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Derek never asked Stiles for anything and certainly never thanked him. He demanded, claimed, postured, but he never actually asked and certainly never expressed any appreciation when Stiles had done what he wanted.
The word play had always both excited Stiles and made him wonder if he smelled like flowers. Scott claimed he didn’t, but Scott was used to his smell. And Scott was his, maybe that affected things. Perhaps Scott couldn’t actually tell.
Stiles stared at the ceiling, touched the bruise on his cheek, ran his fingers carefully around the ones on his side. Steel toed shoes will do that. Leave bruising, crack ribs. Those shoes had made him wonder if his bones were made of sugar. If they were going to shatter like those windows used for stunts in movies.
He might as well be made of sugar he mused, touching his broken nose. Perhaps there were some spices thrown in, because he was clearly a nice person. Too nice probably. He had never called in the debts from Scott after all. Never made Scott realize just how little of himself he had left to call his own.
And so many people had tried to take Scott. Perhaps the werewolves had it right. Perhaps a mark of ownership was the way to go. Stiles frowned at the thought. He didn’t particularly want to mark Scott. He preferred going unnoticed while playing his word games and keeping his own council.
While the Hales had been here, it had been easy to stay hidden. Werewolves were just so loud, so noticeable. It would figure Scott would become one, drawing attention. It had been so quiet without the wolves around. Stiles hadn’t expected a return of their particular style of theatrics. Stiles should have killed Peter back in the hospital.
If he had, Peter wouldn’t have been able to try and take Scott. Because of course Peter had tried to steal one of the few people in Beacon Hills who already belonged to someone else. Peter had died for his thieving ways and wasn’t coming back. Not after Stiles had burned his heart.
Stiles ran his fingers across his cracked ribs and hissed at the sensation. Fucking Gerard. Stiles smiled at the thought of where that ass was now. He had deserved it.
Hurting Stiles, fine. Steel toed boots might fucking hurt, but they couldn’t kill him. Stiles would be alright in a few weeks. Offering by the lake in the woods by the light of the full moon and he would be good to go. Always a bit of a rush after weeks of slow, snail-paced healing.
But Gerard had tried to take Scott - twisting words and meanings, in an attempt to steal Scott. That was the reason the Argent’s would never know what happened to their old man. Stiles wondered if Derek would notice the new tree standing on his property with a set of oddly-twisted bones under its roots. A gift, Stiles thought, because Gerhard had also tried to take what was Derek’s as well.
Derek, Derek. So many things revolved around Derek. And that was a problem. Ever since Derek had come back Stiles careful constructed little world had begun to fall to pieces. Peter had started it, sure, but Derek just tore things apart.
Derek and his actions against Stiles with his words. Fucking wolves couldn’t stay still. Drawing attention.
More people who paid attention meant more people who might hurt him. Even his dad was beginning to see the smoke and mirrors. It wasn’t that hard to, once you knew to look. Like those old movie sets. The towns that weren’t more than the fronts of houses. Knowing didn’t mean you could get out, but Stiles didn’t want anyone to be aware in the first place.
Which all meant that the situation was all fucked at the moment. With the two betas gone, Derek would be unstable. And Scott was just making things worse by tilting Isaac and Jackson towards him. Scott didn’t know what he was doing and Stiles didn’t want charge of those two.
Stiles grimaced as he touched his split lip.
It was partly Stiles fault, that. Scott didn’t understand that he could avoid having an alpha because he was already owned. He thought he was saving the others from Derek. Stiles really should have nipped that pretension in the bud. Damn Derek and using his words for once. Perhaps Stiles should have marked Scott, but he doubted he could have really gotten away with friendship bracelets without being obvious. Objects were too noticeable. Words though, Stiles loved words.
So, there was the issue with Derek to deal with. He had to be stabilized or put down. It would be hard to put him down. It was one thing to burn the heart of a dead werewolf. Still another thing to use the dying body of an old ... man thing (what was Gerard at that point? He had been leaking black and his nails were becoming claws that were tearing the human flesh of his hands to pieces) ... to grow a tree. But it would be quite another things to kill a healthy Alpha no matter how weak he currently was.
And, It wasn’t really Derek’s fault that his Uncle had gone crazy. One could argue that Stiles was to blame for not killing him after the fire. Then none of this would have happened. He had considered it. Thought about talking the nurse into it. So, it could arguably be his fault.
Style laughed at himself. He was so unstable himself. He’d blame the bruises, but that wasn’t even remotely true, so he couldn’t. “A white lie was still a lie, but silence rings true and exaggeration is gold”, his mother had always said.
But then, Derek had tried to take Scott. But, but. He hadn’t tried that hard. Had been almost tentative, as if he wasn’t sure how far it was wise to go, as if he was watching to see how far Stiles would let him get.
And Derek had helped Sties, strange as that was. Had exchanged lives with him back and forth. (Even if he had never ever thanked him for it.)
And, disturbingly, Stiles liked him. Liked having someone with muscles. Someone who could say things without using words. Stiles found the ability rather fascinating, cunning really.
It made Stiles wonder if. There were lots of 'if's.
If there was a way to be sure, to be safe. Or safer.
And if. If he did, he could be sure of having Beacon Hills and Scott. And maybe Derek too. It was gamble, a perhaps. But Stiles loved games. Loved it when people were riddles that he could guess.
Stiles mused as he stood up and pulled a fresh shirt over his head, but left his pajama bottoms on.
He took his jacket, but left his keys. For this he couldn’t encase himself in metal, would to walk there barefoot in case in this got out of hand. And he had to take something eat. He briefly considered an apple as a joke. A red apple for the one encased in the woods with hair dark as ebony and lips as red as blood. But this wasn’t about eliminating Derek. A pomegranate was more fitting. But, he”d have to go to the store and that would be annoying without shoes. He grabbed a pack of reeces from the cupboard. Never let it be said that he didn’t give at least half a thought.
Stiles stepped out on the lawn, dug his toes into he grass and breathed in and then out again.
It took a freaking hour to get out to Derek’s apartment on foot. Derek, who opened the door for him as soon as he arrived. Derek, who stepped back as he took in Stiles' bare feet and pajama pants without a word.
Stiles gave a nervous giggle and tried to stamp the sound down. He wasn’t sure if Derek could take the laughter. The flash of red in his eyes and small growl suggested instability tonight. Only tenuous control. Not so much with the laughter then. Maybe later.
Stiles licked his lips, eyes flickering, breath quickening. Because this was it really. No take-backs. No do-overs. Shit. Perhaps it was the bruises. Derek just stared.
So Stiles held his breath and jumped. He took the reese's out of his pocket and held them out, swallowing. Derek looked at it, eyebrows quirking, very clearly and very obviously making no move to take the thing in Stiles hands. “I came” another deep breath was evidently necessary as a bit - just a bubble really - of hysteria rose in his chest. Perfect moment for an out-of-body sensation. Really, just swell.
“I came to thank you for saving my life.” It was out, it was a rush. And there went the feeling in his limbs. Stiles was pretty sure he had started shaking. Fucking world felt like it was realigning.
Derek’s eye widened and Stiles thought that he looked like he might be sick what with the mouth pinching slightly. He figured he might as well just throw himself the rest of the way into the fire. Sometimes, after all, fire made you stronger. “So, I thank you for tonight and for all of the other times as well. You really, you know, came through and all.” Stiles paused, rocked on his feet and really did giggle. “I owe you man.”
Derek didn’t look like he was breathing, Stiles noted with some strange level of dispassion. Something really invested interest in there as well. He felt like a microscope with Derek starring as a bug.
And he was still holding the god-damned candy out.
His hands started to lower. He wondered if he had misread everything and Derek didn't know after all. Wondered if this was the worst mistake he had ever made. Perhaps Derek had had no idea what Stiles was or what he was doing. That was a thought. Perhaps he should just eat the damned candy himself.
And then Derek was in front of him, taking the thing from him, the orange packaging looking obscene in his hands. "Tell me what you are doing."
"What do you think?" Stiles asked, elated suddenly, nerves reconnecting and a tingling crawling up his spine. His hands were trapped between clawed fingers.
"I think you just thanked me for your life and gave me food"
"Are you sure?" Stiles asked, drawing out the vowels. Derek glared and his fingers shifted on Stiles hands, slipping around his wrists, claws a little tighter against the skin. “So, what do you need explained exactly?”
“If you meant it.”
“Dude, I can’t exactly take it back.” Derek pulled Stiles a little bit closer and shifted on his feet, almost as if he were nervous. Stiles cocked his head, wondering why Derek would be uncomfortable. Silence stretched.
“You’re supposed to eat it, you know.”
“I” Derek paused and Stiles took the moment to be impressed again with Derek's handel on words. He looked for the world like he was weighing them, carefully selecting them. As if he knew how much value each sound could have “I don’t know the full extent of what this all means”
“It’s symbolic.”
Derek waited. He was good at that. Champion really.
Stiles blew out a breath and tried to shift his hands. Claws pricked his wrists. “Me. Ok. I can’t exactly take the heart out of my chest and give it to you - which for the record I would do before I hunted down a rabbit, because rabbits are sneaky little fuckers - So, it was this or a apple. Or a pomegranate really. But those weren’t right, even if you do have red lips and look like the personification of someone trapped in hell. I like reese’s. So, it works. And you werewolves do the whole feeding one another thing.”
“You’re not a werewolf.”
"But I’m not lying either. You can’t lie to a werewolf!"
"You can’t lie at all.”
“Well, there is that. So I smell like flowers? “
“What. No.” Derek paused, breathing in. He frowned and put his nose on Stiles neck. “There are similarities.” They stayed like that for a moment and Stiles twitched in his arms. “Explain.”
“Fine, fine.” Stiles muttered, tilting his head back. In for a penny, in for a pound after all. “If you eat my food then I get to keep some power in this balance. Symbolism is power. But it wouldn’t enchant you or some such. Although, you know, you might want to ask about all the ingredients in anything I cook. But really, I use words. I’m a wordsmith after all. They are just so sparkly.” Stiles grinned with all his teeth and tried to wiggle his fingers.
Derek moved back and looked at him, looked like he was trying to hear what Stiles was saying beneath all of those sparkling words. “But once your debt is paid, you would be your own again.” He looked a little sick again.
Stiles frowned. Were they already there? “Yeah, yeah. But, life debts are hard to pay.” Stiles wondered why he was reassuring him. “You probably already feel me worming my pretty, sparkling self into that nice Alpha bond you have. Different for me than the betas I would think." Stiles leaned forward and tried to peer into his eyes, as if they would tell him something. He paused at the look of concern on Derek’s face. He hadn’t expected this to make Derek sick. Perhaps a little high, but not ill. “What, life debt versus blood, not as strong, sure, but what is?
“Blood” Derek said slowly, looking at Stiles carefully, letting go of Stiles hands and running his fingers along the bruises, tracing a path that Stiles had taken earier “Blood isn’t that important to you.”
“Well, it can be hard to clean up. And man, getting rid of DNA traces can be a bitch.” Derek’s thumb twitched against his cheek. And Stiles shook his head slowly, letting the pad of Derek’s thumb run across the line of the bone “No, blood doesn’t do much for me. But, use your words and you could probably make my blood run hot.”
“I could bite you.”
“You could, true, but it wouldn’t do much. Although, marking can be fun.” Stiles winked cheekily, tried to move farther back. Derek took his chin, holding him still.
“Stiles,” he stopped again.
“I hear you speaking, but I don’t know what you’re saying.”
“There is something I want you to give me.”
Stiles stilled in his hands. “What.” the word was cold. Stiles tugged at his hands for a moment. He felt vaguely uneasy and it had been going to well.
“You said you owed me a life-debt.”
“Yeah, what of it?”
“I saved your life more than once. You owe me.”
"Which perhaps lessens the value of the life."
Derek shook his head sharply. “You thanked me. I want something in exchange for one of those debts.”
“You could just say thank you in return.”
“I have nothing to thank you for.”
“Cocky. So assuming. What do you think I can give you that is worth my life?”
Derek leaned forward, his mouth to Stiles ear “Your name” he whispered and Stiles froze. Time stretched out between them.
Stiles laughed suddenly, the sound rippling through the room. He leaned into Derek and whispered a word in his ear.