Work Text:
When it dawns on Derek that somehow, somewhere along the way, Stiles has become more than the annoying kid flailing his way through dangerous situations that could make a seasoned hunter quake from fear, it's way too late to stop it from happening. He doesn't regret it, not really, since humans stabilize werewolf packs and Derek knows best that without balance, a werewolf is lost to their own animalistic instincts, it's just in their nature. He also knows that finding a new anchor is a normal thing to happen, werewolves rarely keep the same anchor for their entire life.
Still, it's overwhelming and confusing when he realizes that Stiles, of all the new people in Derek's life, is his new anchor. He keeps it to himself because really, they all have enough problems with the various things happening in Beacon Hills and he doesn't plan on adding to that with sudden emotional revelations, they have Scott, Isaac and Allison for that (he doesn't pretend to understand their weird love triangle and, in mutual agreement with the rest of the pack, just keeps out of it). A pack full of high school seniors isn't that stable to begin with, after all, and he enjoys the balanced calm the pack gives off when they all pile together in his loft for a pack night. And Stiles... Stiles somehow grounds them all.
Derek sees it in the way the boy still helps Malia with school even though their breakup was messy and not pretty and the whole pack reeked of misery for weeks after. He sees it in the way Stiles nerds it out with Kira and engages in sass battles of epic proportions with Isaac. Stiles is the voice of reason in Scott's life (though sometimes, reason is a very strange thing when it comes to those two) and the only one who can match Lydia's wit word for word. He acts as the single social light that even the ever stoic Boyd gravitates toward and he's still the Batman to Erica's Catwoman. He plays off Liam like they're brothers, offering him advice and teasing him gently for his giant crush on Scott, and he can talk to Allison for hours about history and mythology and teams up with her to get Scott to do whatever they want (and it works without fail). And Derek... Derek isn't sure what his own dynamic with Stiles is like.
All he knows is that Stiles can read him like no one else can since Laura died, can rile him up and calm him down again with just one word, one touch. They can communicate silently through glares and eyerolls and lifted eyebrows, banter back and forth easily until an exasperated pack member tells them to go get a room. Derek loves it, revels in it, and just by the scent of smug happiness surrounding Stiles after Erica rolls her eyes at them telling them to shut it, he does too.
It's not like Stiles doesn't annoy him on a daily basis. Hell, Derek has never seen a more obnoxious person and he's related to Peter! But somehow... the annoyance he felt in the beginning has morphed into fond exasperation. He's still annoyed when Stiles rambles too much or makes incredibly rude dog jokes but he also wants to kiss him breathless and touch him everywhere. It's a very complicated feeling and Derek has never been very good with emotions. Or words.
Stiles is oblivious. Painfully so. Derek makes a point to stay with him and protect him from danger – Stiles complains about being coddled and rants about how he may be human but that it doesn't make him weak. Derek starts buying the poptarts Stiles likes best and nobody else eats – Stiles suddenly declares that the sheriff is on a diet now and has dared his son to keep it up too (and the Stilinski men are nothing if competitive). Derek starts training when he knows Stiles and the rest of the pack are coming over – Stiles groans in annoyance at the sight of Derek’s shirtless torso, throws a sweater at him and yells at him to go get dressed and stop showing off. Derek gets tickets for that weird superhero movie Stiles rants about for weeks before it comes out – Stiles frowns at him and asks him what the catch is before ending up going to the cinema with Kira. Derek finds Stiles asleep on his couch with a book in his lap – Stiles yells at him and runs off with the book when Derek gently wakes him.
He might be thinking of giving up. He’s not good with words or emotions or- or wooing but he’d hoped that after the kobold incident, Stiles might have picked up on something. He’d made coffee for Stiles, stayed for the research, put a blanket over him once the human was asleep. He’d even carried a paralyzed Stiles home and fetched Deaton for an antidote. But no, nothing. Either Stiles is really, obnoxiously dense or… or he simply isn’t interested.
Derek tries not to act like he’s a romance novel heroine. He really does. But then he ends up with ice cream on a Saturday night, listening to Enya and feeling very sorry for himself while it’s raining buckets outside. At least the rest of the pack isn’t there to witness this; they’d never let him leave this down.
But after this, Derek decides to pull himself together. Okay, so Stiles doesn’t reciprocate his feelings. That’s painful but not the end of the world. He’s been through worse, way worse. At least this time, nobody got killed or sacrificed. That has to be an improvement. Derek takes a deep breath, throws out the poptarts and the ice cream, hides his Enya CDs and returns to being himself. Well, at least he hopes that he’s being himself – but the pack doesn’t complain, so he guesses it must be okay. He’ll live.
He’s out shopping for yet another mandatory Pack Movie Night Extravaganza (coined, surprisingly, by Erica and not by Stiles who pouted for two whole days that he didn’t come up with the name), contemplating whether he’s in the mood for BBQ flavored tortilla chips instead of the cheese puffs he always has to get for Stiles, when he suddenly feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Stiles calls it his Wolfey Sense. Like he’s the wolf version of Spiderman which he’s not. He’s more like the sad version of Wolverine. Well. Sadder.
Slowly, Derek lifts his gaze from the bag of chips he’s holding and notices a pair of dark eyes watching him through the soup cans. It suddenly smells of the ocean and… rotting flesh and Derek snarls into the direction of the eyes, flashing his own. The eyes light up bright yellow in response, there’s a low hiss and he can feel his fangs lengthen already, thinking about how to tackle this problem without alerting the entire grocery store to the presence of supernatural creatures, when there’s a hard slap on his back and Stiles’ all too familiar scent fills his nostrils even before the teenager yells “Yo Sourwolf, what’s up?” almost right into his ear.
Derek jumps with surprise, turning around so fast, he fears he might get whiplash for a moment. He doesn’t even realize that he’s got an arm slung protectively around Stiles and is pressing the boy against his chest, snarling loudly and shielding the human in his arms from any potential harm, until Stiles makes a quiet noise of confusion. Derek nervously glances back to the soup cans, but the eyes are gone, as is the stench of mold and rot. There’s only Stiles, smelling of the usual mix of magic, teenage hormones and, oddly enough, mint, blinking up at him with a flush creeping across his face and neck.
“Uh. Dude? Not that I’m not glad for the, uh, very public display of affection but… uh, Mrs Graham over there lives right next door from me and I really don’t need her gossiping if you catch my drift? Because. You know. My dad. Who’s the sheriff. And has guns.” Derek reluctantly lets go of him, his attention still focused on the soup cans and the eyes he saw there just a minute ago, but it’s like they’ve never been there. He’s still on edge, can still feel his wolf prowling as it searches for the enemy.
Stiles leans to the side, peeking over Derek’s shoulder, to see what he’s staring at.
“Are we angry at the soup cans now?” he asks. “What did they do to you, burned away all your taste buds?”
“… nothing” Derek mumbles. “Must be my imagination.” Stiles frowns and maybe he’s right because when has it ever been just someone’s imagination in Beacon Hills?
“Ooookaaay” he drawls slowly and pats Derek on the shoulder like he’s a senior citizen and needs reassurance that he’s not, in fact, senile. “You go glare at the soup cans. I’ll get drinks for tonight, see you then?”
“Yeah” Derek answers, slightly distracted by the pats and Stiles’ scent. Stiles snorts, calls him a weirdo under his breath and wanders off towards the beverages aisle. Derek looks back to the soup cans and wonders if he’s finally lost his mind.
As it turns out, he hasn’t. Neither has he lost his mind nor is he paranoid and the eyes he saw were very, very real. As was the thing they’re attached to. The thing that knocked him out behind the grocery store and proceeded to haul him deep into the preserve.
Derek doesn’t remember much more. He’s mostly focused on not bleeding out on the forest floor as the thing chomps on him, sharp teeth digging into his flesh, and roars and fucking spews fireballs into every direction, lighting trees and fallen leaves on fire. He’s choking from the smoke and the stench of rot and mold and this was really not how he imagined this evening going. He wanted to spend some fun hours with his pack, fighting over the remote and the movies they were watching and revel in the feeling of pack and family and home and… He passes out, lost in pain and blood and the faint scent of ozone and mint breaking through the haze of smoke and rot.
When he opens his eyes again, he feels raw and hurts all over but he’s miraculously alive. He needs a moment to recognize his surroundings – Deaton’s clinic, where else – and groans quietly.
“I literally can’t leave you alone even for a few minutes” Stiles huffs from somewhere close but Derek is too much in pain to move his head. Instead, Stiles’ face appears right above him, smudged with soot and dried blood, with a slight burn on his cheek and a gash across his forehead that’s been stitched haphazardly.
“What…” Derek rasps, his throat painfully dry, before Stiles lifts a cup of water with a straw to his lips and lets Derek drink.
“Tarasque” he explains as if Derek knows exactly what that is. Newsflash, he doesn’t. At Derek’s stare, Stiles rolls his eyes and elaborates. “Mystical dragon creature, half turtle, half bear, a hundred percent ugly. It must’ve been following you for days, have you seriously not noticed it?”
“I was… distracted.” Trying not to be pathetic and pining after a highschool senior who’s just short of 18.
“No shit, sourwolf. Those things generally stalk their victims for quite some time.”
“How’d you… defeat it?” Talking hurts. Breathing hurts even more. But he can feel his body healing and having Stiles nearby is… soothing. At the question, Stiles blushes. He flushes full-on red, averts his gaze and runs a hand through his messy hair before clearing his throat and mumbling,
“I, uh. Virgins. Holy water. The whole Christian deal, you know.” He’s clearly uncomfortable. Derek thinks about teasing him but he’s way too tired for that and just nods.
“Thank you.” Stiles looks at him with surprise.
“What?”
“Thank you” Derek repeats dutifully, if still a bit breathlessly. Stiles stares at him like he’s grown a second head and then asks,
“Are you dying?”
“What?” Now it’s Derek’s turn to be confused.
“You just thanked me. You never thank me” Stiles rambles, flailing his hands in Derek’s general direction. “Unless you’re dying. You’re usually all Grr and Growl and definitely not Thank you.”
“You’re an idiot” Derek states with a roll of his eyes. Stiles beams.
“There, that’s more like it! That’s the Derek we all know and love.” Derek tries not to focus on the last word but his eyes and eyebrows must be more expressive than he gives them credit for because Stiles backpedals like he’s about to be stung by that giant scorpion again.
“Platonically love! Like a friend. Dude. Bro. You know.” There’s that blip in Stiles’ familiar heartbeat and Derek frowns. Stiles is lying.
“Anyway, you’re not supposed to be talking” Stiles continues hastily. “Deaton said you’re supposed to be resting and drinking lots of fluids and eat the sandwiches I made.”
“You made… sandwiches” Derek repeats dumbly. Stiles flushes an even brighter red and he looks away again.
“It’s. Good for you. Getting better. Healing. And I had the stuff for it ready since Pack night’s cancelled anyway. No big deal, sourwolf.” Another blip in his heartbeat. If Derek wasn’t weak and in pain from blood loss and nearly being chewed in two by a mystical dragon-turtle-bear, he’d probably connect the dots faster. As it is, he’s halfway through the sandwich Stiles feeds him when it hits him. He swallows the piece of turkey meat, bread and salad and looks up at the teenager.
“You like me.” Stiles splutters and drops the sandwich on the floor, staring at Derek half shocked, half indignant.
“I. You. You can’t prove that!” Another blip. “I definitely don’t like you.” Blip. “You’re a pain in the ass.” No blip. Well, okay – Derek can be an asshole sometimes. But so can Stiles.
“You’re lying” he simply observes.
“Nope. You certainly are a giant, wolfy, furry pain in my very human ass.” Derek just stares at Stiles, wondering if he made that innuendo on purpose. Judging from Stiles’ squawk, he didn’t. “I-I mean! You’re- you’re annoying! Always getting into trouble and coddling me and- and being all ‘look at me I’m Derek Hale, I’m hotter than the sun and I have abs that can cut through steel’!” Derek is a bit overwhelmed by this but he gets that Stiles thinks he’s hot. Objectively, Derek knows he’s handsome. But it’s something else entirely to hear the person he’s been pining after say that out loud.
“You think I’m hot?”
“That’s so totally not the point, sourwolf!” Stiles groans and shoves a second turkey sandwich into Derek’s mouth. “Now eat the damn sandwich, I’m trying to be nice to you and seriously regretting all my life choices right now.”
“But you always tell me to put on a shirt…”
“That’s because you could catch a cold, you furry idiot! It’s November!”
“I’m a werewolf” Derek reminds him quietly. Stiles glares at him.
“So what? It’s customary not to flaunt the goods in front of others, the book said so!” Derek frowns. Now he’s confused again.
“What book?” Stiles, it seems, is mortified.
“Forget it!” he huffs and turns away, neck bright red and his entire body tense. He reeks of shame. And mint, always the scent of mint since...
And then, very slowly, it dawns on Derek. He suddenly vividly remembers finding Stiles snoring on his couch, mouth hanging open unattractively and a book in his lap. He remembers the old lettering on the book, remembers the faint scent of herbs that reminded him of his grandmother. He remembers how embarrassed and angry Stiles has been, clutching the book to his chest. And how since that incident, Stiles has been surrounded by the lingering scent of mint.
There was a book in his family’s library, that had ended up in the vault shortly before the fire. Nonsense, his mother called it. Peter laughed about old fairytales. And that book has always smelled of grandmother’s herbs… and was full of old scriptures on mating rituals.
Derek stares at Stiles’ tense back and suddenly starts smiling, even though the burnt skin on his face really hurts when he does that.
“You were trying to woo me?” He may or may not sound a bit incredulous. Happy. There’s a warm feeling in his belly that has nothing to do with his guts knitting back together. Stiles flinches and lifts his shoulders in a shrug, still smelling of embarrassment and shame.
“Stupid idea, I know.”
“No, I…” He blinks, still overwhelmed. “I was… I was trying to woo you too…”
“I knew it!” Stiles yells triumphantly and turns around, pointing at Derek accusingly. “I knew you were, so I tried to reciprocate and that stupid book said I should show you that I’m healthy and can provide for you! And that I should – stake my claim or something!”
“Is… Is that why you told me to put on a shirt?”
“Well – yes! Erica was ogling you!”
“You ignored the poptarts I got for you…”
“Because I wanted to show you I’m healthy and strong!” Derek opens his mouth and closes it again. Then, he starts laughing, despite the horrible pain in his lower body when he does so.
“And now you’re laughing at me!”
“No, I…” Derek wheezes, caught between laughter and coughing and the urge to wrap Stiles in a tight hug and kiss his stupid face all over. “It’s for… for providing me with cubs, you don’t need… oh God…” Stiles’ eyes bulge out comically at that and he makes some squawks and noises like he’s trying to say something but can’t come up with a response to that revelation. Then, he buries his face in his hands and groans,
“I’m so fucking stupid…” Derek takes a deep breath when he’s finally done laughing and lifts a hand to reach over and tug Stiles closer by his belt. Stiles makes a surprised sound and flails a bit before he’s standing right next to the examination table and looking down at Derek with a bright red face.
“I consider myself wooed” Derek tells him seriously but can’t stop his lips from twitching into a smile. “And I humbly accept your request for mating.”
“Stop quoting the stupid book!” Stiles huffs and punches him in the shoulder. It hurts but Derek is too busy grinning and being happy to complain much about it, especially when Stiles leans over and not very aptly kisses him right on the lips. “And stop grinning!”
“As you wish.”
“I am NOT Princess Buttercup in this equation!”
“If you say so.”
“Shut up, sourwolf.” Stiles hits him in the shoulder again but it’s absolutely worth the soft kiss he gets pulled into only seconds after.
Maybe, his dynamic with Stiles is not so complicated after all.