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Stiles’ roommate when he arrives on campus is a suspiciously quiet, bright, blue eyed guy who grunts out a ‘hello’ and disappears while Stiles unpacks. Stiles thinks the whole semester is going to go very badly if that’s all the more his roommate talks, because Stiles isn’t a quiet guy. His entire pack knows he isn’t a quiet guy. The difference between his pack and Greg, his roommate, is that at least his pack will let him ramble and nod along like they’re listening. Derek is the best for Stiles’ ramblings, because sometimes he actually does listen, and has some kind of smart, all too good response.
Derek and Scott help him unpack, Derek because he doesn’t want to say goodbye yet, and Scott because they’re both going to the same college.
“So I think that’s everything,” Stiles claps his hands together, and looks around his room. Derek looks around the room and then back at Stiles. Finally he offers a small smile.
“You kicking me out?” Derek asks him, and Stiles shakes his head.
“Nope. You can stay the whole semester, if you really want.”
Scott gags. “I am leaving,” he declares. “I have my own unpacking, and Stiles, you better be there to help soon!” He punches Stiles on the arm, and surprisingly, gives Derek a hug goodbye. Derek looks frozen until Scott unwraps his arms and heads down a floor to his own dorm room. Stiles tries not to laugh.
“Shut up,” Derek says, shooting him a dirty look.
“Sorry I just – I’m really gonna miss you,” Stiles says, and walks forward. This time, when Stiles hugs him, Derek hugs back and nuzzles his nose against Stiles’ neck. He grumbles a little, gripping Stiles tighter for a moment, before he pulls back.
“Yeah,” he says, “I guess I’ll miss you, too.” Stiles slaps him on the shoulder and then kisses him goodbye.
He doesn’t see Greg much for the first week, because all the freshmen are getting used to the campus and trying to deal with being slammed with homework and not getting lost or arriving late to class. Stiles takes to his classes and the campus in general like a champ, leading Scott along to all the new places he’s discovered. Scott also enjoys it, and surprisingly, doesn’t mourn leaving Allison behind at all. Stiles thinks it’s because he’s finally moving on, but he doesn’t dare bring it up.
When he does finally run into Greg, and they’re both in their room, awake and not asleep, Greg is looking down at Stiles’ mythology books (the antique ones, the ones he made Derek buy him because he needs to know everything) and Stiles’ locked Kindle that holds the eBook version of the Bestiary with a curious look on his face. “These are about werewolves,” he says.
“Yes, and you’re snooping around my desk,” Stiles snaps, striding forward and snatching his Kindle out of Greg’s hands.
Greg doesn’t even look apologetic. “Are you taking mythology classes?” he asks, crossing back over to his side of the room.
“No. I have an… extracurricular interest.”
Greg laughs. “But you don’t think they’re real, do you?”
At that moment, Scott bursts through Stiles and Greg’s door shouting, “Stiles, Derek called and the pack is –” he cuts off and stares wide eyed at Greg. “The uh… the package is… it’s arrived and it’s apparently having um. Separation anxiety?” He glances nervously between Stiles and Greg. “And Derek wanted to know why you weren’t answering your phone.”
“Class ran late,” Stiles says, still staring at Greg, who has a look in his eyes that Stiles doesn’t like. “I’ll call him and deal with the… package,” Stiles rolls his eyes.
Scott takes a deep breathe. “Good deal man, because Erica was howl – I mean… crying, on the phone. In… anger. At Derek.”
“It’s that time,” Stiles says lightly. “You know how she can’t bear to separate from her package.”
“I’m going to go now, so you can stop talking in code,” Greg announces, and walks out of the room.
“Package?” Stiles hisses, glaring at Scott once the door is shut and locked. Scott shrugs.
“There wasn’t really any saving that one,” Scott replies.
“Well now he thinks I’m a freak,” Stiles mumbles, but follows Scott out of the room, grabbing his cell phone out of his bag. They head into the lounge room and Stiles calls Derek back.
It takes twenty minutes, talking to and reassuring Erica, Isaac, and even Boyd that they’re alright and they’ll be home in two weeks for a weekend, and that the rest of the pack may come visit any time, before Derek’s Betas calm down. “Your Betas are nuts,” Stiles informs Derek when he comes back on the phone.
“They’re not just my Betas,” Derek mumbles. Stiles’ stomach flutters, as it always does, when Derek says that the pack is theirs; that Stiles has just as much influence, sometimes more than Derek, over the pack.
“When they’re acting nuts, they’re yours,” he says, instead of saying I miss you, I miss them, I miss home. They’ve had the argument before. It ended up with Derek winning, and Stiles going to college and living on campus.
“Can I visit? This weekend? Just for a night…” Derek sounds awkward, like he’s afraid Stiles will tell him no, he’s having too much of a fun time without Derek.
“Of course you can,” Stiles says softly. “You can even stay two nights,” he allows generously.
He can practically hear Derek rolling his eyes.
“What’s that smell?” Stiles asks.
Greg looks up from where he’s studying at his desk. “It’s a new scent of Febreeze,” he tells Stiles with a smile. Stiles looks at him, and then surveys the mess of clothes on Greg’s side of the room and shrugs. Greg would Febreeze instead of do laundry. Most guys Stiles knows would, actually. Still. Stiles sniffs the air a little deeper this time, and frowns. The scent is too familiar, almost sickly sweet.
“Could you… use a different scent, next time?” he asks, nose twitching.
Greg stares back at him and shrugs. “I guess so.”
Stiles is skeptical because Greg has a look on his face that says he’d rather not change his preferred scent of Febreeze or whatever, but he shrugs, because it’s only two weeks into the semester and he doesn’t want to get on Greg’s bad side. There’s a couple minutes of silence while Stiles unloads his backpack and starts his laptop up to start on his English paper. Then Greg says, “So what do you know about werewolves?”
Stiles freezes, hands hovering over his keyboard to log onto his computer. “What,” he says, swallowing.
“Werewolves? All those books,” Greg says, glancing at the books sitting on Stiles’ shelf. “They must have taught you a lot, about all those mythological creatures. But they seem to target werewolves most.”
“I have a vested interest,” Stiles defends himself.
Greg arches a brow. “I like Twilight!” Stiles shouts, and Greg blinks at him.
“You… you like Twilight?”
“Sure, yes, yeah, I mean… of course. It’s a good way to – I just – Taylor Lautner!” Stiles yells, hands flailing. “Who wouldn’t like that dude, man? Right? Admirable body. And all that fanfiction, it’s um… I like writing it?”
Greg blows out a breath. “Right,” he says, and fixes his eyes back on his own homework. Stiles slams his head against the desk.
He’s three pages into his paper and Greg is working on whatever homework he has, when his phone goes off. “Don’t freak out,” Erica says across the phone, miles and miles away. Stiles’ stomach sinks.
“When you say that I start freaking out,” Stiles tells her.
“Derek got shot.”
“What?” Stiles shrieks, standing up and doing a little freak out dance across the room. Greg slowly looks up from his textbook and stares curiously at Stiles.
“It was just a little –”
“Did you go to Deaton?” Stiles demands. “Did he have the right kind of powder?”
“Yeah, yes, Stiles, I promise,” Erica says, sighing. “He just – he was really worn out, so he’s sleeping it off at Deaton’s. He was really mean to Deaton, too.”
“He’s mean every time he gets shot,” Stiles reminds her. “Especially with those bullets.”
“What,” Greg says flatly, staring at him.
Stiles side eyes him and then turns his attention back to the phone. “Tell me what happened,” he says, and Erica explains the whole big ordeal, from the feral Omega to the hunters that had been chasing him all along the west coast until they all reached Beacon Hills and it turned into one big battle, where Derek was defending his pack to the hunters, with Chris and Allison beside him, but the hunters got angry and shot anyway.
“Chris put the guy down,” Erica says.
“Jesus,” Stiles breathes out.
“We’re okay,” Erica says softly.
“You said that already,” Stiles snaps.
“I know. But you’re worried. So I’m telling you again, Stiles. We’re okay. I promise. I just,” Erica cuts off to sniffle for a moment. “I miss cuddling with you,” she says, and sniffles again. Stiles laughs a little.
“I miss cuddling with you too, Erica. I’ll be home soon, okay.”
“Not for good though.”
“Erica, we’ve discussed this,” Stiles chides gently.
“Whatever,” Erica says, sniffing. “I have to go.”
“Love you,” Stiles says softly.
Erica pauses for a moment before she says, “You know I love you, you jerk,” and then hangs the phone up.
Stiles’ phone rings at three in the morning after the whole Derek Gets Shot ordeal. He presses the answer button blindly and groans, “’Lo?” into the phone, only to hear Derek’s very familiar growls on the other end of the line. “What’s wrong?” he asks automatically, sitting up. Across the room, Greg shifts in his sleep.
“I can’t get over to knock on your door.”
“You’re here?” Stiles shrieks, and winces when Greg moves in his sleep a bit again.
“Stiles, the problem isn’t that I’m here. The problem is that I can’t get to your door.”
“What?” Stiles asks blankly, jumping out of bed and going to open the door. Derek is on the other side, three feet away, growling lowly. Stiles shushes him, presses the end button on the phone, and says, “Well, come on.”
“Stiles,” Derek snarls, trying to step forward, only to have his feet push back another six inches. Stiles cocks his head and stares down at the floor.
“Well this is a problem,” he states, like it wasn’t already obvious. Derek’s eyes flash.
Stiles stoops down and investigates the carpeting closely in the dim hallway light, before frowning. “There’s… mountain ash,” he mumbles, before sweeping a hand over it. The line breaks, and Derek lurches forward, almost falling and landing on Stiles.
“What the fuck?” Derek demands.
“Well I didn’t put it there!”
“Who did?” Derek asks.
Stiles holds his arms out, palms turned up toward the ceiling, and shrugs, the universal signal for who knows. Derek just glares at him. “I know what you’re thinking,” Stiles says, pointing a finger at his chest, “but this is not my fault.”
“Everything is your fault,” Derek mutters, stepping into Stiles’ dorm room.
“Not true!” Stiles protests, following him in and letting his voice fall to a whisper so Greg won’t wake up. “You getting shot today? Not my fault. I wasn’t even there! That was all you. And some very unfortunate, testy hunters.”
Derek gives him a Look. The Look, the one that says he’s this close to taping Stiles’ mouth shut to stop him from rambling any longer.
“Let’s focus on the current problem,” Derek says dryly. “Like why there’s suddenly a mountain ash barrier outside your doorstep. And why your room smells like wolfsbane.”
“My room doesn’t smell like wolfsbane, I didn’t bring any to school with me; you told me not to. It smells like – oh, my god!”
Derek arches a brow at him. “Oh my god!” Stiles shouts.
Across the room, Greg jumps awake, and sits straight up. “Whatswrong?” he slurs.
“You!” Stiles points. “Your stupid Febreeze!”
Greg slowly blinks, staring at Stiles, until he finally says, sounding offended. “What’s wrong with my Febreeze?”
“I knew it wasn’t Febreeze! I knew it smelled familiar! What did you do, huh?” Behind Stiles, Derek is growling, the growls getting louder with every shout.
Greg lurches out of the bed, hands held up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, dude, but I’m just gonna – go – somewhere…” he says, jabbing a thumb towards the door and running out of the dorm room.
“What the fuck, Stiles?” Derek demands, as they watch Greg disappear.
“I don’t know,” Stiles shakes his head. He shrugs. “I’ll deal with him later.”
He turns around to face Derek, who doesn’t look happy about what Stiles just said, but Stiles shakes his head again. “Shirt off,” he tells Derek. Derek arches a brow.
“Now, Derek, let me see.”
“There’s nothing to see,” Derek says.
“You know what I mean, Derek.”
Derek peels his shirt off and Stiles slides his hands across Derek’s chest and down his ribs, until he finds the spot that feels warmer, and is paler than the rest of Derek’s skin; the sign of recently healed skin. He presses his fingers against it and breathes out. “I’m okay,” Derek rumbles.
Stiles squeezes his eyes shut tight. “I hate not being there.” His voice sounds broken and jagged when he speaks. Derek wraps his arms around Stiles and runs one hand up and down his spine, soothing him. He rests his chin on Stiles’ head, where it’s curled in between Derek’s shoulder and neck.
“We’ve talked about this.”
Stiles thinks it’s funny, that both of them seem to know just the thing to say when someone in the pack needs comforting. They have talked about it, with the pack, between the two of them, and with the Sheriff. Stiles needs to go to school, he knows this, Derek knows this, and the pack knows it. And not just community college. Stiles is smarter than that, better than that. Where Scott would’ve been perfectly happy going to community college, if he hadn’t wanted to distance himself from Allison after their last (and final) breakup, Stiles never would have been as happy.
“Yeah,” he sighs. “I know.”
“Come on,” Derek murmurs. “Let’s go to bed.”
Derek can only stay the one night, even though he’d been planning to stay the upcoming weekend. He’s worried about the borders around his territory breaching, and he doesn’t want to leave the rest of the pack alone so soon after such an attack. Stiles understands, but he’s still not as happy. Derek treats him to breakfast, wanders around campus while Stiles goes to class, and then takes Stiles to lunch before leaving him in front of his residence hall with a kiss and a breathtaking hug. “Love you,” Stiles says as Derek is jogging down the steps towards his car.
Derek turns around and flashes Stiles a huge smile, nodding, before he gets into his car and takes off. Stiles sighs and heads back to his dorm.
Where’s he’s tackled to the floor.
He hits the floor with a grunt, blinking up at Greg. Greg, Stiles’ brain supplies in shock, even though he’d already been suspicious. “What the fuck?” Stiles yells.
“Stiles, we have to talk,” Greg says seriously, still pinning Stiles down.
“What? Get off me you freak!” Stiles shouts, struggling against him.
“It’s okay, it’s okay!” Greg yells, “I can help you!”
“Help me with what?” Stiles stops struggling, staring up at Greg in disbelief.
“You’re in danger,” Greg says solemnly. “And I have the ability to help you. I possess the skills to get rid of your danger.”
“What,” Stiles says, and it comes out as a squeak.
“Stiles, I know you think your extracurricular interests are just a fairytale – myths, imaginary, but I have to tell you,” Greg says, before pausing. “They’re not. Werewolves are real.”
Suddenly, with a sinking feeling, Stiles knows where this is going. He lets his head fall back against the carpet with a thud, and stares up at the ceiling. “Oh, god,” he groans. Greg nods very seriously, still gripping Stiles’ arms to keep him still.
“I know, it’s a shock,” he says. “But there’s more. Your friends– they’re werewolves. And that’s dangerous, Stiles. But I can keep them away!”
“I know they’re werewolves, you idiot!” Stiles shouts, and glares up at Greg.
Greg frowns. “What?”
“Just what I said! They’re not dangerous. They’re perfectly fine. I’m part of the pack.”
Greg seems to frown even more. “Stiles, I like you a lot, so if they’re threatening you, I can help. Just one phone call, and it’s no big deal, I’m very –”
The door bursts open. Stiles closes his eyes because he knows exactly who busted the door open, even before Greg is suddenly flying across the room, and there’s growling all around them. “Wait,” Stiles says weakly, and struggles into a standing position. Derek freezes, and Stiles finally stands up, straightening his shirt. “He knows.”
“He knows?” Derek echoes, blinking at Stiles and then at Greg. Stiles nods.
“He’s a hunter,” Stiles says.
“A hunter,” Derek repeats.
“Christ, what is this? The mocking game?” Stiles snaps. “He knows, he’s a hunter, and he thinks you’re hurting me.”
Derek’s eyes flash as he whips his head around to face Greg, who is wide eyed, staring between Derek and Stiles. Derek stalks forward, and Greg backs up until he’s against the wall. Stiles says, “Oh, boy,” and falls down onto Greg’s bed, watching the two of them.
“You think I’m hurting Stiles?” Derek asks, fisting his hands into Greg’s shirt.
“I – I – he just – I thought he didn’t know! And then he said he did! I thought maybe you were threatening him!”
“Well,” Stiles starts, and Derek snaps his head to face Stiles and glares hard at him. “Never mind,” he says quickly, holding his hands up.
“Let’s make two things very clear,” Derek says. “I would never hurt Stiles. And you? You’re going to find another room to live in.”
There’s complete silence in the room. Then Greg says shakily, “I’ll just go do that. Right now. After you – um.”
“Derek,” Stiles says like he’s talking to a child, “let the nice boy down so he can leave the room.”
Derek glares at Greg for another moment before he drops Greg, and Greg ducks under his arm and runs out of the room.
Stiles and Derek look at each other for a moment before Stiles says, “I thought you were leaving.”
“I was going to, but then something felt off with you. So I came back.”
Stiles flashes a grin. “Can you stay awhile?” Derek smiles back at him.
“I think I could manage a couple extra hours,” Derek says.
“ – So Derek scared the shit out of him, and the Office of Housing and Residence called me last week to tell me they don’t think they’ll find a replacement roommate any time soon, because apparently Greg told them my boyfriend was very possessive and kind of rude,” Stiles finishes, and the entire pack bursts into laughter.
“It’s not funny,” Scott glowers. “His room reeked of wolfsbane for like the entire two weeks before we could come home.”
“If you didn’t need so much help with your classes you wouldn’t have had to worry about it,” Stiles retorts, and Scott glares at him.
“Hey,” Lydia says thoughtfully. “You know what’s funny? Your roommate thought you were being threatened, when in reality, you’re probably the most threatening member of the pack.”
“Hey,” Derek growls.
“It’s true,” the entire pack, including Stiles, chimes in at the same moment.
“I resent that,” Derek mutters. Stiles smacks a kiss against his cheek.
“It’s okay, baby,” he says, “It’s just that I’m the one who makes the bacon you bring home for the kids.”
The entire group bursts into laughter again, and Derek can’t help but crack a smile before kissing Stiles again.
Hunters aside, Stiles seems to be able to manage his college life pretty easily, and he’s perfectly content with his life.