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The apartment exists for two reasons: showers and keeping the Sheriff off his back. Stiles can think whatever he likes about Derek's taste, and he knows Stiles does because Stiles voices his opinion on it regularly, but the depot and the old house allow him to keep a low profile. He needs a low profile. He also needs a place to get clean, he was raised by werewolves not actual wolves.
The Sheriff being the other side of the equation would probably amuse Stiles but it comes down to this: Derek's been arrested once and a person of interest twice. Scott and Stiles put him on the Sheriff's radar and even if Stilinski doesn't think he's a murderer anymore he still makes a point of speaking with Derek every time he sees him. So Derek keeps the apartment and gives the address to Stilinski for his files and tries not to feel tied down.
It's been a long day of tracking the Alphas' movements all over the town, not following them because Derek's nowhere near strong enough to force a confrontation but tracing their movements by scent. Every time their scents crossed with one of the pack, or any associated humans (and Derek includes Danny in this, even though Danny knows nothing about them, as well as Allison, even though she's still avoiding Scott), he spent time making sure it was at different times. It looks like they've been avoiding Stiles since the confrontation a week ago, which Derek finds quietly hilarious, because they deviate around Stiles' movements.
It's only when Derek gets to the apartment, digging into his front pocket for his keys, that he realises Stiles is pack. It makes him stop, staring at his door with one hand in his pocket, because he can't pinpoint when that happened. There's a week old trace of Stiles tickling at the back of his nose and it breaks the moment. Of course Stiles would be the one to find his apartment – he probably stole the address from his father's files.
He shakes his head at himself and opens the apartment, flicking a light on as he locks the door behind him. It's sparsely furnished at best, and then only because he knows what Laura would've said if he'd bought the place and done nothing with it. Believability, brother, she would've said, before hitting him over the head with the nearest book. Laura was kind of an asshole, like that, and God he misses her.
He scents the apartment carefully, touching things as he walks through, Stiles didn't break in at least. Because I know what privacy means, Derek can imagine Stiles' voice and that's probably a problem. One he can deal with another day because he stinks right now and really just wants to shower. When he's sure no-one else has been in the apartment, or around it (he knows it's only a matter of time), he relaxes and heads for the bathroom.
He takes a long shower and jerks off methodically, because it's been a while, and absolutely doesn't think about anyone in particular when he does it because he can't afford to. The name he whispers when he comes is between him and the cool blue tiles that line the shower. After he dries off he lies on the unmade bed for a little while, breathing and letting himself have a moment that's not terrorrunfightprotectfight.
He's pulling a clean henley over his head when he senses the shift in air that means someone else is in the apartment. The snarl is already building low in his throat when he catches Peter's scent and it's all he can do not to attack his uncle when he finds him in the kitchen.
“I don't know why you bother pretending you have nowhere to live,” Peter says, closing the fridge door. “You're taking this stereotype too far.”
“Why are you here?” Derek bites out, focussing on his anger to hold himself in check.
“Can't I just visit?” Peter says, turning and leaning against the pristine counter. “You're my favourite nephew, after all.”
“I'm your only nephew,” Derek says, folding his arms across his chest. Peter's perpetual smirk clears to something dangerous.
“And whose fault is that,” Peter says. Derek feels like he's been punched in the gut, the breath goes out of his lungs so quickly.
How can he know? What did Kate say to him before she died? Would she do that? Would she make one last attempt to completely destroy Derek? What does Peter know? And there's the breathing problem again. Derek's chest is tight.
Breathe, Stiles' voice. Stay pissed at him. It helps me. How does Stiles deal with feeling like this all the time.
“And whose fault is it that you only have a nephew?” Derek returns, lowering his arms and curling his hands into fists. Peter actually flinches and his heartbeat echoes the movement.
“I was out of my mind,” Peter counters. “I can't be held responsible.”
Derek snaps and moves forward, grabbing Peter before he can move, pins him against the fridge. He wraps a hand around Peter's throat and holds him still. Peter's eyes flash but he doesn't fight, his breathing only a little quicker than normal. It's enough to tell Derek that Peter is afraid of him. Derek should've seen it earlier.
Derek steps back when Peter averts his eyes, tucks his hands into his pockets and watches Peter straighten his clothes.
“Why are you here?” Derek asks again, because he only sees Peter when Peter wants something. Or if Peter wants to deliberately fuck with his head.
“You know,” Peter says after a long moment. “I don't understand why you didn't turn him.”
“Who?” Derek can't take it back after he says it but wishes he could. Peter changing the subject never leads down a good path.
“Stiles,” Peter says quietly, his mouth twitching back up into a smirk. “He'd make an excellent ally.”
“He already is,” Derek says. It's true. He should probably tell Stiles that, he thinks he doesn't tell Stiles that enough. Peter's smirk broadens.
“Yes, I'm aware you and he are meeting regularly behind Scott's back,” Peter says, trailing a finger over the counter. “Your scents are mixed all over town. How long do you think it'll be before Scott figures it out?”
“Scott made his decision,” Derek says, flexing his hands in his pockets. It still hurts. “He doesn't control who Stiles -”
“Spends his time with?” Peter finishes when Derek doesn't. Derek scowls. “You're very obvious, you know. I didn't see it at first but it's becoming clearer and clearer with time. You want him.”
“I want him to be safe,” Derek says, because it's true enough to be a good answer. Peter's smirk doesn't change.
“Then give him the bite,” Peter says, spreading his hands. “He may pretend that he doesn't want it but I heard him when I offered, I heard the way his heart shook. There's a part of him that wants it so much he can't deny it.”
“You -” Derek doesn't know what this feeling is, a sickening creeping wrongness curling around his spine. Peter offered Stiles the bite. Peter offered Stiles the bite.
“You can't tell me you don't see the potential,” Peter scoffs and he's enjoying this, can tell that Derek didn't know, and is driving the point home with each carefully chosen word. “He's already more wolf than boy; loyal, smart, vicious wit – he almost reminds me of myself at that age. He'd make the pack incredibly strong. I hear he already faced down one of the Alphas. This is not an opportunity to miss.”
Derek's rocking slightly, his heart and mind trying to pull in a million different directions at once (if this is anything at all like the inside of Stiles' head Derek doesn't know how he survives), but he catches onto the second last sentence, makes it his life ring.
“How do you know about the confrontation with the Alphas?” Derek asks, enough Alpha tone in his voice to force Peter into a momentary cringe. Peter's face flickers for a moment at that, his anger showing through.
“It's the talk of the town,” Peter says, aiming for nonchalant and not quite hitting. “They find him interesting.”
“You've been talking to them,” Derek says flatly.
“Someone has to pay them the old courtesies,” Peter says, recovering some of his equilibrium. “You have no idea what you're doing, after all.”
“I don't trust them,” Derek says, shrugging the insult off. He knows he doesn't know what he's doing, Peter pointing it out does nothing to him now.
“You shouldn't,” Peter confirms. “But you can't ignore them. Eventually they'll start testing your strength. Better have your house in order. Add Stiles to the pack.”
“He already is pack,” Derek says, or growls really. Which is embarrassing. Peter's eyes widen briefly before narrowing with an intent Derek doesn't like.
“Does he know that?” Peter asks, moving smoothly into Derek's space and looking up at him. “Does he know what it means to be a human in a pack of wolves? An unrelated human? Does he know how he earns that place?”
“That isn't what I mean,” Derek says, drawing his shoulders up and staring down at Peter. “It doesn't have to be like that.”
“It does, though,” Peter says, holding Derek's eyes. “For it to hold in the face of the Alphas. He's already put himself in the middle of their cross-hairs – it won't take much for them to pull the trigger.”
“I'll keep him safe,” Derek says, fighting to keep the worry out of his voice because Peter is right and it's one thing accepting that Stiles will do whatever the hell he wants and damn the consequences and another thing being one of the consequences to be damned. Which is what Derek is fast becoming and Stiles doesn't even know it.
Peter makes a noise and steps back, cocking his head to one side, and Derek knows Peter's read it in his face.
“He doesn't even know how you feel,” Peter says, sounding the words out like he can't believe them. “I know he has terrible self-esteem but – really? You're painfully obvious.”
Derek lets himself have a moment to enjoy knowing something Peter doesn't – that Stiles wears his self-esteem issues like a mask, that he has more sense of his worth than anyone realises. Derek wants to tear those masks away, wants the whole world to see Stiles as he sees him, but he knows the value of hiding.
“I haven't given him reason – he barely sees us as friends,” Derek says. “It would be a problem – one he doesn't need. And it's illegal.”
“Because you cared so much about that law when you where his age,” Peter sniffs, waving a hand. “It's already a problem. You may not think much of me, Derek, but you know I'm right – he can't go around not knowing what you're leaving all over him. It's dangerous.”
“Get out,” Derek says, throwing everything he has into it. Peter is halfway to the door before he's capable of responding.
“You know I'm right,” Peter says. “If you won't tell him – I will. I find myself actually caring about whether that boy lives.”
“Out,” it's not a roar, because Derek has neighbours, but it's close. Peter leaves.
Derek slides down against a cabinet and puts his head between his legs. Peter is right. It is dangerous. Telling Stiles won't change that. There's nothing Derek can say to Stiles that will keep him safe from Derek's – from the way Derek -
Fuck. He lets his head fall back against the cabinet. Fuck.
–
“Peter offered you the bite,” Derek says when Stiles bounces into his room. Stiles rolls his eyes at Derek, not a single trace of fear about him. Derek almost misses the days when Stiles was afraid of him. Almost.
“And good evening to you too, creeper wolf,” Stiles says, throwing himself onto his computer chair. “What can I do for -”
Derek can identify the exact moment Stiles' brain catches up to Derek's words. His eyes go wide and his heartbeat kicks up a gear, the sour smell of a nervous sweat breaks out across him. The smell briefly overpowers the growing scent of pack Derek's been noticing for a few weeks now and he hates that, has to resist the urge to literally rub himself all over Stiles and not in what Stiles would call 'the fun way'.
“He told you,” Stiles says at last, when his brain is up and running again. Derek folds his arms and frowns. “Don't give me that look. We're past that look now. So far past it we shouldn't even see it anymore. When was I going to tell anyone? What does it matter anyway, I turned him down.”
“You should've told me,” Derek says. It matters but he can't explain to Stiles why without destroying every scrap of friendship they've pieced together in the months since Gerard.
“Why,” Stiles says, shifting restlessly. “I don't have to tell you everything. Just the auxiliary, remember?”
“It changes things,” Derek settles on, discarding his first five responses for sounding too obsessive even for him.
“Us things?” Stiles asks, his heart fluttering briefly in a way that Derek doesn't recognise. He's not going to hope it's something because he already knows Stiles doesn't see him like that. “Because – with Scott living it up with Isaac I don't exactly – you're kinda the only person I see regularly right now.”
“Peter things,” Derek says, looking away from Stiles because the more he looks at him the more he wants to touch him. This was much easier before Stiles decided to face down an Alpha that could've torn him apart without thinking.
“Peter things,” Stiles repeats. There's a silence where Derek resists touching everything in Stiles' room like that might erase the idea of Peter trying to give him the bite.
“Oh my God,” Stiles says suddenly, the volume startling Derek. “Sorry, but, do you think I'm going to let him seduce me to the Dark Side, or something? Because let me tell you – I never thought the Sith were cool and I really don't think I have the skin for wearing that amount of black. No offence.”
“Stiles,” Derek says, running a hand through his hair. “This is serious.”
“I know,” Stiles says. “You know I know. Sometimes I can only speak in geek culture based analogies because it's either that or lose my freaking mind. He's not going to get to me, Derek. That's why you came to me in the first place.”
“Because I knew you'd never be able to forgive someone who hurt Lydia and Scott,” Derek says absently. Stiles blinks at him and nods. “I haven't forgiven him.”
“I didn't say you had,” Stiles says carefully. “Just – I don't know why you haven't, I don't know, run him off? Or something? If you're not going to kill him.”
“He knows things,” Derek makes a frustrated noise. Peter knows too many things, that's why Derek is here. “I can't just – I need to find out what he knows.”
“This would be so much easier if there was some kind of werewolf library,” Stiles says, arcing a hand through the air. Derek doesn't quite manage to hide his guilt. “Oh, dude, is there? Do you have something I don't? You can't hold out on me, Derek, I need to know this stuff too.”
“A lot of our books survived the fire,” Derek says awkwardly. “They're at the house. Peter has some files too, but he won't let anyone else near his laptop.”
Stiles lets out a loud groan and makes a face at Derek. This conversation has gotten rapidly out of Derek's control.
“All the time I've been at that house while you guys run around,” Stiles says, raising his hands in the air. “Bored out of my mind and I could've been reading the good stuff. That's bad manners, Derek.”
“You shouldn't be there anyway,” Derek says and Stiles rolls his eyes at him. The difficulty in coming here with the intent to push Stiles away is becoming painfully obvious: Derek doesn't want to push Stiles away. He can't.
“We've been through this,” Stiles says, shaking his head. “Your Big Bad Alpha voice doesn't work on me. You can't keep me away.”
“You're a pain in my ass,” Derek grumbles and Stiles laughs, throwing his head back.
“Yeah, but this pain in your ass has already saved your life once or twice so -” Stiles holds his hands out like a set of scales, weighing his qualities. Derek finds himself distracted by Stiles' long fingers.
He pushes that thought down as fast as he can. He has a feeling it's going to haunt him though.
“That's why I need you to stop -” Derek stops when Stiles stands and steps into his space. Stiles's hands curl around his elbows and Derek takes an involuntary step back. Stiles moves with him.
“I'm going to stop you right there,” Stiles says, squeezing Derek's elbows. “Because I'm going to take a stab in the dark that Peter's fed you some line about you needing to stay away from me in order to keep me safe from the Alphas.”
Stiles waits expectantly and Derek nods because that's at least half of it. Stiles gives him a little shake.
“Don't you think it's too late for that?” Stiles asks, taking his hands away. “I'm pretty sure I've already pissed them off too much for it to matter.”
“You're probably right,” Derek says, letting out a low breath. Stiles nods like there was no question of that and Derek has to resist the urge to smile. “But it's not just that.”
“Then what else is it?” Stiles asks. “Have we got more problems? I'm seriously starting to think Beacon Hills is some kind of magnet for massive supernatural trouble – unless it's just you.”
“Hellmouth,” Derek mumbles because Laura loved that show and he's still trying to put off what he has to say. Stiles' eyes widen and he grins. “I had a TV, Stiles. Laura liked watching anything like that and judging it.”
“I bet she was pretty hard on things,” Stiles says, his tone curious but quiet, like he doesn't know if he should be part of this conversation. It makes Derek want to tell him everything and that's not an urge he's ever had.
“She ripped the most recent Wolfman apart,” Derek agrees and Stiles' smile is soft and fond. He thinks it might be a mirror of Derek's own.
That's a frightening thought.
“So what's the other thing?” Stiles asks when Derek loses himself in memories of Laura shouting at the TV. Derek shakes himself out of it.
“You need to understand – humans and pack,” Derek flexes his fingers like that will help him find the words he needs. “Unless they're born into the pack there's normally only one way that humans join it. As – as romantic partners.”
“Romantic partners,” Stiles repeats. His face is wide and open like he can't understand why Derek's bringing this up.
“The Alphas – they're going to assume,” Derek growls at himself in frustration. This is his own fault for going without talking regularly for six months. He's regressed to the way he was after the fire. “Any human that smells of werewolf, except probably Scott's mom, they're going to assume that – you know.”
“I don't -” and then Stiles' eyes widen as he gets it and he windmills slightly. Derek can almost see the words building in Stiles' throat. “They think we're dating?!”
Derek winces at both the tone and what sounds like a couple of punctuation marks that don't deserve to be slammed together like that.
“There'll be enough of Scott left on Allison, too,” Derek says, pushing forward as Stiles flails. “Danny and Lydia too – Jackson's all over them.”
“That's just – you guys -” Stiles lets out a huge breath and presses a hand over his face. “Well. I suppose it's nice that you're all for polyamory, I guess. Do you guys just not understand the concept of friends? And, shit, I probably didn't help when I implied we had a Thing.”
“It's rare for werewolves to make human friends,” Derek says, shrugging his shoulders. “Rarer that we'd find someone outside of the community to...care about enough that you'd end up with that kind of scent on you.”
Stiles looks torn, like he's fighting a battle with himself over which question to ask next. Derek waits.
“But it's got to be different for bitten werewolves, doesn't it?” he asks and somehow Derek knows that's not what Stiles had really wanted to ask. “They'd have friends and family outside of the pack, they can't just give them up.”
“I don't really know a lot about bitten werewolves,” Derek admits. “I don't really know how it works for them. I'm more worried about -” he waves a hand between them “- this.”
“Yeah, I can see that, I wouldn't want to damage your rep,” Stiles says, twisting his face and waving a hand. That's the second time Stiles has implied Derek has some kind of reputation, maybe he should ask Lydia about it. “But, I mean, it's not like you've been spraying love scent over me, is it? I'm honestly only just comfortable with calling you a friend when Dad asks – I'm guessing it's the same for you.”
Except that's pretty much what Derek has been doing and he's just lucky that Scott's stubborn enough about learning to be a decent werewolf that he doesn't know how to tell that. It's been hard to stop himself and it's about ninety percent not his fault anyway, it's instinct when you care about someone – you want them to smell as much like you as they can. And he does care about Stiles, even outside of whatever incredibly inappropriate feelings he's developing, cares about him being happy and about whether he lives or dies.
“Earth to Derek? Come in Derek,” Stiles is saying and Derek realises he'd zoned out. “Even if you had – which is something I'm not even willing to comprehend right now, having just gotten over the idea of you as the thing that goes bump in the night – I've got it covered. I can protect myself.”
“That bat's not going to do much good,” Derek says, moving swiftly over the middle part of Stiles' statement.
“The bat? Oh, no, that's just – you know – carjacker defence,” Stiles waves a hand then turns to the bag kicked under his desk. “I'm talking about this.”
Stiles pulls out a slim black rod and flicks it out with his arm. There's a sharp smell of wolfsbane in the air suddenly and Derek resists the urge to cover his nose.
“Dad got it for me after the whole Matt thing,” Stiles gestures with the baton before pushing it shut. “Deaton helped me with the wolfsbane. Figure it should be enough to keep them back until you or Scott or whoever can save the day. Or at least make them angry enough they'll kill me quick.”
Stiles' heartbeat doesn't change at all and Derek hates that because Stiles should be afraid of dying but he isn't.
“I think he would've gotten me a tazer,” Stiles says, putting the baton away and wandering out of the room. “But he probably thinks I'm more likely to shoot myself than anyone else. He's probably right too.”
Derek listens as Stiles washes his hands which seems like a strange thing to do in the middle of conversation. Only. Stiles had probably got wolfsbane all over his hands from handling the baton. Which means he's washing it off because – Derek actually feels his ears reddening, which is ridiculous, Stiles is just being a good person, he's not going to grab Derek suddenly.
When Stiles isn't being the most infuriating person Derek's ever met he confuses Derek so much that he feels like a teenager, uncertain and unsteady.
“What I'm trying to tell you,” Stiles says, returning to the room. “Is that you're stuck with me. All of you. I tried giving up once and I couldn't even do that. You said you needed my help, Derek, that you wanted it – you don't get to take that back because the new big bad is in town.”
“You're impossible,” Derek says and Stiles gives him one of those dark smiles, the ones that come from the depths of him and make Derek wish he could skip forward a few years and see the man Stiles is becoming.
“I'm going to hug you now,” Stiles says, lifting his head challengingly. “Because I think you need it.”
Stiles steps forwards and draws him into the hug, holding tight enough to give away some of what's going on under the surface. The secret number one thing Derek misses about Laura is the easy way she used to touch him, uncountable little touches throughout the day that said I'm here, we're here and the long hugs she'd give him when she thought he needed them. Or when she needed them. Stiles and Scott touch each other like that and Derek envies it sometimes. Now here he is, being hugged by Stiles for no real reason beyond that they can. It's all he can do not to sag into it.
Stiles has one arm around Derek's waist and one wrapped around his back just under his shoulders. It means that Derek's basically wrapping Stiles up in his arms, finding Stiles' shoulder blades and feeling his way over Stiles' back until he's found somewhere comfortable to rest. Stiles lets Derek tuck his face in against his neck and Derek wonders idly if Scott has been scenting Stiles like this for a while. A little twist of jealousy curls around his spine and he soothes it by breathing Stiles in.
“It should be creepy the way you do that,” Stiles says, his voice warm against Derek's ear. “All of you with the sniffing all the time. But I get it. I guess it's like – I used to spray Mom's favourite perfume on a pillow when I missed her and I'd hug it and I'd remember all the good stuff. Though I guess it's about a million times more than that for you guys.”
“It's pack,” Derek says, muffled against Stiles' neck. Stiles freezes briefly when Derek's lips brush against his skin so Derek turns his head away, letting his chin rest on Stiles' shoulder. “It's a way of making sure you're here, safe, alive. It's -”
“Comforting?” Stiles suggests and Derek nods. Stiles squeezes his arms a little tighter and Derek knows Stiles gets it. Stiles always gets it eventually. It's really only a matter of time before he realises the last secret Derek's keeping from him.
“Whenever you need a hug, you know,” Stiles says as he slowly disengages. Derek misses his touch. “I'm pretty much always available for that. Stilinskis give excellent hug. It's a thing. A well known thing.”
“I'll keep that in mind,” Derek says, letting his lips quirk up. Stiles smiles back.
“So, uh, is that it or do you, you know, want to hang out or something?” Stiles asks, shuffling his feet and rubbing a hand across the back of his neck.
Derek tunes out the overwhelming scent of StilespackStiles and sifts through the layers in the house. Scott hasn't been here for at least a week and there's a bare hint of some of the others that goes back further. Derek wonders if something's going on between Stiles and everyone else but he has a feeling Stiles doesn't want him to ask.
“Sure,” Derek says, feeling awkward because if he's totally honest he's not good at 'hanging out'.
“We could watch a movie? Get take out?” Stiles asks, suddenly vibrating with excitement. “It's a total cliché but my Dad's on nights at the moment.”
“Why's that a cliché?” Derek asks as he follows Stiles downstairs.
“Sheriff's kid,” Stiles points at himself. “Local Bad Boy,” he points over his shoulder at Derek. “You do the math.”
Derek has spent too much time recently doing the math and it all adds up to Stiles is sixteen and doesn't even seem to find Derek attractive.
“Not that I'm saying there's any math to be done,” Stiles shrugs, looking over his shoulder as he wanders toward the kitchen. “But it would be nice if, just for once, I was worried about Dad coming home early to find me making out with a girl or dude of my choosing. My life sucks.”
“Why don't you ask that barista out?” Derek asks, because it's the only safe option he has.
“Lily? I don't know, I mean, she's a senior, man,” Stiles digs around in a kitchen drawer an emerges with a pile of menus. “And I'm ignoring the fact that you shouldn't even know about me flirting with her, you giant creeper.”
“She seems to like you,” Derek says, shrugging. There's no point in pretending that he doesn't track Stiles as much as he can – there's only a point in pretending that he doesn't do it more for Stiles than for the others.
“It feels like that sometimes,” Stiles says and his cheeks redden. “But I don't know – I strike out most of the time.”
“You strike out with Lydia,” Derek points out, joining Stiles to look at the menus. “Who is in love with someone else. That doesn't count.”
“You really think I should?” he can feel Stiles staring at him. He nods. “Maybe. I guess. If I do strike out – she's going to college soon anyway so it won't matter.”
“Pizza?” Derek asks, tugging one of the menus out. Stiles nods enthusiastically. “Just get me whatever you like.”
“You're not going to be some weird pizza snob because you used to live in New York, are you?” Stiles asks, squinting at Derek. Derek rolls his eyes.
“Stiles,” he says. Stiles flashes a grin at him.
“Okay, okay,” he waves the menu around. “I'll order – you pick a movie.”
Derek picks Inception because it's the last movie he saw with Laura. He remembers liking it and having a long discussion about whether or not the whole dream thing would work on werewolves. Stiles seems pleasantly surprised by his choice and they settle next to each other on the couch, Stiles' indecent sprawl making Derek's skin feel hot.
It's fun, which is a thing Derek had almost forgotten he could have, and the couple of hours passes pretty quickly. Stiles only talks a little bit – pointing out things he only caught on a second viewing – and it's. Nice. It also completely defeats the purpose of this evening because there's no way Derek can give up this feeling.
Stiles hugs him again when they say goodnight, a simple one armed hug-and-pat like he exchanges with Scott, and Derek finds himself smiling as he jogs back to the depot. His good mood is what he blames for missing the signs until he sees the Alpha triskele painted on the door.
“It's time for us to talk,” the Alpha with the strongest scent appears out of the shadows and Derek debates running. Then he hears them circling him, the strange interwoven scent of the twins is on his left and the sharp scent of the older male is on his right.
He consciously relaxes himself and opens the door, inviting them in.