Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Derek trudged through the woods all his senses on high alert as he scanned the trees for any clues. He’d been out here several times over the last week, each time he walked away frustrated and losing just a little bit more of the hope he was holding onto. Stiles had disappeared almost a month ago now. Kidnapped by a clan of witches leaving a pack meeting. By the time the pack had tracked them down the witches were dead and Stiles was gone. The first search of the property and surrounding woods had yielded nothing but a few articles of Stiles’ clothing, all torn, bloody, and badly burned. After the third search without finding a body, the pack had given up, announced him dead, and moved onto grieving. Except for Derek and John Stilinski. Week after week they continued to return everyday looking, holding onto hope with a white knuckle grip. 

Stiles was still alive, he had to be. Derek refused to accept anything else as truth until he was holding the boy's corpse in his arms. 

The underbrush to Derek’s right rustled, a familiar smell of petrichor and ozone wafting on the breeze toward him. He let a dangerous growl rumble out of his chest as his frustration reached a boiling point. Hours he had been combing the woods and all he kept finding was the scent of a magic soaked fox. Its scent is just off enough that he'd have a moment of hope that he'd found a clue only to be faced with the pointy orange creature.

“Would you just go away!” He growled at the small animal. “You're interfering with my search!” The fox looked up at him, tall ears falling back as its eyes seemed to fill with fear and sadness. Guilt washed back the frustration as he looked back at the fox. “I'm sorry, it's not your fault.” Derek sighed falling back onto his heels. Leaves crunched under his knees as he held out a hand in apology to the creature. It moved toward him with none of the hesitance Derek expected from a wild animal, much less one he had just yelled at. 

The fox jumped at him, borrowing itself in his chest as Derek rushed to catch it. The strange burnt ozone, like the smell of lightning mixed with air before a rainstorm, itched his nose. It clung to the animal's fur, nearly overpowering the smell of fox, and leaving Derek’s senses confused. 

“Derek?” The sheriff's voice cut through the forest, echoing off the trees and pulling Derek's mind back to his task. He moved to put the fox down only to find himself losing grasp as the animal climbed him. Small claws digging into the flesh of his shoulder as it struggled to find purchase on him.

“Ow, calm down.” Derek grabbed onto its rear legs. It had nearly made its way across his shoulders. “I have to go, get down.” Derek wasn't entirely sure why he was talking to a wild animal, or why he expected it to listen, but it didn't. The fox fought harder to stay in Derek’s hold. 

Hearing John calling out for him again Derek gave up on trying to untangle himself from the fox, instead stabilizing the creature as he made his way back toward the sheriff. 

John was standing beside the back entrance to the abandoned cabin when Derek broke the treeline. “Did you find anything new?” The fragile hope in his voice made the hole in Derek’s chest ache. The werewolf shook his head, his own hope fluttering like a fading pulse. The fox whined into his neck, nose nuzzling as if he could sense Derek’s need for comfort. 

“What have you got there?” The young fox twisted in Derek’s grip as John approached. 

“He wouldn’t let me leave him behind,” Derek grumbled. “He acts domesticated, but he smells like magic.”

“Do you think he belonged to the people who took my son?”

The werewolf shrugged, “Not sure, I’ll take him to Deaton. If he is a witches familiar then we can’t leave him to fend for himself, and if he’s been spelled perhaps Deaton can free him.”

“Spelled? You don’t think this fox could be…?”

Derek shook his head. “His scent isn’t right,”

“Alright, I’ll see you again tomorrow? To look again?” 

Derek nodded as the two separated. He watched the sheriff's cruiser pull away before placing the domicile fox in the passenger seat. The sheriff's unfinished question hung in his mind as Derek drove to the veterinarian's clinic. Surely there were spells to turn someone into an animal; and if ever a form fit Stiles, it would be a clever young fox. But Derek wasn’t lying when he said the fox didn’t smell right. He knew Stiles’ scent; would be able to pick it out of the most crowded of rooms. Still a small seed of hope began to bloom; and, by the time the Camaro slid into the parking lot of the old brick building, its roots had taken hold of his heart. 

“Hello Derek, how can I help you today?” The druid asked, coming out to greet him. 

“I found a fox out where Stiles disappeared. It smells like magic.”

The vet raised an eyebrow, but otherwise his face remained unreadable. The lack of emotional tell in the man's scent always put Derek on edge, and this time was no different. “Bring the creature back, room one should be clean. I just have to finish up a quick vaccination, But I’ll join you shortly.”

Derek placed the fox on the metal table in the middle of the room, running a calming hand absently down its trembling flank. The creature didn't appear to care much for the clinic and Derek didn’t blame him. The stench of the vets' daily activities coated every surface. The anxiety of other animals, as rank as the smell of urine in the air. A layer of bleach and disinfectant attempted to poorly cover the scent, but all it did was add another smell to an already frightful mixture. Derek didn’t understand how Scott could stand it. 

Relief washed through Derek when he heard Deaton’s footsteps heading toward them. 

“What did you say he smelt like?” The druid asked, grabbing a fresh pair of gloves and moving toward the terrified fox. 

“Petrichor, Ozone, Electricity, I don’t know. Magic-ish. Not like a wild animal.” Deaton hummed in response, reaching out to touch the fox. His fingers prodded at its ribs and legs before moving to the snout and trying to peel back its lips to look at the teeth. The Fox in turn reared forward to bite at the vet’s fingers. 

Deaton drew back from the animal, turning to pull a series of bowls with strange liquids and odd smelling herbs from a locked cabinet. He placed them in front of the fox, who remained in a defensive position. It didn’t pay attention to the new items, just keeping his eyes on the druid. The two of them entered into a short starring contest before Deaton turned to Derek.

“I’ll keep him here and observe him. See if I can tell you why he smells like magic to you.” Even before Deaton finished speaking the fox was scampering away from him, launching itself against Derek, just as it had in the forest. “Or you can take him home, and report his behaviour back to me.” The druid altered his statement, eyeing the fox with a twinkle of curiosity in his dark brown eyes. 

Derek sent off an update text to the Sheriff on his way back to the loft. His gaze kept falling onto the fox in his passenger seat. It was looking out the window, sitting comfortably as if it was used to riding in cars. Another sign of its domestication. The earlier question nagging at his mind; quickly he pushed it aside, turning his eyes back to the road. The fox wasn’t Stiles, it was just another poor victim of the witches. It would only end in heartbreak if Derek let himself hope for the former. 

The fox bolted from the car the second Derek’s door opened. A streak of red was the only sign of its movement that Derek could track before it disappeared into the underbrush surrounding Derek’s apartment building. Anxiety clenched his heart, tension holding his heart still for a beat as his breathing became trapped in his lungs. Thoughts moved like a frantically spinning wheel of film through his mind. After the fox had been so insistent of staying with him, he hadn’t thought it’d run away. Hadn’t been prepared to try and stop him, or run after him. He was rooted to the spot as his thoughts swirled, threatening to bring the world down around him. Perhaps he had gotten attached to the dangerous question, despite his best efforts. 

The whole panic induced episode lasted a mere moment before the sounds of the fox shifting in the nearby brush and the smell of fresh urine hit his nose. It hadn’t run away. Derek shook himself off, pushing the moment into the same back corner he had been placing the other thoughts before moving to stand by the front door. The animal came sauntering out of the bush none the wiser, and Derek was willing to act as if nothing had happened in its absence. 

Feeling oddly self-conscious of his home, Derek held the door open for the fox to enter first. He hadn’t spent as much time as he usually would in taking care of his space. Too preoccupied with the loss of Stiles to care much. But looking around at the piles of takeout containers, laundry, stacks of books and scattered papers, he felt ashamed. His mother would have been disappointed in him, and Laura would have bitten his head off about living in such a state. 

“Make yourself at home,” Derek grumbled to the small animal as he set off for the trash bags he kept under the sink. The place was a hazard for the creature, the first step would be removing potential poisons from where it could grab them.

As the first bag began to fill up Derek wondered what foxes were allowed to eat. It was just a domesticated animal, then surely it would have to abide by similar rules to other canines. He cursed himself for not asking Deaton for a list of “how to care for foxes” before leaving the office. If Stiles was here, he would ask him. Even if the human didn’t know the answer he would be able to find it within seconds. 

Derek glanced at the laptop half hidden under a stack of papers on the kitchen table. It still faintly smelled of Stiles, he’d left it there the night he’d gone missing. It wasn’t the first time he’d left it at Derek’s loft. They’d become friends over the years, and it was common for the human to come over and spend the afternoon or evening studying at Derek’s kitchen table. The soft sound of his keyboard clanking as he researched and wrote papers. Sounds of his frustrated grumbles as he tried to work out a particularly difficult question, or the squeaking of the chair legs as he balanced precariously on the back two watching the ceiling for inspiration echoing around the small apartment. 

His scent used to sit as heavily in Derek’s apartment as his own scent did, and now… Derek ran a hand over the back of the laptop. The scent was gone now, just faint traces of it remaining on a few objects - like the laptop. A familiar lump built in Derek’s throat. Hastily he turned away from the table and back to his task. 

By the time Derek had finished collecting the last of the potential health risks, the lump had passed and a deep exhaustion had set into his bones. The fox had spent the whole time just watching him from the centre of his living room. Small nose twitched as it took its new home, ears flicking each time a car drove by or a stray dog barked, but its eyes followed Derek around the apartment. It never got into his way, but never relaxed either. The creature never attempted to grab one of the food containers, or jump on the furniture, it didn’t try to explore, or hide in a dark corner. Just sat and watched. 

As Derek sank into the sofa, he found himself staring back. Chemosignals were harder to read on an animal, their emotions both simpler and yet more complex than a humans. But still Derek found himself trying to read the animals thoughts through the barrage of emotions it was emitting. 

The sun had long since set by the time Derek gave up on trying to read the fox. It was only when the fox had turned its head away from him and yawned that Derek realised sleep was a good idea. The fox followed him through his routine. Sitting on the floor nearby as the werewolf brushed his teeth, changed his clothes, and slipped into the bed. With the covers clenched in his hand Derek paused. Should he invite the animal into his bed? Or find something to make a little nest for it? If it was a human trapped in animal skin, giving it a soft bed would be kind, but if it was just a domesticated animal then it should be fine on the floor. 

With a sigh Derek leaned down and grabbed the animal, hauling the small form into the bed. He’d figure out a more permanent situation in the morning, he grumbled to himself before finally allowing his body to relax into the mattress. Sleep came quickly, the inky blackness of unconsciousness pulling him into its endless depths. 

**** 

Derek woke to the sound of pounding on the loft door and the sound of his name being called. He had half a mind to ignore them and hoped they would just go away on their own, but knowing that voice… he wouldn’t. With a sigh, the werewolf climbed out of his bed. Rubbing a hand over his face, trying to clear the sleep from his vision as he crossed the oak floors to the door. 

Scott’s overly chipper face greeted him as he slid the door open. The young Alpha’s arms were laden with bags, a small plastic tray with more items at his feet. 

“Hey man,” Scott said, brushing past Derek into the loft. “Deaton sent me over with some things you might need for the fox you found. Do you know what kind it is? I bet it’s cute.” 

Derek left the young man to search for the small creature, walking into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. He barely tolerated Scott’s friendly puppy behaviour on a good day, and good days have been rare enough before Stiles had disappeared. They were non-existent now. 

Opening the low cupboard where the coffee beans were stashed, Derek found himself face to face with the fox. It sniffed, eyes darting behind Derek toward the sound of Scott’s cooing voice. “He wont leave till he finds you,” Derek told the fox. “Save us both the pain and stop hiding.” 

Derek grabbed the beans and straightened out, moving about preparing the hot beverage. He wasn’t sure how much the fox understood human speech but he also wasn’t about to force the creature to meet his Alpha. If the creature wanted to hide then Derek would deal with Scott. 

He heard the fox sigh, before it crawled out of the cupboard. Its claws clanking as it left the kitchen, following Scott’s voice into the laundry room. Derek heard the moment Scott found the animal, his voice raising a pitch as he drowned the creature in compliments.

“Deaton said you found him near the cabin where Stiles died?” Scott rounded the kitchen, wriggling fox in his arms.

Derek felt his shoulders tense, poorly contained anger causing his fangs to itchy under his gums. “Disappeared.” He corrected. 

Pity flared in Scott’s scent. “Right,” They’d fought over the term enough. Scott wanted to move on, to accept the death and lay his friend to rest. To him there was no evidence proving his best friend was still alive, and he wasn’t going to waste his life hoping for it. To Derek there was no evidence proving Stiles was dead, and he wasn’t going to bury someone who might need his help. They weren’t going to see eye to eye on the subject; and as anti-conflict as ever, Scott placated him when they spoke. 

“I think the fox might have been a domesticated pet to the witches. It seems to understand English to a certain extent, and it smells like magic.” 

The fox freed himself from the Alpha’s grip, landing not so gracefully on the ground near where Scott had dropped the bags earlier. 

“Magic, that's why he sort of smells like Kira after she’s gone all lightning kitsune, right?” An awkward silence fell between them, both of them watching the fox explore what Scott had brought. The distance between them made Derek’s wolf-side uneasy. Scott was his Alpha, they had a pack bond that kept Derek tethered and sane. But he didn’t trust Scott to be there for him, to protect him. It was so different from how pack felt growing up and it made the gaping hole his family’s death left even more obvious. A painful throbbing, a missing limb that still ached. Stiles used to sooth that ache, fill that hole with big jesters, wild flailing, and endless stream of conversation. Stiles saw Derek as pack more than Scott did. Derek trusted Stiles, and knew the human would never abandon him. 

 “Did Deaton just send you with supplies, or do you have any messages I should know?” The fox found a small bed in the bag. It pulled the item out, dragging it out of sight. Sound of its claws stopping in the living room. 

“Ah, no. Just stuff. There’s some toys, a litter pan, some litter, a couple of how-to books on care for wild animals, and a list of safe foods.” 

Derek nodded, crossing his arms. “I’ll keep you both posted on the animals status then.” He hoped the dismissal was clear enough in his tone. Derek was done entertaining the young Alpha, done with the reminders of how lacking his life was. 

Scott’s head bobbed in response. “Thanks, well I guess I should get going. Have a good day man.” Derek waited for Scott’s footsteps to crunch on the gravel outside and the sound of his car's engine to disappear down the road before he moved from his post in the kitchen. 

Hands wrapped tightly around the warm mug, he moved into the living room. The fox had scattered more of the bag's contents around the room, toys discarded, books pushed near the couch and the small bed sitting right by the bay windows. 

Derek watched the fox trying to fit himself into the plush donut that was obviously meant for dogs smaller than it. Eventually it gave up trying to shrink itself small enough and laid down with its head resting on the edge of the bed, and its long legs resting against the wood floor. 

“We’ll go out and find you a bigger one,” Derek promised the animal as he folded himself into the sofa. He picked up the worn, slightly burnt, paperback from the side table letting himself fall into the familiar story. 

The foxes nap was brief, and soon the sound of its claws as it explored Derek’s apartment became the background noise to his novel. Derek didn’t mind it, found himself focusing on the animal’s heartbeat more than the story in his hands. Something in its fluttering sound was soothing to Derek, it took an edge off his grief and helped fill some of the lonely void Scott’s presence had opened up. 

It took the fox exactly 7 hrs to map out his apartment, rubbing its scent and fur into every surface. The wiry red fibres weaved into all of his clothing. And at hour 8 the fox became bored. It decided to alleviate this boredom by harassing Derek. 

If he was in the living room reading it would sit on the floor whining at him for attention, or it would jump up and paw at his book, small teeth leaving dents in the already fragile paper, or it would knock the book out of his hands entirely, climbing across his lap and across his shoulders; when Derek tried to work out the fox was there, dancing around the equipment, tangling itself up in his feet, tripping him, and pouncing on everything it could reach; not even the kitchen was safe from the vulpine attacks. 

After the third failed attempt at making himself some lunch, an idea struck him: it was time for a run. Derek hadn’t run a proper perimeter check since Stiles had gone missing; finding the young man had seemed much more important. More so, Derek hadn't had the opportunity to stretch his full shift since the human’s disappearance. 

From the moment Derek achieved the full shift, Stiles had been hammering him about it. He wanted to see his new form - Derek could just imagine the number of dog jokes he’d have to enjoy. But the timing just never seemed right. Perhaps it was because Derek was worried about showing Stiles the other form. Not because he would turn away from him, but because Stiles would be just as accepting as he was about every other part of Derek he was shown. And if Derek opened up this last part to the human, well… emotions, thoughts, instincts they were all different as a wolf, and having Stiles there, smelling his happiness, his acceptance, hearing the familiar timber of his voice and the jingling notes of his laugh; Derek would no longer be able to deny his feelings for him. 

He’d be so jealous if he found out Derek shifted for a strange fox before shifting for him, Derek thought as stripped out of his clothing. The thought made a chuckle bubble up into his chest, but the sadness that haunted him stopped the sound before it could escape. He’d laugh later, when Stiles was safe and he was able to tell him this story. 

The change rippled over Derek in a wave of energy. The slight ache, like the feeling of relief, from an after workout stretch. And then his senses shifted, sounds sharper, new layers to scents becoming open to him, and the torments of human doubts and anxieties faded to the back burner. He trotted out of the bedroom, taking the iron stairs with care, before tracking down the small fox and picking it up in his mouth. 

They hadn’t been together long, but already Derek knew trying to communicate and herd the fox outside would be more trouble then it'd be worth. If he carried the animal outside it would clue into Derek’s plan and he wouldn’t have to exert half the amount of energy. 

The feeling of the earth beneath his claws and the scent of life and the preserve felt cleansing to Derek’s soul as he placed the fox onto the ground outside. He nudged its flank toward the trees before turning to run. He heard the small yip and caught the scent of the fox’s excitement. Derek slowed his pace just enough to let the smaller animal catch up while still maintaining his lead. 

The rhythm of his paws on the forest floor, the crunch of the gravel underneath his paws, the sounds of prey in the underbrush, the crisp clean smell of life, it called to the animal in him and Derek felt himself surrender to its call. 

Faster than expected the fox caught up to him, the creature jumping onto him, teeth latching onto his fur as it skidded across his back. The momentum of the pounce surprised the wolf, causing him to lose his balance and skid to the side. But as quick as the attack came, the wolf retaliated. The two animals wrestling among the trees, the playful happiness of their scents mixing in the flurry of their moves. 

The wolf tired first, older, and less familiar with its form. He rolled onto his back, letting the small fox pin him for a final time. Victorious yips filled the small clearing and the fox excitedly bounced around. Tiredness slowly creeped into each movement, leaving the jumps shorter, and shorter, till eventually the fox collapsed into the grass beside the wolf. Its long tongue hung from its mouth, as the fox panted. Its golden whiskey eyes, almost too human for its face, showed perfect happiness back at the wolf. Trapping the fox under a large black paw, the wolf pulled him closer, laving the small creature with his tongue. Scenting and cleaning his small companion. 

Under his ministrations the fox calmed, its heartrate evening out into sleep. A contented rumble erupted from the wolf's chest as he tucked himself protectively around the small animal. Letting himself be calmed by the even patter of his companions heartbeat. Slowly his eyelids slid shut, sleep claiming him as well. 

Derek woke to the feeling of raindrops on his forehead. For a moment his mind remained trapped between wolf and human. Sensory input and fragmented memory leaving him groggy and confused. As he gathered his bearings a loud yip grabbed his attention seconds before he found himself drenched in mud. 

The rain had turned areas of their clearing into mud puddles, which the fox was finding increasingly fun as Derek glared at him. It laughed at him, a high pitched cackling sound of rapid yips. Its scent was less magical, but the change barely registered more than a fleeting thought as the creature jumped in the puddle again, sending a new wave of mud onto Derek’s chilled skin. 

The werewolf growled and lunged after the animal. Skidding in the puddle, just narrowly missing him. Derek couldn’t help but think this time the odds were stacked in the foxes favour. The vulpine was far more nimble on four legs, than Derek was on two, but at least the mud was inhibiting it (the weather wasn’t exactly in Derek’s favour either, but at least it wasn’t helping his advisory)

In the end, the fox, certain of its victory, slipped face first into one of the mud pits. Before it had the chance to clear its vision Derek had grabbed onto the creature. His fingers tangling into the matted mud covered fur, giving him just enough of an anchor to hold onto the slippery animal. 

The fox turned to him, expression so betrayed and indignant that Derek could help but laugh. For the first time in weeks, Derek felt like the weight of his life was lifted. He shook his head, flinging mud and clearing the hair from his forehead. 

“C’mon little fox, it’s getting cold.” Pushing into a standing position he paused. The rain was washing some of the mud off his skin, but the dark dirt was clinging to the fox. “I think we both need a bath when we get home.” The fox grumbled in reluctant agreement, letting itself be carried out of the forest and back into the loft. 

Mud trailed behind them as Derek beelined it for the loft’s bathroom. Once the door was closed behind him Derek set the mud crusted fox down and reached for the tap. Derek tested the temperature, adjusting the finicky dial until the water ran just the right side of warm. The fox was wiggly but over all compliant as Derek lifted it into the tub. It seemed to know how showers worked, pushing its body under the spray, but as it turned and shook, the fox couldn’t get the water to have the desired effect. Derek could smell its frustration as it continued to fail to clean itself, but not once did it turn around and try to loosen the dirt with its tongue. 

Taking pity on the creature, Derek climbed into the tub next to the fox. Grabbing the shower head from the wall, he brought it closer to the fox, running his fingers softly through the animal's fur and helping it rub off the clumps of dirt. A soft purr emanated from the fox as the water began to run clear. Derek, still feeling the remnants of the wolf-mind’s carefree contentment, smiled softly at it. 

Figuring it was time for soap Derek turned away from the creature to grab the bottle off the shelf. As the scent of it hit his nose, it reminded him of Stiles. He’d bought it after the third time Stiles had complained that Derek’s soap made his skin itchy. That “the dollar store is not an adequate place to buy hygiene products, Derek. Do you realise how many chemicals and filler they put in that stuff? At least hit the super centre for some decent cheap soap. That is where Dad and I get ours. It's not as good as the organic oatmeal stuff Lydia uses, but it doesn’t burn several layers of your skin off every shower.”

Derek had noted the brand the next time he was in the Stilinski’s bathroom and had grabbed the same one the next time he was at the store. If Stiles had noticed the change he didn’t comment on it. But it settled something in Derek that whenever he showered, he smelt just a little bit like Stiles. 

The fox whined, noticing how he’d frozen. Scenting his distress. Derek shook his head, trying to clear it of the sudden memory. He smiled down reassuringly to the fox, rubbing his soap laden hands into its fur. The creature kept its eyes on him, a human thoughtfulness in its gaze, as it let Derek work up a lather. 

In no time the two of them were half buried under suds. Derek chuckled as the fox tried pawing and biting at the bubbly clouds. The sound seemed to spur the fox on, as it exaggerated its antics. Foam was splashing over the edges of the tub now. The shower hose dislodged from the lower hold on the wall and soaking both the bathroom and them. The sudden onslaught of water killed some of the bubbles. The fox jumped and yipped after the wiggling hose, as Derek struggled to grab it with all the slippery bubbles coating it and the tub. 

By the time the chaos had died down the bathroom was half flooded, and Derek’s cheeks were flush. The fox was panting, a cone of bubbles still perched on top of its head, but looking up at Derek with a huge smile. The werewolf couldn’t help but smile back.

He rinsed them both off. And using a towel lifted the fox out of the tub. He could feel the fluttering of its small heart as he held it close. Using one hand, Derek gently rubbed its fur dry. He’d deal with the mess later, now that he was warm and clean, all he wanted to do was nap. It was still a few hours before John got off shift. So he still had a few hours before they’d go out looking for Stiles. 

Derek dropped the fox on the bed, it peaked out from under the towel, watching him get dressed. The fox had been human at some point, Derek was certain of it. And it deserved to be changed back, but Derek couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness to know that the creature would someday leave. 

It had only been a day, but he felt attached to the small red animal. His wolf was calm and happy around it; even Derek could admit he wasn’t quite as sad with it around. 

The werewolf collapsed onto the bed, rolling over to face the fox. It slipped out of the towel and trotted over to Derek, curling itself into his chest and letting a soft vibrating purr loose. Derek’s hand drifted to its flank, letting himself take comfort in the sound and feel of the fox’s presence. The sharp scent of something familiar on the edge of his senses as he began to slip into sleep, and the feeling of a hand touching his cheek.

When Derek’s alarm ended their nap it left Derek with just enough time to pack up himself and the fox before beating the Sheriff home. With Stiles gone, Derek had taken over watching John’s diet; much to the sheriff’s dismay. He knew how important the man’s health was to Stiles, and as much as John complained about the fuss, he still gave Derek a key so he didn’t have to break in to cook for him. 

The fox had quickly zoned in on the living room when they arrived. Its little nose twitching with the onslaught of new smells. For a moment, Derek wondered if he should have brought the litter pan with him, but quickly dismissed the thought in favour of propping open the back door. 

Leaving the fox to its own devices Derek set about making dinner. Nothing fancy, just some simple chicken, vegetables and potatoes. His aunt had been a big health nut, and one of the few humans in his family. She had always cooked for the pack, Derek had liked helping her out. This was one of her recipes; and one he knew John loved. 

He heard the cruiser pulling up the street and knew his timing was perfect. Pulling the potatoes from the oven and pouring the sauce over them and the vegetables. The last of the items were arranged on two plates when he heard John call out to him.

“In here. Food is ready.” He called back, sliding into one of the dining room chairs. 

John entered the room with the fox in his arms; the small vulpine attempting to scent the sheriff, nuzzling every surface of skin it could reach. Derek smiled at the sight. 

“Smells good I’ll quickly change, if that’s alright.”

“Long shift?”

The sheriff shrugged in reply, dropping the fox onto an open chair and disappearing up the stairs. Derek could tell the man was tired. The long nights looking for Stiles, followed by extra shifts at the station were wearing him out. Derek wanted to ask John to stop, take a break, get more than just a couple spare hours of sleep, but, which was he supposed to give up? Searching for Stiles or working? Both gave him purpose, kept him upright and away from the bottle. The werewolf couldn’t ask him to stop looking for his son, and didn’t want to see the worry send him into the bottle if he didn’t work. 

When they did find Stiles he would be livid if he found out Derek had let him slip back into old habits. Though, Derek could admit, it wasn’t just fear of Stiles that made Derek watchful of the Sheriff. John had wormed his way into Derek’s life, the same as his son. With a stubborn attitude and a kindness that refused to be rebuffed. John had looked out for Derek, and had helped him more than once. And the werewolf could almost say John filled the father-shaped hole in his heart. 

The sheriff slid into the seat across from Derek. His scent was heavy with exhaustion, and salty with grief. The werewolf waited until he had taken the first bite of dinner before digging in. 

The fox’s eyes darted between the two men’s food, scent souring with what Derek interpreted as jealousy. With a sigh, Derek pushed back from the table and grabbed some of the leftover vegetables, scraping the un sauced items onto a plate and bringing them over to the table for the animal to snack on. 

He wished he'd remembered to make extra chicken for it, the animal likely needed the protein more than anything else. 

Watching his two companions chowing down on his food the idea suddenly hit Derek. He couldn't ask the Sheriff to stop looking for his son, but perhaps he could give him a reason to leave tonight's search for him.

“Hey John, I don't want to lose the fox tonight but I don't exactly feel comfortable leaving it alone while we are out. Do you think you could watch him while I search?” He paused, watching the sheriff carefully. Senses keyed into his scent and his body language. His shoulders tenses, and his scent shifted between several emotions. He appeared to be arguing with himself, and preparing to argue with Derek. “If we bring it back to the shed, it might run off and Deaton thinks the fox is a person. But it's still an animal, and it'd be cruel to leave it locked up inside someplace for hours while we look for Stiles. I know what you've been looking for and I have the extra senses to comb both the woods and the shed. I'll keep you informed on everything I find, just, please?” 

Some of the tension and fight faded from the sheriff as he caved to Derek's request. “You're right, son.” John's eyes slid over to the fox, its tail slowly swishing side to side and it licked remnants of its meal from the plate. “I'll watch your fox tonight. But I'm out there tomorrow. He's my son. I won't stop looking just cause you need an animal babysitter.” Derek could tell the warning was more placation for the Sheriffs own guilt at caving than any actual anger toward him. 

The werewolf nodded, “Of course sheriff.” He kept the smile from his face, keeping his expression passive. 

The dinner passed in companionable silence; the smacking of the fox’s tongue against the plate a rhythmic soundtrack to their solitary meal. In the quiet, Derek found his senses heightened, the scent of grief and exhaustion on John nearly overpowering despite the elder man's determined effort to disguise it under a mask of stoicism. Derek understood that all too well - the need to keep going, to put on a brave face when all you wanted was to let the dam burst.

Once they were done with their meal, Derek took up the task of cleaning up while John moved into the living room, sprawling out on the couch with a tired sigh. The fox – playful and curious after its meal – scampered after him, hopping onto the cushion beside John and curling itself onto his lap. The sheriff seemed to take comfort in stroking its fur, fingers running gently through its soft down.

With everything cleaned and put away, Derek joined them in the living room, “I'll be back by dawn,” he announced.

Derek took the drive over to the old shed to refocus himself on the task ahead. The map of their search pattern in the glove compartment. Parked by the decrepit looking building that once held his packmate hostage, Derek took a moment to memorize where they’d already looked and planned out his route for tonight.

Stepping into the wood Derek let his heightened senses take in everything; the rustling of leaves, the distant hoot of an owl, even the faint trickle of a stream somewhere off in the distance. The fox had given him something to focus on, some semblance of normalcy in the whirlwind that was Stiles' disappearance. But now, devoted entirely to his search, Derek couldn't help but feel a pang of worry for what he might find.

He paused at the edge of the woods, taking a deep breath as he steeled himself for what lay ahead. He didn't want to think about all the possible scenarios, all the things that could have happened to Stiles. Instead, he focused on what he knew; Stiles was strong and resourceful, two qualities that Derek admired and feared in equal measure.

Derek plunged into the forest, using his supernatural strength and speed to cover as much ground as possible. He let his senses guide him, focusing on any scent or noise that seemed out of place. Hours slipped by in a haze as he combed through every inch of ground, every tree and bush that fell within his path.

It wasn't until dawn began to break that exhaustion started to set in. His limbs felt heavy, his mind foggy with weariness, it was time to call it a night. The failure of another empty search weighed just as heavily on him as the exhaustion.

Derek walked back into the sheriff's house early the next morning, the sun just starting to poke over the horizon of houses, casting long shadows onto the streets outside. He could hear the buzz of electronic voices coming from the old television set in the living room. Slipping off his coat, and dropping his keys in the bowl by the door, Derek headed into the small den. 

John was asleep sitting on the couch, the lights of the tv flickering across the planes of his wearied face and highlighting the small fox curled up on his lap. The fox's nose twitched, eyes fluttering open, watching as Derek moved into the room. He grabbed the small black remote sitting by the Sheriff’s left hand. Letting the room fall into darkness. 

“We should get him into bed.” Derek whispered to the fox. Stiles had complained more than once about the pain in his neck and back when he was forced to sleep on the loft couch - Derek didn’t think John would fare much better on his own sofa. 

The fox tilted its head, looking up at the sheriff as he slept. His breathing soft, heart beating slow and even. A soft purr left its small body, before it gingerly jumped off the sheriff’s lap allowing Derek to grab onto the older man. Slowly and carefully, he lifted John off the couch - mind remembering all the times he had carried the man’s son the same way. Though John talked in his sleep less than Stiles did, and clutched to the werewolf much less. 

Derek heard the light pitter patter of nails on the hardwood floor of the Stilinski home, following after them as he carried the Sheriff upstairs. When he finished tucking him into his bed, Derek turned back to look at the fox standing in the doorway. Its gaze was fixated on the sheriff, watching the rise and fall of his chest, ears twitching to track every breath, each wheeze and snore. The scent of the fox’s concern was familiar, the hints of burnt honey, and bitter cider that swirled around it and itched Derek’s nose. 

The animal’s eyes darted to Derek’s for a moment, they were glowing in the same way they had in the field: a warm deep brown, that swirled with gold and reminded Derek of the crisp autumns as a child and the sharp burn of his father’s whiskey. Derek led the creature out of the dark room, quietly closing the door behind him as they left. The fox weaved between his legs, its sides brushing against his calves and leaving bits of red fur into his pant legs. He leaned down to run his hand over the creature's flank, letting their scents mix in the quietness of the household.

As they made their way back toward the stairwell, the fox paused occasionally to sniff at corners, curiously taking in the different scents of the house. Derek watched it from the corner of his eye; The fox finally came to a stop outside Stiles' room. Its small paws hesitated on the wooden floor before it nosed open the door and slipped inside. Derek followed behind, pausing momentarily at the threshold. The room was just as Stiles had left it, a chaotic clutter of books and clothes, posters plastered across the wall, and scattered research papers on the missing.

Derek stepped inside, feeling an overwhelming wave of nostalgia and pain. He could still smell Stiles here - that unique scent of spiced cider and raw honey with notes of something unmistakably Stiles. It was a sharp reminder that he was still missing, still out there somewhere in the darkness.

The fox had jumped onto Stiles' bed, burrowing its snout into one of his old shirts left there. When it raised its head, its eyes met Derek's again - those sorrowful brown orbs now shimmering in the dim light. Derek mirrored its expression of longing before he blinked away the moisture from his eyes.

He sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to stroke the fox’s fur. The creature leaned into his touch before settling down beside him with a soft sigh. For a long moment they just sat there, on Stiles' bed, in Stiles' room - two unexpected companions bound together by grief.

Chapter Text

It started with little things, easily dismissed or ignored. Like the eyes, which sometimes were more human and golden than other times. It was also the scent that was slowly losing its ozone musk, becoming more and more familiar. But it was also things around the apartment moving, or the fox getting into places he shouldn’t have been able to without opposable thumbs. It was flashes of movement where Derek thought he saw a person, a hand, a leg, but when he’d investigate all that’d be left would be the fox staring up at him confused and innocent. 

Then it hit him like a freight train. The idea that he had been holding at bay for nearly a week now, so unbelievably evident that Derek felt like he couldn’t breath. It was so obvious now, it was smart, but more than that it had a familiar humour. And its eyes, a whiskey gold in the light, but with a dark swirling warmth that went on forever. Derek had let himself be swayed by the scent of magic, but that had started to fade days ago. So subtly, that he hadn’t even noticed. He noticed now. 

“Stiles?” He asked quietly. His voice was so low it couldn’t even count as a whisper. And yet it felt so loud against the fragile hope in his chest. The fox rolled its eyes at him, knocking his chin as it head butted him. All the breath left Derek’s lungs at once. His head swimming with the emotions attacking him. He could barely think. 

Relief was strong; Stiles was safe, and alive, and here with him. 

Embarrassment was a rough undercurrent; He hadn’t known, had let his guard down and acted far more like an animal then he ever would have in front of another person. He’d wrestled Stiles, naked, in the mud during a rainstorm!

Anxiety was chomping at his nerves; How was Stiles an animal? How would they make him human again? Was the spell permanent now that the witches were dead? How was he going to tell the sheriff?

Sadness was creeping along the edges of his raging emotions; He could no longer go back to last week, to the friend he’d made in the fox. Everything he’d built in that relationship was burnt and gone. The cuddles on the couch, the runs in the forest, the companionship while he was reading or cooking. The warmth feeling of a body pressed close to him. 

And hope, fragile, wispy strands of hope; Thinking maybe he could build on what he’d made with the fox. The acceptance and humour Stiles always granted him, and the fondness and intimacy he’d gotten from the fox, all wrapped up into the thought that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t have to lose anything. That maybe instead, he could gain something more. Something he had been too scared and too stubborn to ask for before. 

He couldn’t let himself be dragged around by his emotions. Derek needed to focus, on the fox, on Stiles. “We should call Deaton, and your father.”

The fox - Stiles’ - ears pricked up at the mention of Deaton and the Sheriff. Derek saw the flash of understanding in its eyes before it jumped up onto the couch next to him, wrapping its thick, bushy tail around itself. It looked like it was bracing itself for whatever was to come next.

Derek retrieved his phone from his pocket, his fingers trembling as he dialled John’s number. He hoped the right words to say would appear on his tongue when he needed them. Words have never been his forte, and now, with his mind as spun out as it was - the phone clicked on.

“Derek, hello? Did something happen?” The concerned voice of the Sheriff flittered over the phone line.

“Ugh, yes, or well… The fox, it's…” For once Derek wished he had Stiles’ gift of gab. Maybe then this wouldn’t be so hard.

“Did something happen to the fox? Deaton, did he figure something out about it?”

“The fox is fine, Deaton didn’t, but something…” Derek growled in frustration. “Stiles, the fox, it’s, he’s…”

“The fox is my son?" His voice cracked on the other end.

"Yes... I believe so, Sheriff," Derek managed to croak out. “I’m taking him to Deaton, but I’m sure of it.” Silence followed his admission - a bone-chilling silence that had Derek's heart pounding in his chest.

When the sheriff finally spoke again, his voice was shaky, "I'll be there as soon as I can."

The line went dead, leaving Derek and Stiles alone in the room again. Stiles had moved away from him, curling up on the other side of the couch, his golden eyes staring at Derek with a mix of fear and apprehension. He looked at the fox - Stiles - watching him with bright, intelligent eyes. Maybe they weren't quite human at the moment, but they were undeniably Stiles'.

Next Derek dialled Deaton’s number. When Deaton answered, Derek explained the situation as best he could. The vet hummed non-committedly, promising to clear up his schedule and have a room prepped for them in the next 10 minutes.

Derek walked into Deaton's clinic with Stiles at his side. The fox stayed close, tail bushy with apprehension and fear. His eyes switched between Derek and Deaton.

Deaton, for his part, was as calm and unreadable as ever, but behind those light-green eyes there was a spark of something that looked like excitement and concern combined. He nodded at Derek and gestured towards an examination table.

Derek lifted Stiles onto it with gentle hands. As much as he didn’t want to leave him alone in the room with Deaton, he knew it would be best if he waited outside.

Anxiety gnawed at the edges of his thoughts. He paced up and down the floor, each second ticking by felt like torture. He was jared from his thoughts when the door to Deaton's office opened and the sheriff walked in.

John looked tired, worry lines etched deeply into his face, but there was also hope, a flickering flame in his eyes.

"Derek," John began, his voice breaking with emotion. "I just… just tell me that you're sure."

Derek met John’s gaze, saw everything the sheriff was feeling - fear, hope - it was all mirrored in Derek’s own heart. "I am."

Deaton cleared his throat, bringing the attention of the two men back to himself. “So, our young fox is the missing Mr. Stilinski?” There was a note of curiosity in the vet's voice as he watched Stiles sitting on the table, looking bored and annoyed. 

“His scent has been bleeding through, not all the time, but yes. I know he’s Stiles.” Derek replied, even though he figured the question was rhetorical. If he knew anything about Deaton, it was that the man would stay silent, until goaded into speaking. 

“When you say his scent has been bleeding through… have you noticed anything else which makes you believe the fox is Stiles?”

“His eyes change, they become more gold, more human. And I think he sometimes has hands.” Saying it out loud made Derek realise just how ridiculously hopeful and impossible he sounded. But he couldn’t deny what his nose was telling him, what the fox was telling him. 

As if sensing his discomfort, Fox-Stiles shifted to pressing his weight against him. His scent bled with comfort and calm. Derek sighed, one hand coming down to touch the fox, eyes shifting to the sheriff. 

“I know it’s him.” He added on lamely. 

“Well there’s a few things that could have caused this. The witches could have done it, or if my theories about Mr. Stilinski are true, then Stiles could have done this to himself.” 

Both men turned sharply to look at the vet, as he turned to grab an old tome out of one of the sealed cabinets. The book dropped onto the table, dust leaving a trail of glittering dirt behind as Deaton flipped through its pages.

“How could my son have turned himself into a fox?” The sheriff demanded.

The vet looked up from the book, expression clearly showing his distaste for John’s tone. “It’s my belief that Stiles is a spark. His powers have been mostly dormant, but his ease with the use of mountain ash, and other inherently magical tools, has led me to believe it exists. However, it was young Stilinski’s desire to remain the human of the group so I never brought it up. This however would take a large amount of magic to pull off, likely a surge in order to protect himself. There will be no turning back on his abilities now.” Deaton turned his attention to the book in front of him. When he found the page he was working on he turned the book toward the three others in the room, allowing them to read the passage on Spark magic and Polymorphism. 

"Wait, are you telling me that my son is a...a wizard or something?" John's voice trembled with disbelief.

"Well," Deaton began with a thoughtful expression, "more like a sorcerer, if you want to compare it to traditional terms. Sparks are not wizards; they don’t learn magic, they are magic. It manifests itself in different ways for each spark and their powers usually lie dormant until either trained or triggered by extreme situations."

Derek looked at Stiles - the fox - who seemed to be listening intently, his gaze flicking from person to person as the conversation unfolded. He was still the same Stiles, Derek thought, curious and interested even in his current state. His eyes glowed golden in the fluorescent clinic light.

"But how can we be sure about this? I mean...can we turn him back?" John asked, taking a step closer to the examination table.

"That's what we need to figure out," Deaton replied, flipping another page of the ancient tome. "The spell that caused this transformation is likely complex and specific to the individual spark."

While Deaton delved deeper into the old text, Derek kept his gaze locked on Stiles. He was struck with a pang of guilt; he should've been there with him. Should have rescued him before this happened. Stiles had always been there for him, and for the pack and the one time the human had needed them the most he'd failed him.

At that moment, Stiles happened to glance up at Derek. His eyes softened, becoming almost human-like again. The fox then moved closer and pressed against Derek's stomach comfortingly - a wordless reassurance.

“It’s my belief that the only one with the power to turn your son back into a human is himself. We know that the transformation was likely caused instinctively, and Derek you mentioned, on the phone, that you’ve been noticing human characteristics in the fox?”

Derek turned away from the comfort Stiles was offering, tuning back into the conversation. “Um, yeah. Just weird coincidences that I had brushed off, but…”

“And these coincidences, anything you noticed that is constant between them?”

Derek frowned, pondering the question. His eyes drifted back to Stiles, who was currently sprawled out on the table before him. He wondered how much of his human traits were hidden under that fox exterior.

"Every time he's calm… or happy," Derek began, his voice quiet in contemplation. "I feel it through his scent and he changes a bit. His eyes mostly… and sometimes his hands."

"Hmm," Deaton hummed thoughtfully, scratching his chin. "That might be a clue. It seems that Stiles' transformation was likely an instinctive protection spell - a response to an immediate threat. Once he's safe and realizes he doesn't need this form for protection any longer, he should revert back."

Derek felt a sliver of hope at that. He watched as Stiles' fox ears twitched, a sign he picked up when the creature was curious or intrigued. He hoped the young man beneath the fur was listening and understanding.

"But how do we make him realize that?," Derek's voice was hoarse with unshed tears. He could fight off any supernatural creature but this situation had him feeling helpless.

"That's the million dollar question," Deaton sighed, closing the ancient book with a puff of dust.

The room fell silent except for the muffled ticking of an old wall clock. Derek shifted uncomfortably under the weight of Fox-Stiles against his abdomen. He found himself studying the creature, taking in every little detail - the way its sleek fur shone under the fluorescent lights, how its tail would twitch when something caught its interest.

“I suggest you take him back home, and focus on helping him find an anchor. Something that makes him feel safe, secure, and human.” Deaton’s voice was dismissive. “Let me know about any changes.”

With that, the vet turned his back on them and resumed his previous tasks, effectively ending the discussion. Both Derek and the sheriff looked at each other uncomfortably before slowly standing up. John reached out to gently stroke Stiles' fur, a mixture of worry and disbelief in his eyes.

“He’ll be okay, John,” Derek reassured the older man. “Whatever it takes, we’ll bring him back.”

John gave a curt nod, not trusting his voice enough to respond verbally. He gave Stiles one last pat before turning to leave.

Derek sighed as he watched the sheriff exit. He looked down at Stiles, meeting calm amber eyes. Despite the ordeal, there was an unwavering trust in that gaze that tore at Derek’s heart.

“We'll fix this,” he whispered more to himself than to Stiles, though a comforting nudge from the fox suggested he understood.

With a deep breath, Derek scooped Stiles up into his arms, feeling the warm weight of him settle against his chest comfortably. As they made their way out of the animal clinic and into Derek's car, he felt strangely calm despite the turmoil within his mind.

The drive back to the loft was a quiet one. Stiles, nestled comfortably in Derek's lap, seemed to be dozing off. His fur was soft and warm against Derek's skin, his breath rhythmic and even. The sight of the fox so at ease, so trusting, made something within Derek ache. Stiles...before all this wouldn’t have cuddled with him so easily. Sure he was always more tactile than some of the other wolves, but he had always been so hesitant with Derek. It made him wonder if he would lose this once Stiles was back to himself.

Once they arrived at the loft, Derek carefully carried Stiles upstairs. He laid him gently on the couch before sinking down beside him. Stiles stirred slightly, his fox eyes blinking sleepily before he let out a small yawn and snuggled closer to Derek.

For what felt like hours, Derek sat there on the couch, watching Stiles sleep. His thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion and worry, tinged by a deep-rooted sense of guilt. If he had been there for Stiles earlier...if he had protected him better...then maybe none of this would have happened. And maybe, if he was a better Alpha, a better friend, Stiles would be human right now.

Derek's gaze landed on the television remote lying nearby. He needed a distraction, and could feel the self-depreciating spiral approaching. Stiles needed him right now, he could hold back the darkness until this was all over.

As the images flickered onto the screen, Stiles perked up slightly, turning his head towards the television. It was one of the Star Wars movies - Stiles' favourites. The fox's tail wagged slightly as it watched the familiar scenes play out on screen.

Derek couldn't help a small smile that crinkled his eyes at this sight. Pack nights spent with the young man trying to convince them all to watch it, always out voted by the others, flashed through his mind. Stiles’ voice as he spoke loudly and passionate, his words sometimes running so fast that Derek could hardly sparse them apart. His limbs waved about as if to add emphasis that his raised voice couldn’t give.

The memory was so strong, so vivid, that Derek could almost hear Stiles' voice echoing in the loft. Shaking his head to rid himself of the sentimentality, he turned his attention back to the fox nestled beside him. He watched as Stiles' eyes roved over the screen, following the action with an intensity that he had only ever seen when the real Stiles argued about his favorite movies.

"Star Wars really is your thing, huh?" Derek murmured, gently running his fingers through the fox's soft fur. A low chirping sound left Stiles' throat and his tail thumped against the couch in what seemed like agreement. “You know I’ve never actually seen them.”

Derek chuckled softly, a sound that hadn't echoed in the loft for a long while. He let himself rest his back against the couch and continued to watch the movie while absentmindedly petting Stiles. The silence of the loft was broken only by the sounds from the television and Stiles' occasional contented noises. It was oddly comfortable, despite the circumstances.

Derek did not know how long they sat there, letting the tv slip from one program to the next, but when he glanced at the clock on the wall, he was surprised to find it was well past midnight. The movie had been replaced by a late-night sitcom. Derek shifted slightly on the couch, mindful not to wake Stiles; and, moving to get ready for bed.

As he brushed his teeth in the dim lighting of the bathroom, his mind raced with thoughts of the day's events. There was fear, lingering like foul smoke. And then there was hope, a tiny spark amidst the darkness. It flickered and fluttered, refusing to be extinguished. Hope that they would bring Stiles back. Hope that once they had, he wouldn’t lose the friend he had gained in the fox.

When Derek returned to the living room, he was relieved to find Stiles still asleep on the couch. He moved towards the couch with a soft sigh, taking a moment to study the fox. The soft rise and fall of its chest, evidence of its peaceful slumber, brought forth a small smile onto Derek's lips.

He picked up a spare blanket from the armchair across and gently covered Stiles with it. He let his hand linger for a moment on Stiles' head, ruffling the soft fur soothingly before retracting his hand. He watched as Stiles shifted slightly under the blanket, snuggling further into it but didn’t wake.

With nothing else left to do, Derek made his way to his bedroom. His body felt heavy and tired but his mind refused to calm down enough for him to sleep. He tossed and turned in his bed for what seemed like hours before he heard the sounds of nails on the floor. He watched the doorway until the fox appeared, a blanket from the couch clenched in his teeth.

Derek shifted over to make room for Stiles to jump up next to him. The blanket in his teeth foiled his first few attempts at jumping onto the bed. Derek was reaching down to help him when Stiles finally succeeded in reaching the top of the mattress only for the blanket to slip from his grasp. Stiles grumbled as he turned back to look at the offending cloth. A small chuckle escaped Derek as he leaned down to grab the blanket.

He spread it over the both of them, before adjusting himself so Stiles could snuggle into him. The fox didn't hesitate, curling up against Derek's chest and letting out a soft contented noise. With one hand resting gently on Stiles' back, Derek finally allowed himself to relax. The familiar rhythm of Stiles' breath and the steady thumping of his tail against the mattress lulled him into sleep.

As Derek dipped into his peaceful slumber, a dream weaved its way into his mind. Stiles was there, human as ever, arguing vividly over the latest Marvel movie with Erica and Boyd at the edge of the loft. Laughter echoed across the high ceilings in a chorus of warmth and companionship, shoulder bumps and teasing ripples of joy bouncing back and forth.

Derek was drawn to the scene not just by the characters involved but by a sudden brightness that engulfed Stiles. He watched in fascination as an ethereal glow emanated from Stiles, bright like a flame yet gentle, like the soft light of dawn. It grew in intensity until it was impossible to ignore – until Stiles himself had to pause his animated rant to look down at his hands.

There was silence in the dream as everyone turned to stare at him. Even in sleep, Derek felt the surge of dread tighten his chest. But then Stiles laughed – a real laughter that seemed to shake off whatever fear lingered in the room. He stood straighter, shock replaced by amusement.

In this surreal world of dreams, it felt strangely right – a testament to Stiles' resilient spirit that he could take such an anomaly in stride with laughter.

Stiles then turned towards him, bright eyes meeting Derek's. In their depths, Derek could see understanding and acceptance – a silent promise that everything would be alright. The dream-Stiles came up to him then, placing a hand on his shoulder, gripping it reassuringly. The phrase "We'll figure it out together" left his lips before the dream started blurring at its edges.

The words echoed in his mind as Derek slowly woke to the rhythmic thrumming of Stiles' tail against his side. He blinked his eyes open, half expecting the fox to have turned back into the boy overnight, but was met with a tuft of red fur instead. Stiles was still nestled in beside him, a tiny ball of heat under the blanket.

With a sense of tenderness that surprised him, Derek reached out and ran his fingers through Stiles' fur. The fox shifted lazily under his touch before blinking open its eyes and meeting Derek's gaze directly. There was an intelligence in those amber orbs that reminded him so much of Stiles that his breath hitched slightly. He could almost hear the cheap dog jokes Stiles would make if he were human.

The fox yawned widely, baring sharp canines before delicately placing a paw on Derek's chest as if asking for more attention. A chuckle rumbled up from deep within Derek’s chest as he continued to scratch behind Stiles' ears.

They spent a few more minutes, basking in the warmth of the early morning sun filtering through the window, before Derek carefully disentangled himself from the fox and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

“Breakfast?” He asked, turning to look down at Stiles.

The fox followed his gaze towards the kitchen with a flicker of interest. Stiles yawned again, slowly stretching out on the bed before jumping down and padding over to sit by the kitchen door. As Derek stood up, he again felt that crushing surge of affection for Stiles in his fox form.

As the sun rays grew brighter, Derek busied himself in the kitchen, carefully preparing their breakfast. He decided upon some eggs and bacon for himself and a bowl of meat scraps and dry food for Stiles. Though he suspected that Stiles might attempt to steal some bacon off his plate, as he was prone to do when he had been human.

Once both meals were prepared, Derek set them onto the kitchen table and sank down onto one of the chairs. He picked at his meal idly as he watched Stiles hungrily lap up his own food with gusto. It was oddly endearing - seeing him enjoy something so simple.

The phone rang as they were finishing up their food.

Derek hastily swallowed the last piece of his toast before he got up to answer. Stiles’ ears perked and he trotted over to sit by Derek's feet, his attention fixed on the phone.

“Hello,” Derek answered in a low voice.

“Derek.” The familiar voice on the other end was deep and commanding, instantly recognizable as Scott McCall’s. “It’s Scott… Deaton told me. Is Stiles really, I mean…”

“Yes,” Derek replied, not needing Scott to finish the sentence to know what the young Alpha was trying to ask.

“Can I come over?”

Derek looked down at Stiles for a moment before answering. A part of Derek wanted to say no, wanted to throw in his face that he had given up, abandoned Stiles. And tell him that he didn’t deserve to see Stiles now. But the excitement he could see in those whiskey eyes made him swallow the words. “Sure,” He gritted out instead.

“Thanks, Derek,” Scott said before hanging up. Stiles was looking up at him, tail wagging expectantly, scent saturated with excitement. Derek allowed himself a small sigh as he placed the phone back down.

“If Scott’s coming over he’ll likely bring the others,” he said to Stiles, trying to hide his irritation. The fox whined in response, his tail wagging even faster.

Derek took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. He had planned for them to have a peaceful day, trying to focus on making Stiles feel safer. Now their peace would be interrupted by the horde of pack wolves who missed their friend, and who had left him when he’d needed them most.

But it wouldn’t be fair to Stiles if Derek kept him isolated from the rest of the pack. Stiles had always been a part of their group; he’d been there from the beginning. It wasn’t right for him to be excluded now just because Derek didn’t agree with how they had treated his disappearance.

The doorbell rang an hour later. Stiles was at the door before Derek could get up, his tail wagging so hard it threatened to knock over one of Derek’s favourite lamps. It was only by the grace of Derek’s werewolf reflexes that the lamp didn’t smash on the floor.

“Alright, alright,” Derek said with amusement as he walked towards the door. “You let them in if you’re so impatient.” Derek said sarcastically. Never one to turn down a challenge, Stiles turned and jumped. As his paw reached out to hit the door knob the limb turned into a hand. It grabbed onto the door, opening it, and by the time the fox was back on the floor he was back on four paws.

Derek didn’t have time to react to the sudden change before Scott was barrelling into the apartment. His voice called out, “Stiles!” while his arms reached down to pick the fox up and drag it to his chest.

Behind him the others entered far more slowly. Their hands reached out to touch the fox. Their scents all mixed with various degrees of relief and disbelief.

Each member of the pack greeted Stiles with a mix of joy and hesitation.

Derek watched the whole scene unfold with a strange sense of detachment. Seeing Stiles in the arms of others, surrounded by his packmates, a pang of something he couldn't quite identify hit him squarely in his chest. It made his jaw tense and his fingers twitch with suppressed aggression.

As if sensing his distress, Stiles somehow managed to extricate himself from Scott's overbearing hug and trotted over to Derek's side, his furry body pressing against Derek’s leg in a comforting manner. Derek didn’t fail to notice how most of the pack avoided making eye contact with him, their wolfish instincts signalling them about the rising tension.

Apart from Scott, only Lydia remained unfazed, her emerald eyes meeting Derek’s head on. There was a steeliness within her gaze that Derek admired. She had always been one to face the truth and bear it, no matter how harsh it might be.

“Thank you for looking after him,” she said, her voice soft and sincere, “For not giving up,” the like us hung unsaid at the end of the sentence, and something within Derek eased at her words.

“Stiles is...” he started, but couldn’t find the right words to express what Stiles meant to him. His throat tightened uncomfortably, so he cleared it before mumbling, “It’s not a problem.”

Even though he kept his tone casual, everyone in the room could hear the unsaid words hanging heavy in the air: Stiles is important to me.

The rest of the day went by in a blur as they all tried their best to normalize things. His apartment was suddenly filled with chatter and laughter; it was as if Stiles' transformation had brought them all closer.

They spent the day reminiscing about the past, their previous battles and triumphs, their shared losses and victories. Stories of Stiles, during his human days, were plentiful. Even in his current form, Stiles contributed to the conversation in his own way, making noises of agreement or dissent, even snuffing out a few laughs here and there with his antics.

When it was time for lunch, Derek busied himself in the kitchen once more, this time preparing food for everyone. He felt a sense of satisfaction as he watched the pack devour the meal with gusto. It wasn’t often that they all had the chance to gather like this, especially after everything they had been through. It reminded him of his family, how his mother had always insisted on them sharing dinner together, the way food would fly between them as they fought over their favourite dishes, and talked widely about their day.

It even reminded Derek of the way the pack had started to feel with Stiles’ direction. He had always been the glue between them. The one calling them together for pack bonding nights, and planning all the pack outings. Even now as a fox, he had brought them back together.

The laughter and chatter continued late into the evening; the pack seemed reluctant to leave, as if they, too, found solace in this sense of unity. Derek watched from a distance, nursing a beer in hand and a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. Beside him, Stiles was sprawled out on the floor, content and exhausted from the day's emotional rollercoaster.

When Scott finally decided to leave, he walked up to Derek with an awkward smile. "Thanks for having us over, Derek," he said, looking sincere. Derek nodded in response. He didn't need to say anything; they both understood that this gathering was more than just a casual get-together.

One by one, the others followed Scott's lead and headed out of Derek's apartment, leaving him alone with Stiles who had fallen asleep on the sofa. Looking down at the fox curled up on his favourite spot, he ran his fingers through its soft fur. Even though today had been stressful and unplanned, he couldn't deny that it had also brought some relief. Seeing Stiles so happy among his friends gave him hope.

Derek lifted Stiles gently in his arms, careful not to wake him. Stiles stirred slightly in his arms, but didn't wake. His soft snoring was a comforting melody to the silence of Derek's apartment. Gently placing the fox on his bed, Derek let a fond smile fall across his face. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this peaceful.

He took a moment to glance around at the chaos their day had left behind – drained beer bottles rested on table tops, throw pillows were scattered across the floor and remnants of their homemade lunch still littered the kitchen. Yet, despite the mess, there was warmth in it, a tangible reminder of their camaraderie.

As he picked up the mess, his mind lingered on what Deaton had said. That Stiles would turn human once he felt safe and anchored. After last night Derek, the peace and safety he had felt in the pack's presence, made Derek wonder why Stiles didn’t feel safe enough to transform. What was still keeping him as a fox?

He sighed as he slid the last of the beer bottles into the recycling bin, glancing over his shoulder to where Stiles was sleeping peacefully. His mind churned over the possibilities, each one more worrying than the last. Had the pack done something? Now or in the past, that had broken the bond of trust with Stiles? Was he doing something that made him feel vulnerable and keeping him trapped as a fox?

He had always known that Stiles was a complex individual, but now it felt as if he were trying to solve an impossible puzzle with pieces missing.

Biting his lip, he returned to his bedroom, moving with soft footsteps so as not to wake the fox. The room was dimly lit by the moonlight filtering through the window and Derek paused in the doorway for a moment, drinking in the peaceful sight of Stiles curled up on his bed. The blankets Stiles kept hauling into his room from everywhere in the apartment, littered around him, creating a cocoon for the small fox.

Derek sat down next to him carefully, not wanting to wake him but desperately wanting to be closer. His hand reached out hesitantly for Stiles' soft fur. He expected the fox to shy away from his touch but instead he leaned into Derek’s hand, letting out a soft purr. 

At that moment, Derek couldn't help the soft smile that played across his lips. The trust Stiles had in him, even as a fox, was overwhelming. He spent a few more minutes petting Stiles’ soft fur, letting the rhythmic sound of his breathing calm him down.

Unable to resist the inviting warmth, he laid down carefully beside Stiles, trying not to disturb him in his sleep. Derek found himself tracing his fingers through Stiles' fur over and over again, finding a soothing rhythm in the otherwise quiet room.

He pushed the fears and anxieties to the back of his mind, letting the quiet of the apartment and the soft sounds of Stiles’ purr keep the pang of inadequacy at bay.

Slowly the weight of fatigue finally caught up to him, pulling him into an oblivious sleep. The last thought on Derek's mind before he drifted off was how peaceful everything was with Stiles by his side, how this surreal moment seemed to be something plucked right out of one of those dreams he’d never admit he had.

As daylight slowly crept into the room, its gentle beams found the two peace-filled figures curled up on the bed. The sun kissed Derek's peaceful face and played with the soft fur of Stiles, who was nuzzled close to him. His eyes fluttered open gradually, adjusting to the sudden burst of light.

Stiles remained asleep, his small chest rising and falling rhythmically against Derek's side. Looking down at the fox cradled in his arm, his heart swelled with an emotion he couldn’t exactly place. It wasn’t love or affection; it was something stronger, deeper. An instinctual pull to protect, an unspoken promise that he would do everything in his power to make Stiles feel safe.

Derek carefully extracted himself from the bed without disturbing Stiles and headed for the kitchen. His apartment quiet, the stillness felt comfortable rather than oppressive — a welcome change from the usual loneliness that often filled these four walls.

He busied himself with making breakfast while his mind went back to Stiles. He wondered if he should consult Deaton again or perhaps bring Scott into this predicament? Stiles had a moment of shifting when opening the door for him, and their was no argument that Scott knew Stiles the best. But then again, would any of them truly understand Stiles' plight or provide any valuable insight?

His train of thought was interrupted by a subtle shift in his atmosphere. Derek turned around just in time to see Stiles trotting into his kitchen, ears erect and eyes brightening upon seeing him. A smile tugged at Derek's lips as he bent down to ruffle the top of his head.

Together they retreated to the dinning room. Derek watched with amusement as Stiles threw himself into the food, making a mess of himself and the table as he ate. He seemed so unburdened, Derek felt envious of the carefree way he always managed to carry himself. Even in the worst situations over the years, with their backs trapped against the wall, and his scent filled with fear, he had always maintained loose shoulders and a sharp tongue that never betrayed his true emotions.

The sound of a car rattling up the road tore Derek’s attention away. He chewed slowly as he listened to the car close in on the loft’s building. As the engine turned off Derek was able to take in the sound of the person inside, the beating of their heart and the pattern of their footsteps.

When the sound of the lift turned on, Derek stood to prepare another plate with the leftovers from his and Stiles’ breakfast. Scraping the last of the eggs and potatoes as the sound of the persons footsteps exited the elevator, heading toward the door. Toast popped quickly, Derek lathering it with butter and jam, sliding it onto the plate alongside the rest of the food.

“Hello?” John’s voice called out as he opened the door. Derek heard Stiles jump off the chair and patter over to his father. Then John’s voice as he greeted his son.

“Are you able to join us for breakfast?” Derek asked, letting the new plate settle on the table top next to the mess Stiles had left behind.

The sheriff rounded the corner with Stiles in his arms, a soft smile on his face. His uniform was wrinkled from a long shift, John’s tiredness seeped into the core of his scent.

“Sorry to show up unannounced,” Derek waved off the apology. Of course John could come over, his son was here. Derek had been welcomed into the Stilinski household, and he’d thought that John had known that he was equally as welcome at Derek’s home. Had thought they had grown closer over the weeks spent looking for Stiles.

“Help yourself,” Derek replied, gesturing to the plate on the table. “Look out for the mess; being an animal hasn’t helped Stiles’ eating habits.” John laughed at the snarky comment, as he slid into the offered chair.

Stiles, seemingly indifferent to their chatter, had curled himself back on his chair, head resting on the table while his tail swept lazily back and forth.

Chuckling, John reached over to scratch behind Stiles’ ears. “Always was a messy eater, even as a kid. Seems some things don’t change.”

Derek watched while the older man tucked into his meal. He could see the weariness etched onto John’s face. The lines were softer than the last time he had seen the man. Having Stiles back and safe, even as a fox, had taken some of the stress off his shoulders.

John filled the silence of the table with tale of his shift, telling them about the few speeding tickets he’d given out. Their attempts at talking themselves out of a ticket making even Derek’s shoulders shake with laughter. And the few house calls he made, one tale spoke of an old woman and her feud with her new neighbours, the fight which had started to become a well known war in Beacon Hills.

Before long, the meal was over and John was pushing away his empty plate. He sighed, patting his now full stomach with a satisfied smile before turning to Stiles and, in turn, Derek. "Thank you, Derek, for the food. I have the day off tomorrow, and was hoping I could take Stiles for the night. You’ve been great at watching out for him, and I’ll admit the space has allowed me the chance to really come to terms with the situation. And, son, if you’d rather stay here, with Derek I’ll understand but it’d be nice to have you home, at least for a couple days"

The juice Derek was drinking suddenly soured. Swallowing it and keeping his face impassive too every bit of control Derek possessed. Fear pressed up against his lungs, making it impossible to breath. All his instincts telling him to say no, to insist Stiles had to stay here; where he was safe and Derek could protect him. But the rational side of his brain understood that Stiles needed his father, that John loved his son, and that he couldn’t stand between them.

Stiles yawned widely, stretching himself out before lazily hopping off his chair to trot over to John. His own decision made. Derek pushed a smiled to his face as he looked back at them.

“I’ll grab the pan from the bathroom, he hates it but its better than some of the alternative.”

He could hear Johns voice talking to Stiles as he left the room, gathering the things Stiles had been using during his time at the loft.

Returning to the entry way, Derek handed off the items to the Sheriff. He shot Derek a grateful smile. "Thanks for breakfast."

Derek nodded, following them to the door. "Anytime," he said.

He found himself missing the warmth that Stiles brought into his home almost immediately. The apartment seemed emptier without him - it was quiet and still once again.

Resisting the urge to sigh, Derek moved back into the kitchen to clean up their breakfast dishes. It was strange how quickly he'd become attached to Stiles in this new form of his. But Derek supposed it made sense - he'd always been drawn to Stiles, even when he was human.

As he scrubbed at the dirty dishes, Derek's mind continued to wander back to Stiles. Ever since their first meeting, something about him had captivated Derek. It wasn't just his quick wit or his endearing clumsiness, it was also his resilience, his bravery, and his heart. Despite the trials he'd faced and the danger he'd thrown himself into for the sake of others, Stiles never lost his spirit. He never lost his ability to hope and to love - and that was what made Derek admire him, adore him even.

The quiet ringing of the loft echoed through the empty space as Derek finished with the dishes. The brightness of the morning had started to fade into afternoon. The werewolf didn’t know what to do with himself now that he was alone. He started to clean up, but as he came across various nest Stiles had set up around the loft, he found himself unsure of what to do with them. He didn’t want to clean them up, but did keeping them make sense.

Stiles was home now, he wasn’t here. With his father he’d likely find that piece that was missing. He knew his home, knew his father, of course being together would turn him human. And Derek would be left here, a footnote in the whole adventure. Just another packmate.

Derek abandoned the cleaning. Throwing himself down on the couch with an old paperback novel. But the words just swirled around on the page around him. The sounds of silence echoed in his ears making the itch under Derek’s skin worse. It was his favourite book, one of the few that had survived the fire, and he couldn’t focus on it.

A growl worked it’s way up his throat. He was frustrated, angry, restless. Nothing was good enough to distract him. And he wasn’t good enough to help the one person who was always there for him. The first person who actually made him feel like he was worth saving, that he was pack, that he belonged.

He could feel the shift washing over him before the thought crossed his mind. His heart pounded in his chest, the rhythm matching his internal turmoil. He could feel his body morphing, shifting, changing. His limbs felt foreign, as if they were not quite his own. His senses heightened, the smell of Stiles still lingering in the loft overwhelmed him; a mix of dewy honey and apple cider.

He stumbled to steady himself, Scrambling onto all fours as his bones rearranged themselves. The pain was immense but it was nothing compared to the utter loneliness that bit into his soul. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again, they glowed a bright red.

Derek was now a full-shifted werewolf.

This wasn't the first time he'd shifted under stress or emotional upheaval but this was different. Where before he had been able to control it better, he now felt himself spiraling without restraint, teetering on the edge of losing control completely. The emptiness in the loft mirrored the emptiness in him; it felt too big, too vast...just like the void Stiles had left behind.

The howl that tore from Derek's throat echoed around the vacant space. A cry that was raw and primal and so deeply human. It was one of grief and loss; a longing for something he could never have.

He let the animal take over, hiding from his human emotions and doubts. Slipping out of the apartment and into the woods without any direction or cognitive thought. Just running and moving till exhaustion seized his limbs and forced him to stop. To lay down and sleep.

****

The air around Derek was cold, the stone under him rough and jagged. Broken pebbles, stabbed into the soft skin of his under belly. His night vision let him take in the small enclosement in various shades of grey. It was a cave he hadn’t remembered slinking into the day before. Not that he was surprised, all he could remember from yesterday was pain and running. He had no idea where he was, or how much time he passed, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to go back. Back to the quiet, empty, apartment. Haunted by the ghosts of pack memories, and the icy ache of loneliness. 

With a huff, Derek stood, pushing his body into a well needed stretch. The joint in his spine and shoulders popping as he did. He always felt stiff after spending a long time in full shift, body still adjusting to the drastic change in size and shape. He hadn’t yet slept in this form, and was slightly surprised he didn’t shift back while unconscious. He supposed it was just as much his form as human must be, and that must be why he didn’t shift out of it. Or maybe it was because he hadn’t felt safe enough in such strange surroundings. He snorted, the huff of air caused dust to fly up in front of his face. Musing over it did nothing but engage his human mind. 

Derek kicked the stones that had been stabbing him out of the way and fell back into his laying position. He closed his eyes, letting them fall back down onto his paws. There was nothing to look at in his surroundings, just nature beaten stone, and seasonal neglect. 

The morning sun fought it’s way into the cave, its warm rays unable to reach Derek in his dark corner. But the sounds of the world weren’t as deterred. With his eye’s closed, his hearing increased, taking over for the other missing sense. The chittering chirp of birds was loudest. Their songs practically echoing around him as they warmed up for their mating calls. Next he would hear the undergrowth as it shuffled and cracked under the movement of forest animals. The soft thuds of paws on the dirt, the scratching of claws into tree bark, and the fluttering of leaves in the wind came next. The symphony rounded off with the soft steady beatings of hearts. 

Not a single sound of humanity slithered in amount the sounds. Just pure peaceful nature. 

Even the smells lacked humanity. All his nose could pick up was loam, bark, florals, and the musk of wild animals. Without the reminders of humanity Derek was able to hide behind his wolf form easier. Let the animals blank mind track the world with no input from him. No emotions needing to be dealt with, no responsibilities to hold him down. Just dissociative peace. 

He wasn’t sure how much time passed like that. While him moving in and out of dozing, hiding from the world, but eventually his peace was disturbed. The sound of footsteps approaching the cave causing his ears to perk up. One of them was definitely human, the blunder through the hunter growth, the heavy bipedal stomps that seemed to find every branch, even the occasional grumbling as they tripped or stumbled. But the other set was animal, smaller, four legs, with an even littering stop, small claws that scratched as it jumped over logs and large stones. The animal was clearly leading the way, and heading straight for Derek. 

The cave was a dead end, no way out, and the visitors were too close for him to make an escape. Yet his hackles did not rise, even before he caught the intruders scents, he recognized the duo. The rapid heartbeat, with its odd double skip and the congested even beat of the human as familiar to his ears as his own heartbeat. They equated to family, and no matter how much he wanted to hide, he would never feel threatened by them. 

Still he knew they had come to bring him back, to pull him out of his solitude and he wasn’t ready. He rebelled against the pull that tried to bring Derek back to the forefront of his own mind. Shuffling further back into the cave, trying to hide in the shadowy blackness of its far wall. Hoping they would miss him and move on. A fools hope, since he knew they were tracking him based on scent. 

Stiles appeared at the caves opening first, only his silhouette visible. His sweet bitter scent full of relief as it wafted into the cave on a breeze. It ran through his fur and clung to him, allowing a small ball of tension in his gut to release. He knew he couldn’t deny Stiles, not with the wolf at the helm. It had always taken all of his control to say no to Stiles before. Now all he wanted was to run up to the fox, to feel the soft fur against his own, to have the scent cling to his fur, to leave his own on its body. He wanted to chase and play, and cuddle, to bask in Stiles’ prescence. 

Stiles moved into the cave slowly, posture submissive, head ducked non-threateningly as he approached Derek with caution. Like he was worried the wolf would attack him, the action gave the wolf pause. Watching the foxes actions and waiting for it to finish it’s display. He didn’t smell afraid, but his posture wasn’t the easy one the wolf expected. Once Stiles was within arms distance he fell to his stomach, crawling slowly over to the wolf. There was a small untone of anxiety to Stiles’ scent that Derek hadn’t been able to pick up before. As if the small fox was worried about his welcome. 

The fox stopped right beside him, tilting his head and moving into Derek’s space. He couldn’t stop the wolf this time, the temptation to accept the offer was too strong. Stiles’ relief hit him again, strong this time, and he tilted his head to give Derek more access, and submitting even more clearly. The wolf passed his tongue over the exposed throat once before pulling back. He was about to lay back down when he was stopped by the fox taking his own turn to scent Derek. He pushed his head out of the way, ducking under to nuzzle his throat and to rub himself across his chest and side. As he finished his circuit, the fox wiggled himself under Dereks paws, and curled up into his side. Huffing out small sighs of contentment, a vibration close to a purr in his chest. Derek responded with his own rumble. 

A voice pulled Derek’s attention away from the small fox and back toward the mouth of the cave as a new silhouette appeared. This time the silhouette was clearly human, having to bend down to peer into the cave. “Derek? Son, are you there? Are you okay?” The sheriff's voice carried down the cave, echoing against the stone walls; his tone full of concern. “We went by the loft yesterday morning and waited for you. Stiles got worried. We thought maybe someone grabbed you, or you were injured. Can you come out of the cave, son? I’d like to know for myself that you aren’t hurt, or trapped. My sight isn’t as good as yours or Stiles’.” 

Derek looked down at the fox curled in his side, and back at the human. The feeling of Stiles’ warmth, and the concern in John’s voice, the smell of their concern and relief, made the miserable cloud around Derek’s heart lift. The warmth of their love for him seeping into the cracks of his armour and thawing out the protections he’d made for himself. In their place he felt a wave of shame crash in. He had let them down, made them worry, forced them to come all the way out here after him, made John miss work, and delayed Stiles’ progress in turning human. 

Slowly he stood up, careful not to upside the fox as he did. With his head and tail low he made his way toward John. He couldn’t apologize to him just yet, words required a human body, but wolves didn’t wear clothes. Derek might have felt ashamed and wanted to make up for his actions, but he wasn’t willing to do it naked. Apologies could wait till they got home and Derek could find something to cover himself with. 

“You don’t look hurt, but I don’t reckon you can say much in that form can you?” John sighed, the sound thin and worn to the bone, but his scent was calm full of relief. “Guess we should head back, Sun sets early among the trees, and it was hard enough for me to get out here with full sunlight. Lead the way boys.” 

Derek paused in passing the Sheriff to rub his flank along the man’s legs. It was a small apology, one he hopped that John understood, but also allowed Derek to leave his scent on the man, to share in tactile pack behaviour with the man who he’d formed a bond with over the last few weeks. All that time spent over dinners, and search for Stiles. In a lot of ways Derek felt like he had found family with John. No one would be able to replace Derek’s dad, but John certainly filled that dad shaped whole in his life. 

Stiles seemed to tune into the emotional turmoil raging within Derek. The small fox alternating between comforting rubs, headbutts, and annoying puppy bites at his tail. He looked down at the orange creature, seeing his brown eyes looking back at him with warmth and judgement. Through that look Derek could almost hear the monologue Stiles would be spewing if he had a human tongue. He would be chewing Derek out for disappearing, calling him names like Stupid-Wolf - he seemed to find mushing random words with ‘wolf’ hilarious. He would also be telling him he was too self-sacrificing, that he had a martyr complex; which would just Segway into him listing out Derek’s failures and another bout of calling him an idiot. But he’d also tell him that he was there for him, as pack, that Derek could lean on him. Probably bring up all the times he had saved Derek. He’d bring John into it to. Derek sighed. 

He missed Stiles’ chatter. The way it filled the space, and gave him something else to focus on. The way it said nothing and everything, in a way that Derek could feel wrapping around him, filling him, grounding him. Derek pretended that it annoyed him, only because he knew it got Stiles wound up, making the other man talk even more. He hopped he got to hear it again. Hopped he’d get to tell him to shut up again, just to hear the affronted noise, followed by the failing and stuttering rebuttals. 

The apartment building loomed above them, and to Derek it felt like crossing the parking lot was walking up to the guiltone. He had never good with opening up to other people. And after Kate - after the fire - words had gotten so much harder. But he owed the Stilinski’s an explaination. They had proven themselves to him, had made themselves pack, now it was his turn. He also knew neither of them would let him get away without an explanation for his behaviour. 

John let them into the loft and Derek beelined it for the upper landing bedroom. He let the change ripple over him. Hair receding back under his skin, the itchy sensation being overwhelmed by the aching, stretching, pain of his bones cracking, and muscles shifting position. His human limbs felt awkward as he forced them into clothing, the joints not moving quite as he wanted them to. He considered hiding upstairs longer, to stretch, but he could hear Stiles and John waiting for him. Could smell their concern for him. They didn’t deserve to wait any longer. 

Derek squared his shoulders, growling quietly at his own inadequacies. He shouldn’t be afraid of this, not with them, not with Stiles. He took a deep breath, nose filling with the scent of Stiles. The foxes smelling still clinging to his skin, even after his transformation. He could almost feel Stiles like a comforting prescence, and it allowed him to anchor himself. With a small boost of confidence, Derek exited his upper landing and went to face the Stilinski's. 

The two men (well one man, and one fox) were waiting for him in his livingroom. John had taken perch near his bookshelf in the far corner, Stiles on the other hand had made himself comfortable on the couch. His tiny face narrowed in a foxy glare. 

“I’m sorry,” Derek started, not sure how exactly he was going to word everything. He heard John sigh in the corner, followed by the sound of his footsteps as he approached. In his hands was a cup of tea. He handed the drink over to Derek, a hand coming to rest on his shoulder, giving him a tight squeeze. 

“You don’t need to apologize, son.” John’s heart was steady as he spoke. His voice full of sincerity. “We want to know if you’re okay, what happened, why it happened, and how we can help. You don’t need to apologize, but you do need to let us in, Derek.” 

His words felt like an arrow slicing through his armour and cutting him open. Every emotion he had been burying since he lost his family welled up against the crack. The torrent of repressed grief, shame, longing, and guilt rushed him. He felt like the strings that had been holding him up were cut, all the weight of everything he had been carrying suddenly crushing him. His breath caught in his throat, tears burning at his eyes. 

He was afraid that if he opened his mouth that it would be the final break and every bit of his self-control would fall away. That he would dissolve into the emotional storm that he was just barelying holding onto. John must have seen the change in his face, guiding him to sit down, because one second he was standing at the entrance to his livingroom, body tense and the next he was tucked into the corner of his sofa, a small fox warming its way onto his lap. The familiar soft fur, and calming scent of Stiles rubbing against his skin, and filling his nose. 

He put the mug of tea down, grabbing onto the fox with both hands. Erik buried his face in the fur, until he felt like the wave of emotions had slowed. That he could speak without falling apart. 

“I haven’t had anyone in years. The pack, they… none of them choose me. They never included me, more tolerated me. And Laura, she tried, but it was a lot, and I was… After Kate, I…” A low growl, followed by a rough nuzzling from Stiles, broke Derek’s attempts to explain. He felt another piece of himself settle. He knew Stiles would be cussing her out, if he could. Trying to cut Derek off, placing all the blame on her - like he had in the past. She was a predator, the true monster, but Derek would never agree that he didn’t share in that blame. There were so many things he should have done, that would have changed that outcome. He didn’t do any of them, he chose to be selfish and his family died for it. “But Stiles, you always made sure that I knew what was going on with the pack, helped me look for Erica and Boyd, even when your best friend wouldn’t speak to me. And John, you stood up for me at the station, when everyone was saying those things about me murdering Laura, and then Stiles disappeared, and… I used to be so close with my dad, he liked baseball too. Watching it with you over dinners it was…” Derek swallowed against the lump growing in his throat. He tangled his hands in Stiles’s fur, trying to find the strength to keep talking. “You’re pack, you’ve both made yourself pack. And knowing that we finally had Stiles back, and that you were both safe it was almost too good to be true. And then you wanted to go home, and you both were leaving me. There was no reason for you to stay, either of you. Stiles was found, you were back together again. I had no more use. And I couldn’t…” Derek tries to find the right words, it wasn’t just losing family, or pack, or connection, but something too important. The lump is stronger than him this time, bubbling up Derek's throat and coming out as a strained sobbed, eyes burning with the tears forcing their way past. 

Suddenly the small body in his arms shifted and changed. The scent of ozone spiking briefly, soft fur being replaced with soft pale skin, limbs growing as the body expanded. Suddenly he had an armful of a very naked and very human Stiles. 

“You aren’t losing us Derek, you won’t ever lose us, we’re pack. I understand that concept more than I ever did as a human. And you are an idiot, a self-sacrificing, martyring, self-defeastist, Sour Wolf!” His voice got louder with each word, ending with Stiles screaming at him. His arms wrapped tightly around him, face tucked into Derek’s neck. 

Derek felt his heart stutter in his chest, arms coming up instinctively to hold onto Stiles as well. 

“Stiles, you’re…”

”Never letting you off the hook for this. I will make you realize you are loved, you got that. Dad and I both, you're a Stilinski now and nothing's gonna change that. Not even death is getting you out of this now.”

He isn’t sure what it was that made him do it. Probably an endless domino of things, the rawness of being cracked open, the still slightly feral tinge to his mindset, or the passion of Stiles speech. But one second he was listening to Stiles yelling at him, and the next second he was pulling the man toward him, capturing his lips with his own. Pouring everything of himself into the kiss. And Stiles was responding, mouth moving against his, a dance in perfect sync. His hands ranked over Derek’s scalp. The universe narrowed down to the man in front of him. The pale mole dotted skin, the perfect pale pink lips, the burnt auburn eyes that danced with joke and mischief, everything started and ended with Stiles. His Stiles. 

The clearing of a voice broke them apart. John sent both of them a half incredulous, half traumatized look. “Perhaps you should go grab some clothes son,” Stiles blushed, a wave of embarrassment colouring his scent. Derek could feel his own mirrored emotions curling unpleasantly in his gut.

But as awkward as it was to realize he was just making out with the man's naked son in front of him, Derek feels an equal amount of pride and happiness. Stiles liked him back, Stiles also forgot about his father, Stiles was blushing beautifully. Redness dropping all the way down his chest. Derek felt the desire to lick his way across the exposed skin rising. Heat tiring in his groin. 

“You can borrow anything of mine if you want.” Derek offered, trying to get his want and arousal for the other man under control. He felt like he was on cloud nine. Yet still felt drained and exhausted, like someone had scooped out his insides with a teaspoon and replaced them with the warm comfort of pack and mate.

Stiles grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch as he climbed off Dereks lap. Leaning down to press one more chaste kiss to Derek’s lips, before wrapping himself up and disappearing into the upper landing. With his hearing, Derek traced Stiles. Enjoying the familiar beating of his heart and humming as he took more time than necessary shuffling through Derek’s drawers. No doubt snooping. 

John was smiling at him, but there was a hardness and a concern in his eyes, a tightness around his eyes, tiredness in the lines of his shoulders. “I’m sorry I made you both worry.” Derek said. 

John’s smile softens. “I know, and I’m sorry we failed you as well. IfI know my son at all, he isn’t going to let this go. Isn’t going to let you go. But know, if you do anything to deliberately hurt him it’s not just me you’ll have to look out for.” 

“Dad” Stiles warned as he walked down the stairs. His scent wafting down, smelling like home. 

Derek watched him descend on human legs with all the same mannerisms he had missed, and learned to read in the fox. But it was seeing him in Derek’s clothes, his facial expression so much more rich and real than the ones Derek had been imagining. And his scent, no longer holding onto the snippets of magic or the undertones of an animal, just pure Stiles; Stiles and Derek. 

“Good to have you back son.” John said when Stiles had made it back into the living room, standing up to envelope his son in a tight hug. “Figures you’d turn back just to nag someone.” All three men laughed. “Well, it seems you two may have more to talk about. I’ll head out to the diner to pick up something to eat. Try not to make me walk in on anything that will scar me.” John said, raising an eyebrow at them. Stiles blushed once more, ducking his head under his dads stare and yelling at him to ‘just go’.

”So,” Derek could see that Stiles felt as awkward as he did. The young man hesitating at the entry to the den. Derek’s tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth; his heart suddenly running a marathon in his chest. He watched Stiles make his way over to Derek, sliding down to kneel in front of him. Hands landing on the sides of the arm chair, caging Derek in. 

“You kissed me? And while I think I understand why. Though I’d feel loads better hearing it from you, You know what they say about assumptions and while I don’t normally mind making an ass out of myself, I also don’t want to mess this up. And I will put my foot in my mouth. I always do, you know this. I’m like a walking disaster and…” Derek could feel the rambling monologue building, could see it in the tension of Stiles’ shoulders, the drumming of his fingers; could hear it in the quickening cadence of his words and heartbeat; could smell it in the anxious undertones of his scent. 

“I love you,” Derek cut him off. Everything paused, for a moment neither of them breathed. Stiles was sitting stock still, frozen; even his heartbeat was momentarily. The words hung in the air between them and for a moment, one heartbreaking moment, he wished he could take them back. God knows how much he meant them, but the blank face Stiles was staring at him with was unnerving. The human was not meant to be still, it was unnatural. It felt like the eye of the storm; the calm before destruction. Derek didn’t know if he could take a rejection from Stiles. Not right now, he felt too raw. 

Then, like a record skipping back, the world started again. Stiles blinked once, winced, a huge smile overtaking his face; and then, he was in Derek’s lap. Hands grabbed Derek’s hair, as Stiles shoved their faces together. There were too many teeth for the action to be called a kiss, but the sentiment was the same. He wasn’t being rejected, Stiles wanted him as well, 

Derek felt his own smile growing against Stiles’. Their teeth clashing a moment before they pull back. He looked into Stiles’ eyes, seeing pure happiness and tender emotion swirling in the whiskey brown. Like seeing his own emotions reflected back at him. It was everything he had been searching for, and everything he had never thought he’d find. He let his eyes fall shut, dropping his forehead against Stiles’ and basking in the warmth swirling between them. He let himself feel the weight of Stiles in his lap, focused on Stiles’ scent as it mixes with his, and the sound of his heart echoing in his ears. Derek grounded himself in the moment, in having Stiles with him, feeling his acceptance, and affection. 

It struck him that they had been doing this for weeks now. The scenting, the cuddling, the existing in each other's spaces. The bond he had been building with the fox, the reason why he had been rebelling against the idea of Stiles being the fox, was this. A part of him had known it had always been Stiles, had let the crush he’d had on the human grow unimpeded. He’d skipped the dating stage and instead had gone straight to domestic cuddling. Yet, he didn’t regret it. Sitting here now, with Stiles wrapped in his arms, his scent thick in his nose. He didn’t regret it. As long as he got to keep it. 

That was how the Sheriff found them almost an hour later. Curled around each other, limbs linked, heads tucked into each other's necks, cuddling on the small armchair. Derek had heard John arriving, had listened to his soft humming as the man had made his way up to the loft. He turned to watch him enter, seeing the moment when John’s face softened as he eyes took in their position. It was wishful, longing, his scent hit with nostalgia. When he met Derek’s eyes, the loss of Claudia hung deep in his eyes, but his smile was grateful. 

John lifted the bag in his hands, a silent question. Derek nodded, lifting his hand from where it was wrapped around Stiles’ waist to shake the younger man’s shoulder: attempting to raise him from slumber. 

“Wha?” Stiles mumbled, voice thick and syrupy as he rubbed his eyes. “Oh food,” He perked up comically as the smell of the curry from the bags hit his nose. He clamoured out of Derek’s lap, nearly falling down in his haste to get to the food. “I feel like I haven’t eaten food in ages. Not that you weren’t feeding me. Your food is great, but this is food ya know? Not plain chicken and rice, or dog kibble. Which surprisingly isn’t that bad, as a fox anyway. Not going anywhere near that with a human tongue. But food! God I love you guys.” 

John and Derek shared an amused yet exasperated smile as they watched Stiles tear into the bags of food. Rambling as he went. He left a mess behind, just like he had as a fox, and it was just another confirmation to Derek that this was all real. That Stiles was here, he was human, his pack was back together again. John muscled his way in next to his son, bickering about the mess and reminding him that the food was for all of them. They ribed each other, and while it wasn’t the loudness of the Hales, it held the same amount of family and love. And it was like a piece he had thought he’d lost when his family died was being slotted back into place. 

It wasn’t the same clamour, as his family. No food was thrown, no one ended up on the floor in pain as healing kicked in. It wasn’t the same as the pack Stiles had been building with them before his disappearance. The ribs never cut below the skin, no one was sending heated glares, or demanding someone hand over some food. There was just Stiles and John, and a bit of Indian curry slapped on a plate. But it was family, it was pack, and it felt like it was the one place in the word Derek unequivocally belonged. He had found home.