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“Hey! Good to see you, Derek. How are things?”
“Thanks, Wes. Things have been…going.”
“Do you want to elaborate?”
There’s a lot he could say. How he feels tired. Lost. But an hour only covers so much. If Derek wants to get something out of today’s session, he needs to focus on big things. What’s been top of mind. Like the Pack.
And Stiles. How he doesn’t talk, sleep or eat much. How he exists but goes through the motions. Like an empty shell of the human known for rambling, snark and stupid puns.
Everything spills out before Derek can stop it. Wes sits back and listens patiently.
“Trauma changes people,” he eventually says. “When a terrible thing happens, the joy that once filled someone’s life disappears. It’ll take time to heal.”
“Okay.”
“You know that firsthand.”
When Derek opens his mouth, Wes gently raises a hand. Almost like he expected Derek to object.
“I’m not saying your Pack hasn’t suffered. They’ve experienced horrors no one should ever have to face. Based on what you’ve told me, Stiles is hurting in a different way. He witnessed people getting injured and killed, and he had no way to stop that.”
“He was possessed.”
“Yes. His body was used as a weapon. He wasn’t given a choice. You understand that better than anyone else.”
It takes a few seconds for Derek to realize what Wes is implying.
“What happened to me was different,” he bites out.
“Was it?” Wes challenges. “Both of you were cruelly violated. That wasn’t Stiles’ fault or yours.”
Derek grimaces, but he knows Wes is right. If there’s one thing therapy has taught him, it’s separating distorted thoughts from hard facts. Easier said than done, but Derek is trying.
“Stiles doesn’t know where to find safety now. He needs someone in his corner to guide him.”
“Me?”
“It could be.”
Deep down, he wants to help. Derek just doesn’t know how or if it would be welcomed. Just seeing his furrowed brows alone, Wes probably knows where Derek’s mind is heading.
“What did your family do whenever you were sad or scared?”
He hasn’t thought about them in a while. His first pack. Derek always appreciated his dad making blanket forts with him. His mom’s blueberry muffins. Laura sneaking into his bed late at night to read him stories. Even Cora offering him snuggles with Cheer Bear.
Derek straightens up. Nods. Lets his lips turn up a little. Wes smiles back.
“Think about those things. They might spark a few ideas to help Stiles.”
Maybe they will.
*
He starts with slower cooker chili.
It’s a simple, hearty dish that used to be one of Laura’s favorites. Derek remembers making this weekly staple in their tiny apartment back in New York. Chopping and combining all the ingredients with generous amounts of shredded cheese in a crappy Crock-Pot. Inhaling the delicious aroma until his nerves settled for the night.
Maybe chili will work some magic. Derek hopes it does as he fills a couple of plastic containers to the brim, pops on the lids and slips the meals in a reusable bag.
Then, he drives over to the Stilinskis’. The pros of being a werewolf means he knows when the house is empty so he can sneak in and out undetected. He puts the chili in the fridge before taking off through a back window.
Eventually, Derek makes other dishes. Chicken pot pie. Stuffed peppers. He even tries replicating copycat recipes like Olive Garden’s Zuppa Toscana and chicken gnocci soups. Just like his mom used to.
If the clean, empty containers that find their way back onto his kitchen counter are anything to go by, Derek must be doing something right. But it also means Stiles has been dropping by his new townhouse when he isn’t around. A place no one else has a key to. Interesting.
Derek sighs, stirring the pasta sauce simmering on the stove. He’s not a pushy person. If Stiles wants to see him, he’ll do that when he’s ready.
Until then, Derek waits.
*
Regular visits to the Stilinski household make cleaning simple.
The house looks less occupied these days, with the Sheriff working so many double shifts and Stiles being at school and, well…basically trying to hide into himself.
There aren’t many dishes to wash and dry, with Derek bringing over daily home-cooked meals. Cleaning the kitchen, both bathrooms and the living room is a breeze. So is getting the mail and taking out the trash.
What makes Derek’s skin itch, though, is how clean Stiles’ bedroom is. Even after Derek starts doing the laundry after he had found clothes pouring out of a basket, the room resembles nothing like its normal disaster state. The desk and bulletin board are bare. The bed is neatly made. Books and video games are tucked away on their respectable shelves. Untouched. Forgotten.
It’s almost like Stiles doesn’t live here. But he does. Derek can still smell the human, even if the scent is tinged with guilt and sorrow that irritates his nose. Derek wants to change that so he can breathe in familiar sweetness again.
What would make this room more habitable? Was there something that provided a distraction?
The idea comes to Derek when he sorts through his guest room one afternoon. He’s been slow at unpacking boxes from the move, and thankfully, there’s not much left to go through.
Except the box that Derek opens up makes his heart ache. Inside is his old grape Gameboy Color nestled on top of a soft navy sweatshirt. Derek used to spend hours on his Gameboy after long school days. Laura would slip into her over-sized ‘I Love NYC’ hoodie once she got home from her shifts at the pizza shop.
Seeing these items again reminds Derek how much time has passed. How much has changed. That things are what they are.
He picks up the hand-held console and chuckles when he sees the Donkey Kong Country cartridge in there. Derek wonders if they both still work. Rummaging through the rest of the box, he discovers a stack of Mad Libs and a few more games in little plastic cases. Kirby’s Pinball Land. Pokémon Silver. The Legend of Zelda: Link's Awakening. All of his go-tos.
If Derek leaves the box on Stiles’ bed two days later, no one else needs to know.
*
Derek is just getting out of the shower when he hears it. The sound of the Jeep parking outside of his front door.
By the time he barrels down the stairs wearing a t-shirt and sweats, the lock clicks and the door opens. Derek reaches the foyer to see Stiles cross over the threshold and pause. Still looking and smelling tired yet more nourished. Staring back with hesitant amber eyes.
That’s when Derek realizes they haven’t seen each other in a while. As packmates. Friends. Patrols around town don’t count.
“Hi,” Derek says stiltedly.
“Hey,” Stiles rasps, like he hasn’t talked in days. He probably hasn’t.
Once the door closes behind them, they just stand there. The exchange should be awkward. Stiles literally let himself into Derek’s home. They’ve been dancing around each other for weeks.
But then, Stiles takes in the space that is Derek’s living room. Licks his lips. Hikes his backpack up on a shoulder and trains his gaze back on Derek. Like he’s a puzzle worth solving.
Derek clears his throat. “No lacrosse practice?”
Stiles shrugs. “Haven’t been going lately.”
“Why?”
“Well, I have some new games I’m trying to beat.”
“Really?”
“Someone failed to mention they’re an epic nerd with culinary talent.”
Derek ducks his head as the tips of his ears burn. “I didn’t think it mattered.”
Stiles snorts. Rolls his eyes, then offers Derek a small, knowing smile. The sight is breathtaking. Enough to make Derek’s heart beat a little faster.
“Stiles, it’s just stuff I used to do…”
“Back then. After the fire.”
“Right.”
“You found ways to cope. Even when things were, well—”
“Complete shit? Sure. I guess so.”
The fact that Stiles gets it—that they’re both on the same page—is a relief. Derek hasn’t fully thought out how to explain his latest intentions, but Stiles seems to know already. Why Derek cooks so much. Why Derek willingly loaned sacred treasures from his past.
“Thanks,” Stiles murmurs. “For sharing all of that with me.” For caring is left unsaid, but Derek still hears the words.
“We’re pack,” Derek reassures him.
“I know. Are you—what’s cooking for today?”
“For dinner? Stick around to find out.”
“Sure. Uhh, if you’ll have me, that is.”
Derek would love to have Stiles around forever if he could. But he doesn’t say that.
Not yet.
*
They seek each other out more frequently afterward.
To hang out. Talk. Or both.
Sometimes, Stiles drops by Derek’s to do his homework and help with cooking. He’ll ramble on about his travels through Johto or fighting King Dedede and Nightmare bosses while Derek listens. Derek only offers gaming insights or hints when it’s requested. Nights at Stiles’ includes watching TV shows and movies, spewing out dumb words to complete a Mad Lib or else playing Mario Kart until Stiles is ready to pass out.
On tough days, Derek lets Stiles doze off on the couch snuggled in Laura’s hoodie. He’ll hold Stiles until he stops crying from a nightmare or move their hugging to a bed until they both fall asleep. And if Derek is the one gasping awake at 1am? Stiles has enough experience calming him down with plenty of scent marking and gentle whispers.
When Derek and Stiles first talk, they start with small or silly things. Baseball. Ice cream flavors. Best Pokémon locations. Enguarde the Swordfish vs. Expresso the Ostrich.
Eventually, the chatter shifts to more personal topics. Learning Polish. Full moon traditions. Family vacations. Happier times.
Then, they dive into messier, more complicated stuff. Derek’s family. Stiles’ mom. Kate. Laura. And every other incident that has happened up to now.
The Nogitsune included.
None of their gestures or conversations truly erases their tarnished histories. Still, Derek thinks they’re helping each other. Slowly but surely. He can’t imagine opening up this freely to another person. And if his instincts are spot on, he is pretty sure Stiles hasn’t confided his worst thoughts and fears to anyone else.
It’s not until they’re curled up on Stiles’ bed watching Breaking Bad one evening that Derek almost misses an important question.
Stiles pauses his laptop and faces him. “So, big guy. Why are you helping me?”
Derek tenses. Lets out a heavy sigh before frowning at Stiles. Hasn’t he been obvious?
“You’re usually not a big talker or touchy-feely. I don’t see you giving out free potlucks or cuddles to the rest of the Pack.”
“They’re getting by.” Without me.
Stiles worries his lower lip, then narrows his eyes at Derek. “Is this out of obligation? Guilt? I’m not a charity case!”
Derek pinches the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t know why he adores this idiotic human. He just does. Even though he sucks with words, maybe he can express how deep his feelings run.
“I’ve been seeing a therapist,” Derek admits. “A supernatural one.”
“Really? Huh,” Stiles replies, tilting his head.
“Asking for help is hard, but I figured it was time.”
“Pretty sure I’ve mentioned that before.”
“Maybe. I also realized if I want to help others, I need to take care of myself first. My anchor included.”
There’s a deafening silence. A shift of blankets. A surprised gasp…
And then, the penny drops.
“Oh my God! You’ve been doing this for us.”
“Yes.”
“Like such a Sweetwolf.”
“I’m not a—”
“You really are,” Stiles insists as he leans against Derek. “A softie. My rock. The one who’s captured my heart.”
“I have?” Derek asks, stunned. Hopeful.
Stiles beams, lighting up for the first time in months. So warm and beautiful. Enough to reassure Derek that they’ll be okay.