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Stiles should go to bed after Derek leaves. Should being the operative word. He's keyed up, though, and he doesn't know if it's because of the reminder of the night of the winter formal or because he hasn't hung out with someone other than his Dad for a week. Lydia, who's been quizzing him about werewolf stuff for months, has had divorce problems to deal with. Isaac's been making more of an effort to settle in with his foster family. Allison, who he's been spending time with more out of Dead Mom solidarity than anything else, has disappeared for a week with her Dad.
Scott...isn't really talking to Stiles. Not since he told him about the Alpha Pack and what had happened. He'd had to tell Scott about the time he's been spending with Derek and Scott hadn't been pleased. It wasn't that Stiles had been keeping it a secret – it'd just been nice to have something that was his, especially when Scott was spending so much time with Isaac. It's weird because he and Scott have been inseparable for a long time and, okay, Stiles is a realist and he knew that wasn't going to last forever but he was prepared for a girl (he knew Scott's puppyish charms would lure someone in eventually) not a new friend. He's not exactly jealous he's just confused. So maybe he didn't tell Scott about Derek but he'd figured Scott would just smell it on him and he wouldn't have to tell him anyway.
His Dad would tell him lying by omission is still lying. As things stand Stiles would have a hard time arguing against that.
So Scott is pissed at Stiles for putting himself in danger and not telling him which is completely ridiculous given the amount of times Stiles has put himself in danger for Scott and Scott's just left him to it. So, no, Stiles isn't jealous of Scott and Isaac but he's pretty pissed at Scott himself for being an idiot about this.
“It's got nothing to do with us,” Scott had said. “It's Derek's problem. He's not my Alpha.”
Stiles had wanted to say a lot of things about that – starting with 'he's good enough for you when someone's trying to kill you' and finishing with 'and you're not my Alpha' because he's tried of this shit. (It could be that he's not really forgiven Scott for not trusting him about his secret plan to defeat Gerard Argent.) Stiles is human so he's been operating on the assumption that he's not really anybody's pack – but the way Derek spoke earlier this evening it's clear that Derek considers him that way.
Which is huge, actually, and not something Stiles is ready to wrap his mind around. Along with the possibility that Derek's somehow accidentally scent-marked him as some kind of werewolf love interest. Two things that are, now that he thinks about it, probably contributing to his sleeplessness.
He eventually decides on grinding some WoW levels, losing himself in the familiarity of the commands and quests. It's one a.m when he surfaces and then it's only because his phone buzzes next to him, scaring the shit out of him. He fights down the instant of panic that he gets whenever his phone goes off this late at night, if it was Dad they would call, and grabs for it. It's Isaac.
Derek gone missing.
Stiles stares at the message for a long moment, his heart suddenly thundering in his ears. What if it's Peter, making a move at last? Or the Alphas. What if Stiles pissed them off so much they came after Derek. Derek hadn't really explained much about them. He thumbs through menus and calls Isaac because he needs more information.
“Stiles – I can't find him,” Isaac answers, without preamble. His voice is worried enough that Stiles' heart skips a beat.
“What do you mean?” Stiles asks, forcing himself to speak slowly, calmly. “I thought you were staying with the -”
“I felt something weird, across the pack bond,” Isaac says, his breathing quick in Stiles' ear. “Tried to call him but it kept ringing out. I couldn't leave it so I came looking.”
“Where are you?” Stiles asks, alt-tabbing out of the game. “The depot?”
“Yeah. Stiles – the whole place stinks of other werewolves,” Isaac says. There's a thread of fear in his voice.
Stiles tightens his grip on the phone.
“The Alphas,” he says. Isaac's non-reply is confirmation enough. “Can you track them?”
“I'm not really that good at it. Stiles. He feels afraid. Derek never feels afraid.”
No. He just doesn't let you feel it. Stiles clicks through to a website he shouldn't have access to and logs in.
“Scott's not bad at it,” Stiles says. It's about the only werewolf thing Scott is actually really good at. Probably because it involves less listening to someone else in order to learn how. “Call him and get him to help. I'm going to try something else.”
“Okay. That – that sounds good.”
“Isaac,” Stiles says before Isaac can hang up. “Don't just go running in if you guys find them. Call me, okay? We'll figure something out. We might even need Jackson.”
“I'll call you.”
Isaac hangs up and Stiles presses the phone to his forehead for a moment, breathing through his nose and concentrating on it. He's been getting used to heart staying steady – now it's fluttering in his chest again.
“No time,” he tells himself, looking up at the screen again. After Stiles had used Scott's phone to track Derek down, and Stiles still can't believe that Derek had counted on him doing that, Stiles had managed to get his hands on Derek's own phone so that he could track him any time.
It had been out of paranoia at first, because he had had no idea if becoming an Alpha would turn Derek into something like Peter. He wanted to be able to see him coming. Since Gerard, though, and Derek telling Stiles that he needed him, his help, he'd used it to check up on Derek when ever he felt worried about him. He's entitled now, even if he doesn't know how Derek's managed to work himself onto the list of people Stiles will risk his life for.
Derek's phone is still on and the program tracks it down to somewhere in the industrial wasteland that surrounds the airport. Stiles should call Isaac and Scott and tell them and then he should stay at home because if his Dad swings by and sees the Jeep isn't there he's going to be pissed. Stiles runs his hands over his head and bounces his legs. He can't shake the feeling that this is somehow his fault, that he forced a confrontation and now Derek's getting punished for it. Isaac and Scott shouldn't get drawn into this – Erica and Boyd are already caught up in it and God knows what the Alphas are teaching them.
“Fuck it,” Stiles says and reaches under his desk for his bag. There's more than the baton in there, there's a reason why he and Lydia have been talking about werewolves, and he's going to need it.
This was not how he expected to test these things out. He grabs his keys and sends the map info to his phone. Derek probably won't be happy to see him if he is in trouble but at least he'll know he's not alone. It seems the most important thing in the world right now that Derek knows he's not alone.
–
“This is the stupidest thing I've ever done,” Stiles says as he sits in the Jeep. He's on the outskirts of where he needs to be because he can't risk the Alphas, if they're still here, hearing him.
How far is a werewolf's hearing range, anyway? Stiles files that on the list of Things I Really Need To Get Derek To Tell Me and shifts in his seat. There's still time to call Scott & Isaac. His phone hadn't gone off on the drive over, which means they haven't found what they're looking for yet.
Stiles blows out a breath and shakes his head at himself. No. He made the decision to do this by himself – he's going to follow through. He makes sure his phone is on vibrate and sticks it into his jeans pocket. He grabs the bag from the passenger side and slides out of the Jeep, locking it up behind him. He slings the bag over his back and tugs the baton out, holding it loosely in one hand.
He has the path to where Derek's phone is memorised and he tries his best to be as quiet as possible as he follows it. He rubs his thumb restlessly up and down the side of the baton, he doesn't really know how well it will work and kind of wishes he'd grabbed the bat as well, just in case. Maybe you could make a bat out of Mountain Ash? He knows ash wood is used pretty commonly for bats but the lore he's researched seems to point to the magic Mountain Ash actually being rowan. Which makes sense but can rowan been turned into a bat? He's going to have to google it. How would that even work though – hit them and knock them back? He's seen the way it works like a barrier for Deaton's office but that doesn't tell him if it would work offensively.
Stealth, or what he has of it, is only going to get Stiles so far before the Alphas will hear his heartbeat so he's going to have to rely on speed. He's not exactly slow and Finstock's hard training means he's got a fair amount of stamina in his legs, if not his chest, but it's going to be nothing against a bunch of werewolves. His strategy is beginning to look a lot like 'run in and make a lot of noise and hope Derek isn't dead and thus capable of defending them both when Stiles runs out of energy'.
It's not the greatest strategy in the world. It's a terrible plan. No-one should ever let Stiles plan something, he's a terrible planner.
“Oh, God, I'm gonna die,” Stiles mutters to himself. He extends the baton and tries to think about constant vigilance and listen as hard as he can.
He's hyper aware of his footsteps, scuffing against the ground, and the sound of his own breath and heartbeat. There's also the distant sound of cars and the occasional burst of noise from the nearby airport. Everything else is quiet though and eerie as hell. Stiles realises he's split the party just as he hears something like voices on a lifting breeze.
If he can hear them surely they can hear him? Or maybe he's downwind enough to have an advantage. If they're focused on whatever they're doing to Derek (maybe they're just talking, they could just be talking) they might not notice him until it's too late. Stiles slows his steps and slips into the shadows, taking deep breaths and letting them out as slowly and quietly as possible.
They can't be far – Stiles is pretty sure one of the voices is the same woman who caught him outside the coffee shop. He thinks he can hear two more voices, which means that one of them could be sneaking around behind him right now. He jerks his head around and eyes the alley behind him, trying to keep his heartbeat slow and quiet. When he's sure no-one's behind him he moves forward again, reaching into the bag and closing his hand around one of the glass beakers Lydia had pressed onto him. The conditions aren't exactly ideal but it's probably the best they're going to get.
He can hear the voices clearly now, though he can't quite pick out the words, and there's definitely two male voices to one female. One of them will be the other twin, one the older guy. The older had looked solid and strong, built bigger than Derek but not as graceful with it. Probably the brute force of the pack.
If Stiles looks at it like that it suddenly becomes a lot easier; the older guy is the tank, the woman who came after him was light on her feet, call her a rogue, someone likely to circle around and come from behind, her brother had looked strong but wasn't as big as the other guy, he's probably the main fighter. Stiles needs to make sure that he gets the big guy and the woman first, with the handy bomb Lydia's made him, and hope the baton will be enough against the male twin and whoever else might be around.
He's worried about the other female, she'd looked like a leader. Would the Alpha of an Alpha pack function like a normal Alpha and draw power and strength from the others? Ugh. Stiles has so many questions for Derek and if they get out of this safely Derek's going to sit down and answer as many as possible.
If Derek's still alive. (Would a human pack member feel it if their Alpha died?)
Stiles tightens his hand about the bomb and grips the baton and he runs. He hears shouts as he approaches but he can't think about that can only think about Derek not being dead, please don't be dead, because Stiles isn't losing someone else. Not if he can help it.
He comes around the corner and doesn't have to worry about separating his first targets from Derek because they're coming right at him. He pulls the collar of his shirt over his nose and smashes the bomb against the ground in front of them. They flinch back but it's already too late, a thick haze of wolfsbane vapour swallowing them up. They cough and try to move away but it looks like Lydia got the quantities right and their movements are already slowing.
She'd explained it like a nasal form of a flash grenade – the wolfsbane isn't enough to damage them permanently, just enough to sap their strength and fuck hard with their senses. Stiles rushes between them, squeezing his eyes shut as he passes through the vapour, and raises the baton. The male twin is already leaping at him, infuriated apparently, and the overreaction is what Stiles needs to dodge him and smash the baton into his face. The twin makes an awful noise and clutches at his eyes, dropping to the ground.
“Derek?” Stiles shouts, spinning in a tight circle and looking for any signs of the other woman. “Talk to me please.”
“I'm here,” Derek's behind him but Stiles doesn't dare risk looking away from the three Alphas. He doesn't know how long any of their measures will last.
“Are you okay?” Stiles asks, watching as the male twin gropes frantically at his face. The tank is struggling towards them but it's clearly taking a lot out of him just to move. The vapour is hanging in a cloud and female twin seems trapped within it, disorientated.
“Yeah, yeah, I'm okay,” Derek says after a moment. “Stiles, I'll watch them. You need to get me loose.”
Stiles finally turns his back on them to seek Derek out. Derek's on his knees in the middle of the open space, his hands secured behind his back, and the look on his face is a familiar mix of what the hell Stiles, that emotion Stiles can't place and something that looks a lot like pride. Stiles feels the back of his neck redden. Derek looks past him, focused on the Alphas, and Stiles jogs to his side, kneeling down to pull at the ropes.
“You're an idiot,” Derek says, but it's impossibly fond. Stiles flashes a weak grin. “Where the hell are the others?”
“I told them to track you by scent,” Stiles says, feeling out the extent of the knots. “Then I found you by your phone. Where's the other one?”
“She left,” Derek says, his hands flexing. “I didn't think you could do that with my phone and, fuck, Stiles why don't you have a knife?”
“I may have put the same thing on your phone as Scott has on his,” Stiles says guiltily. “Aren't you glad I did? And, okay, I'm sorry I didn't plan on rescuing anyone tonight so I don't have a knife. Just hold still and tell me what they're doing.”
“Sarah's on the ground,” Derek grits out as Stiles accidentally pulls a knot tighter. “Robert looks like he's recovering -”
“Is that the big guy?” Stiles asks, giving up and setting the baton on ground to use both hands on the knots. He keeps flicking his eyes up and around, making sure that the other woman definitely isn't going to surprise them.
“Yeah,” Derek confirms. “Alex is still holding onto his face. You got him right in the eyes, I'm actually kinda impressed.”
“My aim isn't that terrible,” Stiles grumbles, finally slipping one of the knots free. Derek's hands flex again.
“You shouldn't have come,” Derek says, his fingers briefly brushing against Stiles'. Before Stiles can protest he continues: “But I'm glad you did. You should've brought the others.”
“I didn't want to risk them pissing off the Alphas as well,” Stiles says, undoing the second knot. “I figure if we can keep as many of them out of this as possible we might just all get through it alive.”
“Quicker,” Derek says, his voice tight, and Stiles' fingers shake as they fight to unpick the third and tightest knot. “I am buying you a knife for your birthday, this is ridiculous.”
“I have a knife!” Stiles says, working the rough rope with his hands. He realises then that Derek's wrists are raw. “Jesus, what is this rope made out of?”
“What do you think?” Derek says, taking his eyes off of the Alphas to glare at Stiles for a second.
Oh. Shit. Stiles tugs and tugs and the knot finally comes undone, just in time for Derek to move smoothly into a defensive crouch and roar at Robert. The wolfsbane must still be affecting him because he actually takes several steps back. Derek winces as Stiles stands and drags him up at the same time, making sure he has the baton in one hand. Derek must be injured but all Stiles can think about is the way Robert's teeth are shifting and the fact that Alex is picking himself up.
“We need to leave,” Stiles says, tugging on Derek's sleeve. Derek is still, immovable, staring at Robert and making a sound in his chest that's more wolf than man. Stiles hasn't heard it before, even when Derek was facing down Peter, and it makes a primitive part of him want to curl up and hide in a cave.
“Derek, come on,” Stiles tugs again, hard enough to make Derek rock on his feet. “I know they've probably challenged your Alphadom and all that shit but we are at least five people down, right now, and as awesome as we both are we will not make it out of this fight alive.”
Alex is on his feet and coming towards them, his eyes squinted and scarred but still open, and Robert is growling low in his chest. Sarah is still down, at least, and if Stiles was a werewolf maybe he'd be a lot less worried about their odds. He isn't, though, and he's only got one more trick up his sleeve – one that's more defensive than offensive.
“Derek,” Stiles says, trying figure what he can say to get through to him. “Derek. Please.”
The stiff tension in Derek's body snaps like a rubber band and he shoots a quick wide-eyed look at Stiles. Stiles tugs again and Derek takes a step back, still holding himself between the Alphas and Stiles. Chivalry. Stiles reaches into his bag and grabs one of the other vials Lydia gave him. Derek's nose twitches, which is understandable, even Stiles can smell this.
“When I say run -” Stiles says, pushing Derek behind him - “you run. And cover your nose. Definitely don't breathe this in.”
“Stiles,” Derek tries to move in front of him again, even as they're backing away, but Stiles prevents him.
“Trust me,” Stiles says, turning his head just enough so that he can catch Derek's eyes whilst still watching Robert and Alex. Derek stares for a half-second and then nods.
For the second time in fifteen minutes Stiles tightens his grip on the baton. He's sweating and he's very faintly terrified but he's still got enough adrenaline left for one last push. He steps forward, putting space between him and Derek, hoping Derek keeps retreating.
“What are you going to do, little human?” Robert says and his voice is deep and pleasant and that's not fair because the bad guys are meant to sound like assholes.
“Whatever it takes to keep my friends safe,” Stiles says, standing tall. Alex snarls and leaps at him and Stiles sidesteps neatly, because apparently all that lacrosse training has finally seeped into his bones, slamming the baton into the side of Alex's face.
Alex staggers, clutching at his face again, and Stiles moves around him, shifting his grip and striking hard at the back of Alex's knee. Alex goes down and Stiles kicks at him, planting a solid foot in Alex's side. He knows he's got no chance of doing permanent damage but it feels incredibly good to do some of the attacking for once. Robert's obviously more affected by the wolfsbane than he'd been pretending because his speed isn't enough to catch Stiles before he dances back.
“Run,” Stiles says, taking two steps back and smashing the vial open next to Alex's head, right in front of Robert.
The scent of peppermint is so powerful that Stiles feels like it's actually cutting the air and his eyes instantly water. Alex actually howls and Stiles feels dimly satisfied by that as he jogs backward. Robert rubs frantically at his nose and eyes and Stiles has a moment to be amazed that it's working when he feels a hand, Derek's, close around his arm and drag him away.
Stiles lets Derek haul him along for a moment before tugging his arm out of Derek's grip and turning them around, heading in the direction of the Jeep. He drops a few more peppermint vials as they run, warning Derek to cover his nose each time, and by the time they reach the Jeep his hands stink. He can tell because Derek keeps twisting his nose up in a way that's actually incredibly endearing.
They climb into the Jeep and Stiles pulls out of the area as quickly as he can without risking getting stopped by one of his Dad's deputies. Derek is silent and when Stiles looks over he sees him texting someone, probably Isaac. Stiles is pretty sure that the only reason his hands aren't shaking right now is because he's holding onto the steering wheel. His phone buzzes in his pocket, which is probably Scott letting him know whatever Derek just told Isaac.
This would all be so much easier if everyone would just work together.
“Peppermint?” Derek asks after they're out of the district. Some of the tension leeches out of his shoulders as if they've crossed some kind of invisible boundary. Maybe the Alpha pack have set up out here?
“Heard it's pretty overwhelming for you guys,” Stiles says, shrugging. “Got it out of a book.”
Derek doesn't need to know what kind of book. Stiles wonders if he should write Terry Pratchett a letter thanking him for indirectly saving their lives. That would probably be weird though. Derek just nods in answer, briefly raising a hand to swipe at his nose.
“The other thing was wolfsbane?” he asks after another minute of silence. He's holding himself awkwardly in the seat so Stiles figures he's mostly focusing on healing rather than conversation.
“Something Lydia came up with,” Stiles says, nodding. “She's become scarily obsessed after figuring out what went down at her party.”
Stiles still has nightmares about what he hallucinated his Dad saying. Worst night ever.
“Slow acting,” Derek says, as if to himself. “The vapour gets into the system and – slows things down? Confuses us?”
“Yeah, something like that,” Stiles says. “We haven't been able to test it, obviously, so we were mostly guessing at what it would do. We wanted something that could incapacitate not kill. Just in case -”
Stiles doesn't have to finish that sentence because Derek knows how many times Scott tried to kill him in the early days. He knows that the humans need to be able to protect themselves if it all goes to shit.
“Guess we know now,” Stiles says, sending a grin across the Jeep. “Lydia will probably be pissed I didn't take notes.”
It's easier to think about Lydia now than it was. He's joked with Scott about having a fifteen year plan but they were just that – jokes. Lydia is turning out to be a great friend, now that she knows he exists, and he's realising he likes that a lot. She's still perfect to him, always will be, but he doesn't ache around her the way he used to. Maybe he will ask Lily out, take Derek's advice, because the worst case scenario is she turns him down and considering that most of Stiles' worst case scenarios these days generally involve certain death he thinks he can deal with striking out.
It'll almost be normal.
“I'm guessing you can't go back to the depot,” Stiles says, instinctively taking a turning that'll lead him home. He looks across for confirmation and Derek shakes his head. “My Dad doesn't get off night shifts until seven usually. You could stay.”
Derek doesn't say anything and Stiles wonders if the very act of offering his room instead of Derek just taking it has confused Derek. After a moment there's a hesitant brush of Derek's hand against Stiles' where it's resting on the shift.
“Thanks,” Derek says. It's not just for the room, Stiles can tell, it's weighted down with everything Stiles has done tonight. He feels something grow in his chest and smiles across at Derek.
“Anything for the friendly neighbourhood Alpha,” Stiles says, trying to take the edge of the faint embarrassment he always feels when complimented, even if it's only subtextually.
Derek smiles back, a much nicer smile than the shit-eating grin he'd thrown at them when he picked Erica up from school, and Stiles likes it. He thinks maybe this is what Derek would look like without his past weighing him down; this is a kind of Derek he'd want to be friends with on sight, without even finding out about the fiercely loyal, dryly sarcastic, surprisingly kind guy he was inside.
They make the rest of the ride in silence, as silent as Stiles' beautiful hunk of junk Jeep can be, and Stiles enjoys the look on Derek's face when Stiles leads him through the front door of his house. He actually looks deeply suspicious, like Stiles' Dad is going to leap out at him any second, and Stiles has to stifle a laugh. He sends Derek upstairs and goes into the kitchen to make a couple of sandwiches and get something to drink. He's starving so he figures Derek is too and he still doesn't know the extent of what the Alphas did to him before Stiles got there. He remembers, just, to wash his hands thoroughly before touching anything because he didn't go through all that to save Derek only to turn around and poison him after.
His hands shake a little bit from the comedown and he can feel a deep weariness building up in his bones. He makes it upstairs before his legs threaten to sag and he leans against the wall, catching his breath. Derek appears and takes the plate with the sandwiches before slinging an arm around Stiles' waist and helping him into his room. He settles Stiles on the end of the bed and drops into the desk chair, half of a sandwich already in his mouth.
“So,” Stiles says after he's wolfed (ha!) his sandwich down. “I guess you could call that a statement.”
“Yeah,” Derek says, leaning back and stretching his legs out. He closes his eyes and looks tired, maybe more tired than Stiles has seen him since Kate shot him.
“Shit,” Stiles says, rubbing a hand over his head. “Fuck.”
“They won't come after your Dad,” Derek says, pulling thoughts right out of Stiles' head. Stiles gapes at him. “We work hard at staying under the radar. Something happening to the Sheriff would bring the Argents down on them. They wouldn't risk it.”
“What about the Sheriff's son?” Stiles asks softly. He's been thinking about it a lot, about what he's been doing and what would happen to his Dad if he died. He's come close to dying too many times this year and his Dad doesn't even know. He hates himself for it.
“They won't risk that either,” Derek says, opening his eyes and fixing them on Stiles'. “It's actually – for once I'm glad the Argents are here.”
“Why?” Stiles asks, genuinely startled. Derek looks at him with serious eyes.
“Because if they weren't you'd be dead before sunrise for what you just did,” Derek says. Stiles shivers and looks away from him, taking a long drink for something to do. When he turns back he doesn't think he imagines Derek's eyes flicking away from his throat. It's another thing to file under the heading Things I'm Not Thinking About.
“But they won't do anything,” Stiles says, needing to hear it. Derek looks away from him, looks out the window and down at the carpet and over at Stiles' Little League trophies.
“I can't guarantee they won't try to hurt you,” Derek says, eyes finally coming back to Stiles'. “Especially Alex, you humiliated him. They won't kill you though.”
“Small consolation,” Stiles says. He can still feel the phantom sensation of Gerard's fists some days. He can't go through that again, it'd break him.
“I won't let that happen,” Derek says, suddenly leaning forward in the chair, rolling into Stiles' space.
“You can't promise that,” Stiles shakes his head. “You can't be everywhere.”
“I can try,” Derek says. His voice is heavy and earnest and if he'd been like this from the start Stiles doesn't think Erica and Boyd would have run away. Stiles swallows and looks away from him.
“We should get them back,” he says, changing the subject. Derek raises an eyebrow and leans back. He doesn't roll away though.
“Erica and Boyd,” Stiles says, raising a hand when it looks like Derek's going to speak. “Considering I just completely fucked up any chance I had of staying under their radar – it can't hurt for me to help you get them back.”
“I don't even know where they're keeping them,” Derek says, frustration clear in his voice. “I can't smell them anywhere.”
“Maybe they're disguising their scent,” Stiles says. “Is that a thing you guys could do?”
“If they -” Derek stops and thinks for a moment. “If they scent-marked them enough it would be almost impossible to find Erica and Boyd's scents underneath it unless I was right on top of them.”
“Okay,” Stiles says, spreading his hands. “So we'll have to find them the old-fashioned way.”
He tries to stand up only to stumble forward. Derek catches him by the waist and Stiles' hands land on Derek's shoulders, gripping tight. Derek breathes in sharply and his fingers flex as he looks up with that expression Stiles can't read. He's getting better at reading Derek but he still can't read this one. Derek swallows and there's something here Stiles just isn't getting.
“We can start another day,” Derek says, pushing Stiles until he can stand up. “You need to sleep.”
“Adrenaline crash, probably,” Stiles says, his legs feeling rubbery as Derek steers him toward the bathroom. “What -”
“You still smell of peppermint,” Derek says, wrinkling his nose again. “I won't be able to sleep if you don't wash it off.”
“Oh, okay,” Stiles says. “Of course.”
Derek leaves him and Stiles has probably the clumsiest shower he's ever had in his life – even counting the few times he and Scott had thought it was a good idea to get drunk and he'd needed to wash the smell off before his Dad caught him. When he gets out there's clean sleepwear on the toilet seat and Stiles should probably feel weird about not even noticing Derek coming back in and leaving them. He doesn't though because, well, because pack. He thinks that's the name for the impossible warmth blooming in his chest.
Werewolves. Ridiculous but amazing.
Derek is stretched out across Stiles' bed when Stiles is done, his jacket hanging off the back of Stiles' chair and his shoes neatly tucked under the desk. Stiles wants to point out that he actually has a cot thing Derek can sleep on, it's what Scott used to use when he slept over, but Stiles also just really wants to sleep. He switches the light off and falls face down on the bed, wriggling and shifting until he's pressed up against Derek's side.
Derek rolls into him and presses his nose to Stiles' neck, inhaling deeply, and Stiles lets him. A strange sense of security falls over him every time one of them does this – like the certain knowledge that they could find him anywhere because they'd done it.
“Better?” Stiles asks, mostly into the pillow. Derek makes a soft noise in reply, throwing one of his arms over Stiles' back and curling a hand around his ribs. Stiles will take that as a yes.
“Hey,” Stiles says as he feels Derek's breathing begin to even out. “Tomorrow you have to tell me what they did.”
“Stiles,” Derek says, his breath tickling the back of Stiles' neck.
“I mean it,” Stiles says, shifting an elbow to dig it toward Derek. “No more secrets. Not about stuff like this. We're – we're pack now, right? With the sniffing and you said – you suggested -”
Derek goes very still for a long time and Stiles wonders if he's pushed this too far, if maybe he's been reading the whole situation wrong. Derek relaxes all at once, going almost boneless beside him.
“We are,” Derek says, the words warm against Stiles' skin. “No more secrets. Whatever you want to know – I'll tell you.”
“Cool,” Stiles says, the word almost lost in a tremendous yawn. “We'll start with what I smell like.”
“What you -” Derek snorts and then huffs and, shit, that was a laugh. That was an actual laugh. Scratch that, it's actual laughter. It's restrained and it makes Derek bury his face in Stiles' neck but he's laughing properly and maybe Stiles has been counting the half-laughs that he's managed to get out of Derek but this is so much more than he was expecting. It makes him grin into the pillow.
Stiles falls asleep with the outline of Derek's smile pressing against his neck.