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Stiles asks Allison about it one day after school. He’s quick about it because Allison and Scott are never really separated now, after the Great Reunion three years ago. But Allison always offers kind, almost apologetic smiles to Stiles when she passes him in the halls, like she’s sorry she takes up a lot of Scott’s bro-time, and Stiles figures that after all the shit he put up with between her and Scott, and then her and the pack, Allison owes him one. It doesn’t matter that she’s one of his best friends now; she still owes him one. He corners her in an empty hall and announces, “I am not stealthy.”
Allison blinks at him.
“Or coordinated,” Stiles adds. “I don’t have a good aim. I can throw a pretty kick ass punch, but that doesn’t mean anything when it comes to werewolves. I usually end up hurting myself.”
Allison arches a brow. “What are you asking, Stiles?”
“I am asking, you, Katniss, to teach me your mad skills. And maybe your father, too.”
Allison’s eyes widen. “You want me to train you to be a hunter?” she asks incredulously, and Stiles is already shaking his head, frantic, no, no, no, and Allison just stares at him.
“No, no, no,” Stiles says aloud. “I want you to teach me to defend myself. I – the pack – Scott… they all… they all view me as this like, weak and powerless human. And Derek loves me, but when we’re out fighting, it’s a huge problem. He gets too distracted trying to make sure no one gets to me after I’m done being bait. And then he gets hurt. And then he’s huffy because I’m huffy and we both have to stay in our own separate corners licking our own wounds and that really intervenes on Sexy Times with Stiles and Derek.”
Allison looks like she could have gone her whole life without Stiles telling her the last part. “So you want me to teach you… to defend yourself?” she asks slowly. “Stiles you’re – you’re not having like an identity crisis about who you are – where your place is – in the pack, are you? Is that what this is?”
Stiles shakes his head, and then shrugs. “Mostly it’s about the need to protect myself,” Stiles tells her. “I know I’m not going anywhere soon; I’m going to community college, for God’s sake, so I know the pack will always be here for me. But there’s still – something could still happen, when they can’t get there fast enough. I want to be able to stop it myself, if that’s the case. I – you – Allison.” He gives her a pleading look. It’s not often that Stiles doesn’t have the words to explain himself, but this is one of those cases. Allison proves just how well she knows him when she nods decisively.
“Of course I’ll teach you,” she says, reaching out and clutching his shoulder, pulling him in for a comforting hug. “I’ll talk to my dad and we’ll set up an exercise regime.”
“You can’t tell Derek,” Stiles says.
Allison looks at him, arches a brow in question, and shrugs. “Okay,” she says, because even now, after three years, after becoming a part of the Hale Pack, Allison still enjoys spiting Derek just as much as Stiles does, and as the two humans of the pack, they’re also usually the two to be most likely to cause trouble just to hear Derek’s annoyed growls.
==
If Stiles thought it would be easy, he’s quickly proven wrong. He was first line on the lacrosse team for the last two years of high school, and he’s in relatively decent physical shape and it’s still not easy. “Three miles,” Chris says, holding up a stopwatch, and gesturing towards the path.
“You’re nuts,” Stiles says, but then Chris hits the red button on the stopwatch, and Stiles doesn’t want to know what the consequences are if he doesn’t run the three miles in appropriate timing, so he takes off. Allison runs ahead of him, and he swears he can hear her laughing as she jogs.
The good news is that Stiles is a pretty experienced jogger and runner, having done both pretty frequently for an extended amount of time when running for his life. Chris has the same skill of managing to look unimpressed but still kind of proud, just like Derek, and Stiles grins. “You didn’t expect it,” he says. “Admit it.”
Chris says, “Now a hundred pushups,” and clicks the start button on the stopwatch again.
Stiles collapses after fifty and Chris nudges him with a boot and tells him it’s a start.
==
Stiles and Derek are probably the most domestic couple Stiles knows – especially given Stiles’ age. They share an apartment. Which was a whole argument in and of itself. Derek didn’t want to give up his stupid warehouse/subway depot/rusted out not-a-home place, and Stiles’ dad was convinced it was moving too fast, and Derek was already kind of mad that Stiles chose to stay in Beacon Hills and go to community college when he got into Berkeley, Caltech, and Stanford. He was convinced the Sheriff would resent him.
Which he did, Stiles reasons, for all of two seconds, before Stiles explained the reasoning behind his wanting to stay in Beacon Hills – it wasn’t all Derek. It was the pack, too. It was family and friends and love and protection, and Stiles didn’t want to lose it.
Stiles unlocks the door and contemplates crawling over the threshold for all of two seconds before Derek suddenly appears, looking anxious. “Why did you make that noise?” he demands.
Stiles winces as he steps into the apartment. Derek looks like he’s two seconds from launching himself at Stiles, doing a quick sniff check to make sure Stiles isn’t dying, and then picking him up and carrying him to Stiles’ next destination. Stiles doesn’t put it past him, mostly because Derek’s done it before.
He tells Derek, “No reason. I just overworked myself at the gym.”
“The gym,” Derek repeats flatly. “You run for your life on a bimonthly basis and you overworked yourself at the gym?”
“To be fair,” Stiles points out, hobbling over to the kitchen to grab a water bottle, “I usually overwork myself doing that, too. And end up with some form of injury.” Derek rushes into the kitchen and physically pushes Stiles into a kitchen chair before getting the water bottle for him.
“Thanks,” Stiles says, taking it and drinking half of it before setting the bottle back down on the table.
“I thought you hated the gym. And if you were at the gym why do you smell like Allison?” Derek asks, brow arched.
Stiles shrugs. The best part about being part of a wolf pack is that he’s learned to be a really excellent liar, and it’s not actually entirely a lie when he says, “We worked out together. It’s a thing we’re going to start doing.” When his legs no longer feel like jelly, he stands up and leans forward, pecking a confused looking Derek on the cheek. “I’m sorry our combined stench offends your delicate senses. I’ll go shower.”
“It doesn’t offend my senses,” Derek grumbles. “It just smells weird.”
“Start dinner,” Stiles tosses over his shoulder, ignoring Derek’s last comment.
Derek doesn’t mention anything else about Stiles’ sudden need to start working out, but he does wear a confused, speculative expression on his face for the rest of the night, until Stiles rolls over in bed and rests his head on Derek’s chest and kisses the spot right under his jaw lightly, saying, “Stop thinking about it like it’s a bad thing.”
Derek shakes his head. “Come on,” Stiles says, “you know you’re the only one for me.”
Derek rolls his eyes. Stiles sings, “You’re the one that I want,” and Derek groans and kisses him silent.
==
Stiles days go pretty much the same for the next month, and somehow the pack miraculously manages to avoid giant trolls, meddling witches, creepy vengeful ghosts, and rival packs in that time. He goes to class, he goes to work at the library three days a week, and he trains with Allison and Chris. When Chris finally deems him appropriately physically fit, they move on to self-defense. “Make sure you hold your stance,” Allison reminds him, as Chris throws a punch and forces Stiles to stumble back.
“I think you enjoy hurting me,” Stiles complains, glaring at Chris while he rubs his elbow.
Chris rolls his eyes. “I’d enjoy it more if you ever shut up,” he says dryly. Stiles’ mouth drops open.
“I’m deeply offended by that. My sarcasm is a part of my wonderful personality,” Stiles says, before he spins a move and tackles Chris to the left. Chris stares up at him, sort of dazed for a moment, while Stiles grins down at him, and Allison smothers a laugh.
Stiles says, “I guess I’m not too uncoordinated, then,” and helps Chris up.
He spars Allison next, and because Allison is still pretty kickass and holds nothing back, he ends up on the floor a couple times before he finally defeats her. They lie on the mat in the Argent’s basement and stare up at the ceiling, breathing hard. “Hey,” Allison says, “why don’t you want to tell anyone about your training?”
Stiles sighs. “Derek would get defensive,” he says. “He’d tell me that the pack has kept me safe just fine, and that I don’t need to worry about these things. It’s basically his way of saying that he doesn’t want me to be trained because then I could be standing alongside you, fighting with you,” Stiles waves a hand, rolling his eyes. “And it’s not about that. I don’t necessarily want to be standing in the middle of the line of fire, but I do want to be able to keep myself alive if the line of fire is suddenly targeted at me.”
Allison shrugs. “I’m just picturing the look on Derek’s face when he finds out,” she says, and they both burst out laughing, curled into each other. They laugh for a good twenty minutes, imitating Derek and each of the members of the pack, before they fall asleep right there on the mats, exhausted from the workout.
--
Stiles wakes up to his phone and Derek’s name flashing across the screen. He slides the green arrow across the screen, blinking to clear his blurry vision, and says, “Yeeeeessss?”
“Where are you, Stiles?” Derek shouts into the phone. Stiles jumps, and sits up straight, looking around.
“Uh,” Stiles replies.
“It’s ten o’clock at night, and you haven’t called or texted since five when you said you were going to the gym. What the fuck, Stiles, I was –” Derek cuts himself off just in time, right before he says, I was worried, just like he always does, and Stiles breathes out.
“I fell asleep, Derek. I’m really sorry I didn’t text you, I completely forgot; I was really distracted.”
“With the gym,” Derek says, and it sounds kind of nasty.
“Yeah,” Stiles sits up straighter, and glares at a spot on the wall. Beside him, Allison snuffles sleepily. “With the gym. Is that a fucking problem, Derek?”
Derek… Derek hangs up on him. Stiles stares down at the phone in disbelief, mouth parted, more words sitting on his tongue, but no one to say them to. Finally he struggles into a standing position, leans over Allison, and shakes her lightly. “Al,” he whispers, “come on, you should go up to bed.”
“’m comfy,” Allison mumbles.
“No you’re not,” Stiles laughs. Chris appears then.
“I’ll get her.” He nods. “You should get home before…” he trails off, but Stiles knows what he means. Before Derek tears apart the town looking for him. Or before he and Derek get into an even bigger fight and everybody in the pack is grumpy for a week while they refuse to speak to each other. Which, Stiles thinks, is surprisingly difficult to do when they live together, but also something they’ve managed to do two separate times now.
It’s not all rainbows and butterflies; being in a relationship, Stiles thinks as he trudges to his Jeep and gets in. He drives home and sits for a moment before getting out. He locks the doors and is about to turn around to head into their apartment when he’s suddenly pressed against the side of the vehicle by supernatural strength. Stiles is about to pull some of the totally awesome moves he’s learned so far in his training, when he inhales and smells Derek’s shampoo. “What the fuck?” he says angrily, pushing at Derek’s chest. Derek doesn’t budge, just leans in and inhales.
“You smell like Allison,” he growls.
“I was working out with her,” Stiles says, and stomps his foot a little to prove his point. “I bet I smell like sweat, too.” He lifts one arm. “Yeah, see; take a good whiff, you freak. Eau de Stiles, pure and pungent.”
Derek, the freak, leans in and inhales again. “Oh my god, you’re nuts,” Stiles shrieks, bringing his arm back down and glaring hard at him. Derek squints at him. Then he grabs him by the arm and tugs him towards their still open apartment door. He slams the door shut and pushes Stiles against the wall and starts tugging his gym shorts down over his hips.
“What are you doing?” Stiles yells. “We agreed no nudity outside of the bedroom after the last time when Isaac cried, he was so embarrassed! Derek – no – what are you doing,” Stiles groans, slamming his head back against the wall as Derek starts kissing the skin of his hip.
“Don’t like how you smell,” Derek mumbles.
And then proceeds to make Stiles smell entirely like Derek.
==
The training is good – it’s great. Stiles feels more confident than ever in himself, and while he’s sort of disappointed that he hasn’t had a chance to prove himself in the three months since starting training, he’s reassured by the fact that if he ever has to, he can now physically fight, shoot, and run rather well. He’s also gotten incredibly stronger.
Allison even whistled at his newly forming six pack. “Lookin’ good, Stilinski,” she’d said, and then proceeded to hand him his own ass in a sparring session.
The best part is the critical look of pride in Chris’s eyes that says he’s happy Stiles isn’t a completely hopeless case, even though he refuses to admit it. “Again,” he tells Allison and Stiles. Stiles heaves a breath and they go again, and this time, because Stiles actually stands a chance against Allison, he defeats her.
“Bow and arrow,” Chris says, and Stiles and Allison both head over to the targets. They’re outside, and Stiles calculates the direction of the wind, aims, pulls back, and releases. It hits dead center, right beside Allison’s. He looks over and Allison is grinning at him.
“Rifle,” Chris directs. They both hit dead center again. Chris instructs them to shoot the handguns next, and then he stands up.
“You did well, kid,” he says, and claps Stiles on the back. Stiles is proud to say he doesn’t even stumble. “We can tone down the training to every Sunday now. It doesn’t need to be as intense. This will just keep you practicing. You and Allison get enough practice as it is,” he says dryly.
“Hey, don’t jinx it,” Stiles shouts. “We’ve gone on for how many months without a disaster.”
Chris gives him a positively evil grin and says, “A hundred pushups before you leave. Timed.” He clicks start on the stopwatch and Stiles drops immediately.
Stiles doesn’t collapse.
==
A benefit of Stiles’ three months of intense hunter-style-regime of training is that Derek thoroughly enjoys his new and improved body – when he’s not confused, angry, and worried about Stiles’ gym workouts. Stiles knows he suspects it’s more than just the gym, but Stiles isn’t ready to tell him and have that argument yet.
His sex life, however, totally appreciates the training. Stiles has found that he really enjoys Derek’s tongue tracing his newly formed abs. He also likes that while he’s still nowhere near as strong as Derek, he sometimes can take Derek by surprise and flip them over, finding Derek pressed against the mattress, eyes wide and lust filled, lips parted, as Stiles grins down at him.
“Where did you learn this?” Derek murmurs right against Stiles’ mouth, before Stiles kisses him breathless.
It’s not all Appreciate Stiles’ New Body time though. Sometimes, Derek gets frustrated with him saying he ran late for dinner because he was at the gym. He always complains that Stiles reeks of Allison. A couple times, Scott will narrow his eyes suspiciously and ask if Allison and Stiles are planning something against him. The rest of the pack just notices Stiles’ shirts suddenly becoming tighter, his pants fitting better. Erica whistles at him one night when they all go out for dinner.
“I don’t know what you’re doing, Stilinski, but keep it up,” she says, and Derek growls and flashes his eyes at her. Erica just grins back.
“Thanks,” Stiles mumbles sheepishly, keeping his grip on Derek’s shirt to keep him from launching at Erica. Even now, sometimes Derek doesn’t have the greatest patience for his Betas, especially when he’s having trouble figuring something out. Like why Stiles is suddenly twenty times sexier, body wise.
Across the room, Allison grins at him and winks, and Stiles smiles back. Beside him, Derek stiffens, a sign that he definitely saw them.
That night, Derek rips Stiles’ shirt off, kisses him senseless, and whispers against his ear, “What are you hiding from me?” before biting down.
Stiles chokes on a moan and the truth.
==
It happens four months after Stiles first started training, and a month after he sort of officially finished training. He’s probably lucky Chris had decided to gift him with the smaller crossbow last month, as a reward for becoming so badass (which is not at all the way Chris decided to phrase it). All in all, Stiles has to hand it to the Fates: they’ve gone four months without a big incident, which is pretty impressive for the small supernatural town of Beacon Hills. Stiles has almost forgotten what the adrenaline coursing through his veins as he runs for his life feels like.
Until he’s suddenly reminded.
He knew sometimes Omegas ran together, sort of like vagabonds or something, but he hasn’t had to encounter any yet. Suddenly they’re in town and apparently targeting Stiles on the basis that he smells like he belongs to a pack, and he’s a weak human.
He’s really getting mad about how much of a beating his beloved Jeep seems to take.
“Fuck,” he wheezes as the tallest Omega slams him against the side of the vehicle and growls.
“You’re dead,” the Omega says, glowering, eyes shining bright gold.
“Fuck you,” Stiles says, and in one smooth, extremely practiced movement, twists out from under the Omega’s grip, pulls his knife out from his boot, and twists around, slashing it across the wolf’s throat. He falls to the ground.
He knows the pack is on their way; he can hear their howls in the distance. Since starting his relationship with Derek, there’s been this type of bond, this way that Derek can tell when Stiles is calm and alright, or can tell when Stiles is in danger. But he doesn’t have that kind of time, with the three other Omegas moving in on him, growling and snarling. Stiles reaches back into the open door of the Jeep, without breaking eye contact with the wolves, and digs around in his thankfully open backpack, pulling the crossbow out.
With an ease perfected by Chris spending hours teaching it to Stiles, he twists around, manages to shoot one Omega in the neck while slashing the knife against the Omega nearest him, across the throat. They both fall, and there’s only one left. Stiles reloads, aims the crossbow, and fires before the Omega even gets a chance to launch himself at Stiles.
“Holy shit,” Stiles breathes out, fingers shaking, and falls back against the Jeep, sliding down to the pavement.
Four minutes later, the pack arrives, with Allison and Chris screeching up in Chris’s SUV. It’s a treaty between the pack and Chris that if there are strangers intruding on their territory, Chris is kept in the loop, and if one of the members of the pack are in extreme danger, Chris is brought out immediately so there are more helping hands.
The pack comes to a stop three yards away, and Chris and Allison jump out of their car, not even bothering to get their weapons. Allison walks up. “Hey,” she says, kicking at one of the Omega’s bodies.
“Hey,” Stiles says.
“What the fuck?” Scott asks in disbelief, loud enough that Stiles can hear him. In front of Scott, Derek is growling. Allison holds out a hand to help Stiles up. Chris walks over.
“That thing sighted right?” Chris nods to the crossbow.
The three of them turn to look at the two bodies with arrows sticking out of them. Stiles clears his throat. Allison says, “I’m thinking it’s sighted pretty well,” sounding amused.
“Man,” Stiles replies, bending over and picking up his knife, wiping some of the blood off on his jeans. “Stabbing is a little too messy for me. I much prefer the long distance approach.” Chris snorts.
Finally, the pack moves in. Isaac whistles lowly at the bodies on the pavement. “What the hell, Stiles?” Erica demands, stomping her foot. Stiles knows this is just because he ruined her fun. Erica has been itching for some action since four months ago when the action died down.
“Yeah, Stiles,” Scott echoes. “What the hell?”
Derek growls, and launches at Stiles, pressing him against the Jeep. “This is what you’ve been doing?” he demands.
Stiles lets the knife between them drop because while he’s become pretty coordinated in recent months, he still doesn’t trust himself not to accidentally stab someone he actually really loves. He stabbed Chris hard one too many times with the wooden dummy knife to know he’s probably still pretty capable of it. “You’ve been training to be a hunter? That’s what you want to be, Stiles?”
“What the fuck?” Stiles shouts. “No, I haven’t been training to be a hunter, you asshole. I’d never want to be a hunter.” He pauses, the adds, “No offense.” He nods to Chris and even Allison. Allison shrugs and grins brightly at him.
“It’s a tough job,” she says. “Some people are very judgmental.”
Derek flashes his eyes at her and Allison rolls her eyes. “Then what?” Derek demands, turning back to Stiles. “What were you doing?”
“I was training myself to be stronger and faster and better!” Stiles yells. “Because you can’t always protect me, Derek, Jesus. If you’re always focused on me, how are you going to stop yourself from getting hurt? I know I have to play bait, Derek. I know that it’s kind of my job because I’m your – I’m yours,” Stiles says, swallowing. Derek seems to calm down a little at this. “But that doesn’t mean I have to be helpless,” Stiles adds. “I didn’t do it to fight on the frontlines,” Stiles whispers softly. “That’s not what this was about. It wasn’t so I could stand next to you and fight – even though I could. It was about times like this, Derek. When you can’t get here fast enough.”
Derek chokes a little. “Jesus, Stiles. I thought – I thought…”
Stiles frowns. “What?”
Derek eyes him and then his eyes slide over to Allison. Allison’s eyes widen, and Stiles inhales. “You thought I was cheating on you and Scott with Allison?” Stiles shouts.
“What?” Scott yells, instinctively sliding toward Allison. Allison herself is silently shaking with laughter. Chris coughs. The look on his face says he’s just as amused with this as Allison is.
“Oh, wow. Look at these bodies,” Isaac suddenly says, nudging Erica and Boyd. “We should probably – let’s just… we’ll get rid of these. Lydia already has the fire started out at the Preserve.”
“I cannot believe you,” Stiles shakes his head in disbelief. “I truly cannot even believe this. What the hell is the matter with you? How could you even think that I’d cheat on you? And even if I would cheat on you, I’d never cheat on Scott!” Derek looks kind of angry at that.
“Thanks, bro,” Scott says, over by Allison.
“What was I supposed to think?” Derek asks. “You were always saying you were at the gym, working out with Allison. You reeked of her. Then suddenly you’re all – you know,” Derek gestures towards Stiles body. Stiles looks down at where his shirt is stretched tightly across his chest. The sleeves are kind of tight, too. He absently thinks he might have to do some shopping. The blood dripping off his tight jeans proves this thought correct. “I thought maybe you were trying to show off for her or something,” Derek says, and he sounds agitated.
Allison glances at Stiles, and Stiles looks back at her for a moment. “Allison is one of my best friends. She’s Scott’s person,” Stiles whispers, leaning in close to Derek. He speaks louder. “And even though I am so incredibly mad at you for ever thinking that I would cheat on you, betray you like that… you’re my person, Derek. I know I lied about where I was but… I didn’t want to argue with you about it. I knew you’d say no.”
“I don’t want you in any more danger,” Derek protests. “I know that with you having these talents, you’re going to be right next to me fighting even harder. You already want to be fighting right next to me.”
Stiles shrugs. “So tell me no,” he says. “You already do.”
“And you already don’t listen,” Derek glowers.
“That’s not entirely true,” Stiles says. “I take your words into account, Derek. And I usually listen, unless you’re in really, really bad danger. Look, if it reassures you, when I’m finished trying to trap whatever supernatural creature it is we’re fighting, I’ll go over with Allison and fight from a vantage point.”
Allison’s job is probably the toughest and the safest one. She usually picks a spot completely out of range of the area they’re fighting in, and shoots arrows from the distance. Derek relaxes when Stiles says this. “You would?” he asks, and he sounds vulnerable.
“Of course,” Stiles says, and Derek leans in and breathes against Stiles neck.
“You… you did good,” Derek says hesitantly, and pulls away, looking at the spots where the bodies were before Isaac, Erica, and Boyd made them disappear. “I’m glad you know how to defend yourself, Stiles. Really.”
Stiles grins.
“Even though you thought I was going to be a hunter? And then that I was having Sexy Times with Allison instead of you?”
Derek wrinkles his nose. “When are you going to stop saying Sexy Times and start saying sex like a normal grown up person?”
Scott gags.
“Never,” Stiles tells him. “I think it’s Sexy Times with Stiles and Derek, though.” Derek slings an arm over Stiles shoulder and kisses his forehead, before pushing him into the Jeep.
“Yeah,” he rumbles. “After you shower, though. You stink.”
Stiles glares. “It’s not easy being a badass, okay? Sometimes you have to get blood on your hands.” Derek just shakes his head.
Stiles winds his window down and sticks his head out. “Hey, Sunday, right?” he asks Chris and Allison.
Chris rolls his eyes.
“I’m upping your workout,” he tells Stiles, and Stiles groans.
“You’re the worst trainer ever. No one else is determined to kill me.”
“I want to train you,” Derek interrupts.
Stiles grins, blinding and bright. “Sure,” he says. “I’d love a chance to kick your ass.”
==
On Sunday Stiles learns that however much he hated Chris during his training, he hates Derek ten times more.
But he enjoys it anyway.