming off before Derek has a hand around his wrist to stop him.

“I’d never leave you behind, Stiles.” Derek promises, forcing Stiles’ resolve to crumble at the raw honesty in his voice. “I’ve put you through a lot, and I know that. But I’d never leave you behind.”

“Seven months is a long time.” Stiles says slowly, hoping Derek will understand what he’s getting at. He doesn’t even wanna say it, can’t believe it, isn’t even sure if it’s possible for Derek not to want him anymore. But he has to be sure.

Derek’s eyes flash red, glowing before him, startling him. “Nothing has changed for me.”

Stiles swallows audibly. “Nothing has changed for me either.”

If anything, Derek is even more protective of Stiles now than he ever was. Maybe it’s all the time they’ve spent apart, maybe it’s something else, but right now he doesn’t care. Derek looks at him like he’s everything to him, like he’s being nourished by the very sight of him, and that’s enough to know that everything’s still the same.

Derek just sucks at relationships, that’s a given.

Which is fine, because Stiles sucks just as much. Maybe more.

Derek pulls him closer by his grip on Stiles’ wrist, searching his eyes for an answer, or maybe for permission. Stiles doesn’t know how to tell him he’ll never need permission for anything like this.

“Stay.” Derek says lowly, leaning in, their lips hovering inches apart. Stiles manages a choked chuckle.

“Couldn’t go anywhere if I tried.”

Derek’s smirk is worth it, then he closes the distance between them and normality is restored. A warped, twisted normality with werewolves and hellhounds, but normality nonetheless. It’s hard to focus on those things when Derek’s tongue is in his mouth, it’s hard to focus on anything.

It’s not long before Stiles starts glowing, starts causing the dining table to levitate, encompassing them in an orange hue. And, gee, like that one isn’t getting old. Derek doesn’t seem to mind, in fact, it seems like it turns him on. And, totally cool with that. It’s handy being magic sometimes.

“Still can’t make me levitate?” Derek asks, voice rough and low, as he breaks their kiss to bite at Stiles’ jaw. Stiles squirms and closes his eyes, wishing he had the strength to make Derek hit the ceiling just to win the argument.

“The night is still young.” Stiles offers instead, knowing he in no way, shape, or form has the ability to do that to Derek. Emissary rules and all that. Maybe mate rules too, but whatever. He’ll figure it out sometime, but no time soon, since Derek’s lips are on his again and it’s not really important anymore.

By the time Stiles stumbles backwards into Derek’s bedroom, almost collapsing and falling back, making Derek steady him with a strong arm around his waist, he’s already panting.

“Good to see your coordination is as great as always.” Derek remarks with a laugh, a little breathless, with a look on his face like he wants to devour Stiles.

“Good to see your sense of humour is still present in the most inappropriate situations.” Stiles shoots back, then ends up landing back on the mattress with an ‘oof’. Derek looks rabid, but there’s a hint of a smirk on his lips as he tosses his shirt to the floor, revealing the most unfair body on the planet. Seriously, what’s with that? And here Stiles is, laying shirtless, looking nowhere near as good as Derek does.

Maybe he really should start hitting the gym.

But looks can be deceiving, right? Sure, he’s skinny, but he’s also magic, so, ha! And Derek? Well, he might look like the incredible hulk on steroids, but inside he can be a total teddy bear. Sometimes.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before.” Derek muses, like he’s a mind reader, like Stiles is transparent. He manages to wipe the drool from his mouth before Derek hovers over him, eyes glowing as he lowers himself down and captures Stiles’ lips again.

Not a bad way to go, smothered by Derek. Stiles thinks he’ll put it on his tombstone.

Derek bites down hard on his bottom lip, so hard Stiles is convinced there must be blood. He squirms all the same, reduced to a panting, sweaty mess against the sheets. By the time he’s back to his senses, Derek has done a pretty good job of undressing both of them – in record time, he might add. A seven month dry spell has done a number on both of them obviously.

Not like Stiles is complaining. Not at all.

“Want you.” Derek grunts, half present, half wolfed out. Stiles can’t do anything but nod shakily and let Derek take whatever he wants. His tattoo shifts, spreading over both of them, forcing him to close his eyes and try to control himself.

It doesn’t work so well, since Derek seems intent on trailing wet, sloppy kisses down his abdomen, nudging his thighs apart with his shoulders, then all self-control flies out the window.

Derek growls lowly, totally hot and menacing, then wraps his mouth around him, head bobbing up and down. Stiles’ hips buck on their own accord, like he could ever forget the sensation. He covers his eyes with his forearm to hide his embarrassment, bucking his hips without thinking about it. And he’s all for this reunion sex – if he can call it that – but he ruins it by coming in, like, two seconds. Hey, he hasn’t had any action in seven months.

Derek doesn’t seem to mind, holding Stiles’ hips in place as he rides it out. His eyes look savage, but Stiles has only a second to register it before Derek’s lips are on his again. He musters up the courage to return the favour – with his hand at least, he doesn’t think he’d be very good at the other thing. At least not as good as Derek is.

He feels like he doesn’t know if he’s doing it right, despite having done it a hundred times before, but the quiet, breathy noises Derek is making against his lips are enough to keep trying. Derek bites down hard at Stiles’ jaw, spilling onto his abdomen, making him see stars.

He doesn’t have much time to bask in the afterglow before Derek starts snuffling him (a term coined by Stiles, respectively). The Alpha sniffs at the base of his neck, running his nose along the freckled skin there and hums quietly to himself when he’s happy about something. No doubt Stiles is excreting a shit ton of sex hormones right now, or maybe a whole lot of romantic ones.

Do romantic hormones exist? Hell if he knows.

“I forgot about this part,” Stiles comments absently, a little breathless, making Derek halt his movements, “woah, hey. Not complaining.”

Derek resumes his snuffling, nosing along Stiles’ collarbone intently, his breath tickling the freckles skin there. It’d be cute if Stiles wasn’t feel hot and sticky, but whatever.

“You smell different.” Derek hums, sounding like he’s talking to no one in particular.

“I had a shower about, uh,” Stiles tries to do the math in his head and fails miserably, “some hours ago. I put deodorant on and everything. Special occasions and all that.”

Derek pulls away, rolling off the bed and disappearing into the bathroom. He re-emerges with something to clean Stiles off with. “That’s not what I meant.”

Stiles appreciates it all the same, letting Derek clean his stomach. “What do you mean?”

Derek doesn’t respond until he’s laid back down next to Stiles, pulls him onto his chest and sighs. “It’s a werewolf thing.”

“Derek, I swear to god, you and your werewolf things,” Stiles uses air quotations, with feeling, “are going to drive me crazy sometime. And not in the good way.”

“There’s a good way?”

Stiles bites him on the shoulder.

Derek huffs out a laugh, his breath tickling the hairs on top of Stiles’ head. “Your scent has changed.”

Oh. Well, that makes sense. “You haven’t been around for a while, what’d you expect?”

Derek sighs again, long and heavy. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Stiles leans away and props himself up on one elbow, wriggling out of Derek’s grasp to look at him. “It’ll change back. Unless you’re planning on leaving again, which would be the worst decision you’ve ever made, by the way. Apart from, well, lying about my impending kidnapping and torture, but let’s not get into that.”

Derek stares gloomily up at the ceiling. “I’m not leaving, okay? Not again.”

“Time will tell.” So maybe Stiles is a little bitter, but just a little. Derek grumbles and pulls him back down onto his chest, exhaling a soft breath into his hair. And just like that, Stiles’ resolve crumbles. Derek has a hold over him he can’t understand, can’t explain, one that’ll sure as hell be the death of him one day. But not today, and not tonight, not whilst Derek is here with him. That’s really all that matters now.

Well, that, and the fact there’ll soon be a pantry stocked to the brim with apologies (twizzlers).

tbc