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1
It crept up on Derek slowly, insidiously.
One second he was watching Stiles, legs splayed out in front of him, pen dangling from his lips as he stared at his computer screen, and in the next he was thinking how easy it would be to pull Stiles onto the bed with him. Derek couldn’t concentrate on the book in his hands until he made Stiles’ freshly washed sheets smell like both of them again. The thought brought him up short. That wasn’t what this was supposed to be.
“I have to go,” he said, snapping the heavy book shut and pushing himself off the bed abruptly.
Stiles glanced back at him. “Cool, dude,” he said around his pen. “I’ll text you if I find anything useful about harpies. Can you leave the encyclopedia? I’ll get it back to you.”
“Okay,” Derek said and awkwardly added, “Thanks,” before he ducked out the window and down the fire escape. He hated walking through the dorms. The college had repurposed old apartment buildings, gutted them, but kept the external design the same, so Derek always came and went that way. There was no one else outside as he made his way down the rickety steps, just stray cigarette butts on the landing, and he told himself that this would be the last time that he showed up here without a clear purpose. Maybe he’d never show up here at all, just have Stiles come meet him with the rest of the pack.
And that’s just what he did, and Stiles kept his distance too. Never asked, never pushed, like maybe it hadn’t mattered to him at all.
*~*
“You never smell like your friend anymore,” Peter said, a few weeks later, voice dripping with faux sympathy. “If you’re not going to play with him—“
Derek snarled until Peter left the loft, hands raised in surrender but still smirking.
Derek stared down at his hands, claws still extended as he steadied his breathing.
It wasn’t Peter he was angry with, not really. The simple truth was that Derek missed Stiles more than he’d anticipated.
Part of him, a part he buried down as far as he could push it, wanted Stiles to confront him. To back Derek into a corner. To hold him down and make him stay and push and push and push until Derek believed that he could say yes. He wanted to climb Stiles’ fire escape at any time of day for no reason at all other than to see him.
Despite Derek’s best efforts, those secret desires were still enough to put Stiles in harm’s way.
2
Derek met Jennifer in the Preserve. The pack had split up to patrol, trying to prevent any further sacrifices. Erica and Isaac had headed north, Scott and Boyd had gone south, and Derek was cutting a path east to west through the center.
He smelled her blood before he saw her in the clearing.
She was tied to one of the trees, in the same position as the sacrifices before her. Her head was bleeding, but Derek could hear the sound of her heartbeat; she was still alive. Derek moved closer, and that was when he heard a piercing cry from behind him. Not quite a howl but close. The sound made the hairs on the back of Derek’s neck rise, and he turned around in time to see a creature come crashing out of the darkness and into the clearing.
It was a hideous, unrecognizable thing. It stood nine feet tall, body pitch black. Long, inky-black claws extended from its hands, bigger than Derek’s or any werewolves’ he’d seen, even in the alpha shift. Derek howled for his pack, though he knew it might be too late by the time they arrived.
The creature fought ferociously, moving faster than Derek thought its frame would allow, though not quite as fast as Derek. Still, it landed deep, painful blows across his body.
Derek stayed light on his feet, trying to dodge the claws where he could, waiting for an opening. When that opening finally came, the creature lifting both its spindly arms at once, Derek lunged.
With a roar, Derek slashed into the beast’s black belly, dragging his claws upwards and through its chest, and it staggered back in pain, making an eerie braying sound. No blood spilled from it, and Derek watched in baffled horror as it dissolved before his eyes, body disintegrating into ash.
The woman’s screams reached his ears again, cutting through his confusion. With one final look at what was once the creature, he turned and ran towards the woman.
He cut away the ropes on her body with his claws, and she watched with wide eyes that he’d believed were a mix of fascination and maybe wonder, only a tiny bit of fear. Something in her eyes reminded him of Stiles. Maybe that fleeting observation, the flutter of Derek’s heart, was all it took for her magic to take an interest. To find an opening, a weakness, within him that it could exploit.
“I just wanted to explore the Preserve. I came this afternoon and then—and then I don’t remember anything else.” The dark-haired woman fluttered her hands, the rope burns on her wrists blackened shadows in the night. One hand landed on Derek’s injured arm, pain quickly replaced by a soothing sensation that crept across his body. The memory of that soothing sensation would later keep Derek awake at night, but for now, it was a balm on his injuries. “Thank you,” she whispered.
The pack showed up then, and Erica and Isaac recognized her. Professor Blake. Oh, no, call me Jennifer when you’re saving my life, she’d said with a weak laugh.
They made sure she made it out of the Preserve, back to her car, and she’d dazedly thanked them all. Her eyes lingered on Derek, and she’d shyly run forward, wrapped her arms around him, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.
He felt the imprint of her lips there all night, and the next day he’d gone to see her. To make sure she was alright.
*~*
She never fucked him. At least there was that. He’d thought it was nice, that she wasn’t just using him for his body. But of course, she was—for the strength and protection the alpha of the pack could offer. The connections to the Nemeton that, at the time, he hadn’t even been fully aware of.
They’d all liked Jennifer, trusted her, until it was almost too late. A good professor, a kind person, dragged into this mess against her will the same way the pack had been. Derek hung around campus more, made sure that she was safe, made sure no one came back to try to sacrifice her again.
“She’s an awesome professor. It’s nice you’re looking after her,” Stiles had said, a tightness around his eyes when he’d run into Derek outside of the English building. “I’ll see you at the next regroup.” As he walked away Derek felt a brief, sharp tug of something towards him. As if something was trapped inside of him, yearning to get out, to run down the quad chasing after Stiles. But the feeling was gone before he could think too hard about it.
It wasn’t until Jennifer took Stiles’ father, pushed Stiles to the edge, that Derek’s true anchor was able to set him free.
3
When Stiles showed up at Derek’s door, ushering in a wave of summer heat and the overpowering smell of whiskey, Derek felt oddly hopeful.
Stiles came to him, sought his alpha out, and Derek cared for him as best he could. Hoping that Stiles would—that he would tell Derek that he wanted just as much as Derek did. That he’d give Derek every reason to go against his better judgment and say yes to Stiles if he asked.
But Stiles was mulish and irritable. He may have smelled like whiskey, slurred his words a little, but he seemed fully aware of what he was saying. “It was shitty, and it sucked,” Stiles said, rubbing a hand over his face from where he was sprawled out on Derek’s mattress, sneaker-clad feet scuffing against the cracked linoleum floor. Derek tried not to think how he’d once blown Stiles there, in the same exact position.
“What,” Derek said blankly.
“You not wanting to be with me sucked. What happened with Jennifer sucked.” Derek’s head jerked up. “This whole year has been a nonstop suckfest, Derek. I need next year to not be such a suckfest.” Stiles’ voice went muffled as he rubbed his hands over his face.
“Stiles—“ he tried, feeling like he was being slowly gutted. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know—You never said anything.”
Derek was still searching for more words that could fix this when Stiles shook his head. “I got over it. You’re still my friend, Derek. And pack. Alpha my alpha.” Stiles lifted his head and gave Derek a considering look. “You know I’d be down to fuck around again and have fun with you. I miss that. We had some really good times. Possibly the only good kind of suckfest.”
Derek winced. He’d made many missteps this past year, and this couldn’t be another one of them. Stiles would be his emissary, Derek would be his alpha. Friends, pack. But if Derek never let this wound heal, none of those things would be possible.
He forced himself to meet Stiles’ eyes, to keep his voice quiet and steady. “I don’t want that, Stiles.”
They were silent for a long time. It was hard for Derek to identify what Stiles was feeling—the same frustrated scent had mixed with the whiskey this whole time. Stiles licked his lips and said finally. “Okay, well can we at least go buy some Advil instead? I want to look badass showing up at CVS in the Camaro.”
Derek ignored Stiles’ badgering and went alone, quickly realizing he was grateful for the excuse to leave the depot, to run.
4
Derek’s hands shook as he held Stiles close and marked him up. All of Derek’s instincts screamed at him to claim, to cherish. All of Derek’s carefully built walls crumbled as the bond between them took shape.
Since the moment Derek had realized that Stiles was his anchor, the moment all the trust and love came flooding back to him when Stiles had broken Jennifer’s spell, Derek knew he’d never be able to hide the depth of his feelings from himself again. But now, after the ritual, he didn’t know how he’d be able to hide it from Stiles either.
When Stiles asked Derek to fuck him, he couldn’t say no. Couldn’t help himself. Couldn’t keep his knot from forming for Stiles. Couldn’t find a way to admit to Stiles that even if the bond and magic between them somehow saved the pack, he knew it would condemn them both.
Derek held Stiles while he slept, too focused on his intoxicating scent and the warm weight of him in Derek’s arms to fall asleep.
Stiles didn’t remember their conversation from the summer, and Derek felt foolish, frustrated.
Stiles still wasn’t interested in being with Derek, and even if Derek could find a way to win back Stiles’ heart, he didn’t deserve it. His heart always seemed to lead to destruction, danger.
But despite knowing this, he’d still asked Stiles to be his emissary. He’d still started repairing his family’s home and building a place within it just for Stiles. Picking out all the things he thought Stiles might need. Derek sat in the room sometimes, imagining it finished, imagining Stiles there.
After Derek’s knot went down, he slipped out of bed and returned to the ruins of his house, to that room. Even miles away, he could already feel the bond, new as it was, tugging him back towards Stiles. If he didn’t already, and if they survived Deucalion and his pack, soon enough Stiles would feel the inescapable weight of the bond holding him down too.
He hoped they hadn’t made a mistake, hoped that it would all be worth it in the end, that Stiles wouldn’t grow to resent him.
Derek watched the sun rise from the sole, small window at the very top of the room, a strip of sky going from black to pink to pale blue.
*~*
Derek’s pack was young, and even though he was a young, inexperienced alpha too, being a born werewolf who’d grown up in a pack meant he could more readily recognize the push and pull of different pack bonds. Though in some ways he was still adjusting to the way it felt to be the alpha, to be part of a pack he hadn’t grown up with, he was getting better at intuiting what was needed from him.
After Boyd and Erica’s rescue, he knew his pack needed him around until they were settled together in the loft and finally falling asleep, soothed by one another’s presence. He could feel each individual pull towards him, their alpha.
But his bond with Stiles was louder and more urgent than the rest. He’d never had a pack bond like the one he shared with Stiles, didn’t have an exact comparison, but he understood enough about his instincts to recognize the aching, endless need inside of him to be near to Stiles more than anyone else. To hold him close, scent him. To affirm to one another they were safe.
That night when Stiles gave Derek his knot, Derek thought his hope might choke him.
But Derek already knew that Stiles cared about him. That even if he could fuck Derek, feel close enough to knot him, it didn’t mean anything had changed between them. It was Derek’s intent, his own desires, that had given Stiles that ability in the first place.
Derek knew he needed to talk to Stiles. To get everything out in the open since Stiles would probably be about to deduce it through the bond soon enough. Derek just needed to figure out what to say. The right sequence of words that would preserve the relationship they already had. The one Derek held so dear.
*~*
Stiles came to him before Derek had a chance to figure out how to do it himself. Fear and longing like a vice grip on him.
But Derek made himself speak, a year’s worth of words and pain and want pouring out of him. Until.
I love you too, you idiot.
5
Two years later
“Okay, you,” Stiles said, grabbing Derek’s bicep and tugging him towards his work desk. It was covered with pages and pages of notes and recipes and a color-coded post-it note system Derek was still wrapping his head around. “You’re on hot magician’s assistant duty.”
Warm light filled the room from the sconce lights Derek had installed all along the walls. Derek dutifully took up his usual mantle between the desk and the wall of shelves. Stiles said Derek’s presence made his magic stronger, though Derek often accused him of being too lazy to grab his own ingredients off the shelves. He suspected the truth lay somewhere between, mostly because when Stiles was working his magic, channeling his intent, Derek could feel it now too. A focussed tension thrumming through his body, his own power swelling up in response.
Stiles hummed something tuneless to himself as he got to work, asking Derek to pass him things here and there, and Derek did. Stiles poured a red oil over a medley of herbs and then used a cheesecloth to strain out the liquid over a ceramic bowl. A foul, sour smell filled the air and Derek winced.
“It’s times like these I really wish you hadn’t shared your super smell senses with me,” Stiles said, flashing a quick grin at him.
Derek scoffed. He reached into his pocket for his phone. “Pack’s on their way over. Lydia, Allison, and Cora are going to keep an eye on the situation.”
“Okay, I’m almost done here.” He poked his tongue at the corner of his mouth as he moved the liquid into a slim beaker, corked it, and shook it furiously.
“What was in the oil,” Derek asked, the smell still lingering in the air.
“Corpse flower and some of your blood and mine to represent our territory. The corpse flower’s to help control the flow of her energy. The whole, you know, curse-y part of this.”
“And you’re sure this isn’t dark magic?” Derek gave Stiles a skeptical look.
“Grey area,” Stiles said. “Our intent is to neutralize, not destroy or strip her of her powers completely. The bad shit Evil Donut Witch The Second has put out there is going to come back to bite her in the ass, and maybe this is part of it?”
“The balance,” Derek said wryly.
“Our favorite word. Hey, do you think I could get powerful enough one day that I could enchant all the furniture to basically be Peewee’s Playhouse? Then every time we say the ‘b’ word every enchanted, inanimate object in the house will go nuts.”
“That’s a good use of your time and energy and I definitely wouldn’t search for a way to break our bond and never speak to you again.”
“Oh, good. Well, if there’s no downside to the plan then.”
*~*
The pack was gathered in Derek and Stiles’ living room as they went over the plan.
“We’re going to trap the second donut witch—“ Stiles started.
“And force her to be our donut slave,” Isaac finished. “Like we should have done last time.”
Stiles’ mouth stayed open. “Actually, I dig that plan. New plan, Derek?”
“No. We’re trapping the don—the witch, and we’re going to curse her.”
Scott furrowed his brow. “I’m confused. We’re going to curse her into making donuts for us?”
Erica said, “Dumbass, we won’t need her to do that once we run her out of town and the regular donut shop guy comes back. The donut witch never even puts the hot sign up! Why would you want her making our donuts?”
“That’s a good point,” Scott admitted.
“Are we even sure the regular donut shop guy is alive?” Boyd asked, shooting Erica a skeptical look. “We never actually tracked him down.”
“Lydia would have screamed if he was dead,” Jackson said. Then he paused and looked at Stiles. “Right?”
Stiles considered this. “I think so? She’s led us to dead bodies before.”
“She was at mine and Erica’s a couple days ago trying to listen to radio frequencies or see if she could pick up on anything, and there was nothing,” Boyd said with a shrug. He and Erica lived in an apartment block down the street from what was actually a bakery; the pack referred to it as ‘the donut shop’ thanks to Stiles’ influence and it had become something of a pack symbol and ritual. Derek was concerned at the lengths Stiles might go to in order to save the shop. Again. (“It’s not the donut shop’s fault that it was built right on top of one of the telluric currents and keeps getting into trouble, Derek.”)
Derek put both of his hands down on the table with enough force to get everyone’s attention but not enough force to do any damage—he’d learned that lesson the hard way, particularly as he’d adjusted to the strength his bond with Stiles’ had given him, the strength that had continued to grow over time. “We’re cursing the witch so that while she’s within the boundaries of our territory she won’t be able to use magic. Once she leaves, she’ll get her powers back. That’s her incentive to leave.”
“I would really like to circle back to the donut slave idea before we commit to that plan, Derek,” Stiles said.
*~*
The house smelled like cinnamon and sugar for the next week and a half, and Stiles declared he’d never take the donuts for granted again. Never let another witch get between him and his confectionary delights.
Derek complained, loudly, but he didn’t really mind. Stiles could do whatever he liked in their house; he’d moved in four months ago, at the start of his last year of school. Or rather, he’d officially moved in given he’d been living there in all but name before that too.
Cora swore up and down that she was moving out any day to leave them to their gross love nest, but she never made good on her word. And that was good because Derek really didn’t want her to go, not yet.
Every day, bit by bit, this house was starting to feel like a real home again. The way it had when they were children. In the morning, Derek was always the first to rise, and he'd look at Stiles in bed beside him and think You’re my pack, my family, and there’s no one else I’d want as my emissary. Or my mate.