Archive of Our Own

The apartment feels cold and empty. All of their personal belongings are gone, all the furniture they decided to keep as well. Making his last round, Derek checks each nook and cranny again, paranoid of losing something important – again.

It has never been home but it had been theirs for the last few years. A sanctuary.

Derek hadn’t been exactly social but Laura had been and he knows people - humans - had been scoffing at them for still living together. They don’t get it. The kind of wound that gets left behind when nearly your whole family burns to death.

A pack needs an alpha and three betas, but Laura had never taken another beta. It had been just them for years. Well and now Peter.

He remembers the moment the Beacon Hills Hospital had called them. In the eight years since the fire they had visited him every now and then, but there had been no change in his condition. Not until they got informed a few weeks ago that he had woken up.

It came suddenly and Derek remembers Laura breaking down and crying. He hadn’t seen her cry since before the fire.  

“Derek, we shouldn’t have left him,” she had sobbed. The guilt must have eaten her alive all these years, Derek understood too well. Felt the same, really.

He already knew then, that they would go back to Beacon Hills.To make it easier for her, he had even told her he would take care of the things in New York. She had flown out a day later. 

This has been the longest they have been apart since the fire.  

But it left him time to sort his own thoughts. Cause Derek hadn’t planned to ever move back to Beacon Hills. He doesn’t want to now either, but pack is pack.

Before he can ruminate further in his thoughts, his phone rings. Even on the quietest setting, it is aggravating in the silence of the empty apartment, echoing off the walls. Fishing his phone out of the pockets of his pants, he answers, “You know I don’t need your supervision.” 

Laura lets out a short laugh, it sounds hollow. “Hello, to you too, Derek.” 

“What is it?" he grumbles, though there is no bite behind it.

„I just wanted to hear your voice.“ Her tone is light, but Derek can hear the sincerity in it.

He sighs, leaning against the edge of the counter, his free hand running through his hair. He knows the last few days must not have been easy, but the amount of times Laura has called him has become excessive. „We talked this morning.“

„I know,“ her voice is a bit tinny through the phone. „I just visited Peter.“

Derek almost feels bad about acting so annoyed. "How was he?"

Laura hesitates, the pause stretching, as she is looking for the right words. "He's... awake, but you know how Peter is.."

Peter was not the easiest person to be around. It’s not that Derek dislikes his uncle,  but Peter knows how to wield words as if they were weapons and he has never been a saint. He is vindictive and arrogant, deeply  jealous when he feels slighted; but he isn’t a bad person. Pack is everything to him.

And their pack had gone up in flames.

Laura must have sensed the turn of Derek’s thoughts as his silence stretches.

“Hey, have you thought about finding them?” Laura asks. Even out of the blue she doesn’t need to be more specific than that, because there really is only one person who could be ‘them’ when it comes to Derek and that question.

The witch. The other reason Derek doesn’t want to go back to Beacon Hills. It's not like the witch had done anything wrong to Derek because for that to happen, they would have had to meet in the first place. Derek neither knows their name or what they look like, all he knows is that he was born under a certain star, an omen, that connects him to another person. Not just any person, a witch.  And once upon a time that idea had been almost romantic to him, comforting – after all when he had been a child, he had thought about meeting the witch and all the fun adventures they would be able to go on. A bit later, he even had tried to imagine the person, had given them the vague contours of girls he had liked as any hormone fueled teenager would.

And then Kate had happened and Derek had been the biggest fool.

„I won’t look for them,” Derek answers his sister. It’s not a lie per se. Derek doesn’t plan to seek them out, which is the only safe answer he can give. Because, ‘I want to find them‘ and ‘I don‘t want to find them’ both are the truth and a lie at the same time. It would be easier if he couldn’t feel the bond between them. Even in New York with so much distance between them, if he concentrated he would be able to feel the thin thread of fate stretching taught between them. “I should get going. The drive is gonna be long.”

“You better take care of my car or I will murder you.”

It’s an old threat that Derek has heard countless times by now. Before he can disconnect the call though, Laura’s voice comes through the speakers again.

“Drive safe.”

“I will.”

From the outside the difference between the Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital and a prison  only seems to be that one had bars in front of the windows and the other didn’t. At least it always feels like that to Derek. Maybe it is also just his bias since his uncle has been trapped in there for eight years now and while the time has passed faster and faster, each time he steps into this hospital, Derek suddenly feels sixteen again. 

Lost and hopeless. 

They haven’t visited often in the eight years since then and each visit had been a painful reminder. 

It’s the main reason why Laura moved to Beacon Hills first a week ago after they had gotten the call. Derek had stayed behind, tying up all the loose ends in New York City since they will be staying in Beacon Hills for a while. At least until Peter is doing well enough and they figured out how to proceed. 

It’s not as hopeless when he enters this time. With his uncle awake, it feels like they can finally start moving on. 

He feels still lost though, stepping into the hospital but that’s because he now realises that Laura has forgotten to tell him which room Peter is in. Derek remembers that they had switched him over from the comatose ward two days ago. 

He texted her, but she seems to not currently be near her phone. But he doesn’t feel like waiting either, so with a sigh, Derek scopes out the entry hall in search of a nurse. There is one at the reception, talking to an older teenager. Derek’s eyes linger for a short moment, mesmerized by his animated face. There is a dramatic flair to his wild hand gestures. Now that he focuses on the pair, Derek can hear their conversation and it makes him scowl, because clearly the boy isn’t there just to ask for a room number. Not with the nonsense he is spouting.

“It is my utmost holy mission to watch over the Lady to safeguard her from the evil forces while young Sir Scott is away in far away lands.”

Not willing to wait any longer, Derek moves over. Plastering a fake smile on his face, he comes to a halt besides the boy fashioning himself a knight. Clearing his throat, Derek tries to get the nurse's attention.

She glares at the teen, who looks much too amused by being perceived as annoying. Their eyes meet for a brief moment, before Derek looks back to the nurse. Her name tag spells McCall.

Derek keeps his fake pleasant smile going. “I need the room number of Peter Hale, I am his nephew.”

“Oh you must be Laura’s brother,” the nurse seems happy to give him her undivided attention. Satisfied, Derek notices the teen’s mouth agape as he steals his conversation partner so easily. “It was quite a pleasant shock for us when Peter woke up. I’m so happy for your family. You can find him in room 32 just down the corridor,” the nurse continues pleasantly. 

“Thank you.”, Derek tells her. He nearly brushes shoulders with the boy when he does so, who hasn’t stopped staring at him since their eyes met.

Derek is already a few meters away when he hears it.

“Clearly the forces of evil are at work. I really should keep close.”

„Can you stop tapping your foot on the ground?“

Derek looks up from his phone, startled by Laura’s annoyed tone. His brain catches up a second later, when he realizes he has indeed been tapping his foot. He stills his leg and scowls. He feels the need to move, an underlying buzz in his bones protesting staying still.

They are sitting in a small corner cafe not far from the hospital because Peter can’t stand the coffee from the small bistro in the hospital. Both Laura and Peter had started to argue about the furniture for their new apartment building, which was about when Derek had stopped listening to them and started staring at his phone.

Not that he actually does anything on his phone with how his mind is wandering. Derek isn’t used to going against his instincts, but it feels like he has somewhere to be, something to do. Deep down he even knows what it is, he just isn’t ready to admit it to himself. 

He hadn't even realised he had been tapping his foot until Laura had mentioned it. It’s even worse than the pull of the full moon had been when he hadn’t learned control yet. It frightens him.

For a moment he stops moving completely. His skin starts itching in return and it takes all his control not to scratch at it. It has to be the cursed bond. The blessed destiny he doesn’t want.

 Or maybe it’s Peter’s curious yet piercing gaze stuck to him that makes him feel uncomfortable right now. Both don't bode well, but he would prefer if Laura and Peter just left it be. At least then Derek could be happily in denial about his problem. But alas when has he ever been this lucky. 

“What has my dear nephew this on edge?” Peter inquires, voice honeyed. Derek rolls his eyes inwardly.

 “Oh you know, I think Derek might be long overdue meeting his witch,” Laura says, conspiratorially.

 “Is that so? All these years with me out for the count and you haven’t made any attempts at finding them yet? That’s somewhat disappointing.”  

 “I was fine in New York and I don’t want to find them,” Derek presses out between bared teeth. Both Peter and Laura look at him in a way that Derek knows means they don’t believe him. He doesn’t want to confront their misplaced good intentions any longer, so he looks away first. 

The door of the cafe opens with the soft jingle of a bell, drawing his gaze to it. Stepping into the cafe, laughing at something someone said on the other end of a phone call is the boy from the hospital. It's such a bright sound and Derek can’t help to hone in on it. He really should not be listening in on other people’s conversations, but he can’t help himself. It feels like some kind of magnetic pull. 

“Hey, I will call you back later. Need to get a new fix, I am already suffering from withdrawal”, the teenager says, grinning proudly like he just made the world’s best joke. 

“Stiles, your coffee addiction will put you into an early grave”

Stiles , if that is his name, makes his way over to the counter. Derek’s eyes track his movement instinctively. Retrospectively he should have known at that moment already, what this means, but the realisation only hits him when he hears Peter say “Oh, I had assumed the witch would be a girl. You really left me out of the loop with your change in taste.”

Derek feels like he got doused with cold water, a sudden flash of panic blooming in his chest. Because he is sure, if he stays here any longer, either Laura or Peter will make him talk to the witch. To Stiles, who he doesn’t know and all his life there has been that expectation about meeting his witch. The hopes and dreams he himself had and then there are also the ones his family had.

His own hopes and dreams have burned, or at the very least Derek has tried his best to bury them in as much ash and soot as he can. But Laura and Peter have not abandoned this particular vision yet and Derek, well Derek isn’t ready for that. So he does what every brave werewolf would do. He flees the scene with dignity. Except maybe not.

Derek swears he is not a stalker. 

Nevermind that in court his excuse of strung together by destiny would only sound more condemning.

It’s just each time he takes a walk around Beacon Hills, he ends up at the same place, with or without planning for it.  

He should have just struck up a conversation by now, but he needs to make sure this time. Derek can’t end up inviting another hunter into the wolf's den. So like any awkwardly civilized person, he sticks with watching from afar. 

‘Only one of us acts like they were raised by wolves so don’t blame it on being a werewolf .‘, Laura tends to tease him. He just growls at her when she does. 

Currently he is sitting inside Laura’s camaro in the parking lot of Morgan’s Diner, contemplating some of his most recent life choices.

Stiles’ jeep, which had been easy to spot even after only having seen it once, is parked just two spots away. He can hear Stiles hum a tune as he jumps out of it. Behind his sunglasses, Derek glowers at its obnoxious color and its owner, the true culprit of Derek's sudden craving for fries. Derek kind of hates him for it, simply because each time he sees Stiles, the teen doesn’t seem bothered by the bond at all. As if it’s just Derek that is left to suffer the bleed over of whatever mood has struck Stiles, like only he can feel the pull of it.

It's kind of childish, but Derek refuses to go in and order fries now. Instead he is waiting for Laura to answer his text if she wants anything from the diner in hopes to get a better excuse. Meanwhile Stiles has entered the restaurant already, making small talk with the waitress. 

It really shouldn’t count as stalking since while it isn’t a coincidence per se, it's also not like Derek is consciously seeking Stiles out. Though Derek really is to blame for the fact that he is sitting here watching the boy and listening in on him, trying to figure out whether he should take the chance to make contact or not. A few days ago it would have been a firm no, but currently? The constant pull is wearing him down, he feels like a bowstring drawn too tight ready to snap. 

There are two simple outcomes for his predicament; Let the bond happen and become a familiar to his destined witch or flee back to New York. The last one would mean leaving his family, because he knows that Laura and Peter want to stay here. He has heard them talking about the old Hale house and what to do with it. He can’t live without his pack though and he doesn’t want to force them into moving with him. They would do it, but this? This is their chance at recovery.

The first option would mean trusting his witch, trusting Stiles. Which, in all fairness the teen isn’t even at fault. He is as normal as someone bribing diner employees to secretly switch out the meat patty on his father’s burger for a vegan, can be. Stiles is loud and ridiculous and Derek has heard far too many different absurd word combinations in the last few days, but neither is an indicator that Stiles is dangerous. Derek knows that it is his own mind playing tricks on him, his own fears gripping his heart and not letting go. 

He got fooled once by Kate and paid the price. The wound it left is still festering, making him want to escape his fate. Neither of the two paths are ones Derek would choose anymore. He would have gladly become a familiar before everything, had waited for the day his witch would seek him out. 

It’s been eight years since Kate, eight long years since she took all his naive little notions of love and spun them into fairytales. Now he knows bone marrow deep what the pull of the bond feels like, knows the other end is like the center of the universe, its gravitational pull impossible to escape. Even if he were to hate Stiles, Derek knows he is stuck in his orbit, drawing ever nearer. It’s frightening in its inescapability, in its disregard for Derek’s feelings about it. 

Kate had been different. There had been some attraction, but it had been far from the monumental force he knows now as the real bond. It had simply been a hormone fueled addled brain and a childish crush. 

He resents Stiles a bit. Why does it have to be now and not back then? If he had known that being tied together by fate would feel like this, he would have never made the biggest mistake of his life. 

Derek seriously struggles with this.

“I'm a Barbie girl in a Barbie world,” Derek startles as the sound of the loud music, instantly ripped out of his train of thoughts. He hates how hard his heart starts beating while he tries to pinpoint the source. 

“Life in plastic, it′s fantastic”

With trepidation he comes to the conclusion that it is his own phone that’s playing the song at full volume. This is not his ringtone, at least it wasn’t to Derek’s knowledge. His display brightens up to show the popup with Laura’s reply. ‘Get me ribs and an iced caramel latte.’ 

For a second the thought crosses his mind to just text back that she should get it herself, but then he would be back to square one. Still without a reason to go into the diner. So like the good brother he is, he gets out of the car and just resolves to get her her drink but decaffeinated. 

Scowling, he makes his way to the door of the diner passing by the large glass windows. Looking inside, he finds himself startled for a second time in a short while. Staring back at him are Stiles’ big doe eyes. Stiles doesn’t seem embarrassed enough by being caught staring to stop looking back though. Perhaps he doesn’t realise he got caught since Derek’s gaze is obscured by his sunglasses.  

This time Derek has to force himself to look away. 

Entering the diner, he swears he can feel Stiles eyes glued to him. It makes him want to look back or speak up, but Derek likes to have control over his own life. So he does neither. 

In any case, Derek doesn’t think Stiles is looking at him because of the bond. All the times Derek has seen him, he didn’t look affected at all. The reason why the other keeps looking is probably much more simple, Stiles' thoughts seem to often be etched onto his face like an open book and Stiles wouldn’t be the first to stare at Derek just because they find him attractive. 

When the waitress asks Derek for his order, he pauses after giving her Laura’s before adding a portion of fries as well. Screw, his earlier conviction. He already proved his self-control just now, he can have a treat. 

Perhaps Derek needs to amend his earlier statement. He definitely counts as a stalker now. 

Standing outside the Stilinski house at midnight on a full moon, Derek scowls at the window to Stiles' room. He would scowl at himself, too, but there isn’t any conveniently placed mirror to stare at himself disapprovingly. 

He is better than this. 

But the thing itching beneath his skin like an unfortunate rash couldn’t be ignored anymore. It’s truly driving him crazy. Worse, from the soft snoring his heightened hearing can pick up, Stiles is dead asleep, unbothered. 

So much for the familiar bond. It’s more like a leash and a collar and Derek feels like he has been yanked around by it for long enough. 

He knows his next action will be infinitely stupid, knows that if anyone saw him doing it, there would be a high chance they would call the police on him. But he can’t wait any longer and it’s not like he has any malicious intent except for disturbing some sleep and nicely asking the witch to somehow stop whatever is making him feel like a live wire. Maybe asking not so nicely in case Stiles refuses. 

He has come to accept that whatever this thing is, it’s inevitable. If Derek wants peace, he will need to deal with it and god does Derek want peace. He wants to stop feeling like he is half possessed. 

And in his madness – he blames the full moon and the lack of sleep – he came up with a genius idea. The decision doesn’t have to be between running away or giving into fate. There is a secret third option. And yes, he sounds crazy to his own ears but you got to do what you got to do. 

Maybe instead of bonding, he can just have Stiles reject this thing and be on his merry way.

Surveying the area one last time and making sure no one is watching, Derek climbs up the facade of the Stilinski house. You could barely call it breaking in with the window this wide open and inviting. Really. Also he kind of has a pseudo invite of the magical mystical nature, though that won’t hold up in any human courts. 

Once inside, he takes only a short look around the room. It’s a lot less cluttered than he had thought it would be. Stiles always screams chaos, an uncontrollable force of nature. He had expected his room to be likewise. It isn’t. While it’s not spotlessly clean with everything in its supposed place, it’s also not even a mess. It makes Derek halt for a second. 

Firstly, Stiles is asleep and while Derek can be an asshole, he usually isn’t the kind of asshole that startles unsuspecting teenagers out of their sleep. 

And secondly, how could he make sure Stiles wouldn’t scream once Derek wakes him up? 

Then Derek feels it again, the reason he has descended into madness so fast and has abandoned his fruitless endeavor of following social norms. 

His heart feels hollow, cold. His hands are growing clammy and his breathing speeds up. Panic spreads out of nowhere, the fear is not his own.  

Derek’s gaze is instinctively drawn to the bed and he is reminded of his purpose of coming here. For a moment he is worried he has woken the witch up, even if he had been very quiet. Where just a moment before Stiles had been spread across the bed, he is now curling in on himself. The soft sound of his snoring has disappeared, replaced by tiny gasps for air. But his eyes are still closed, he is still asleep. 

The onset of a nightmare. Derek wonders what Stiles is dreaming about right now, but also what he usually thinks about, whenever he is awake, that has Derek so affected. He prefers the spontaneous bouts of energy to this. 

Before he can think about it further, he is already half on the bed, leaning over the other. His hand reaches for Stiles' shoulder. Derek can barely feel any body heat seeping through the shirt the teen is sleeping in. Unintentionally his thumb brushes against the exposed skin of Stiles throat. His skin is clammy and cold. 

Derek hasn’t even started shaking Stiles’ shoulder when the witches’ eyes snapped open. They stared blankly at him, unseeing, mind still lost in the dreamscape. It takes a split second for them to clear up, for Stiles to really see him. 

Before Derek can say anything else, his vision spins. It feels like shifting, except even more intense. The whole room distorts, his bones get reshaped and realign as he fully changes his form for the first time.

They have touched, skin to skin for only a brief moment and yet it seems that has been enough. 

Very few shifters can achieve a full shift. It is why the Hale family had been so influential before the fire. The ability to fully shift means being closer to the origin of their power for werewolves. Of course not everyone had been able to do a full shift in the Hale pack, but the potential was there. His mother had gained the ability once she had inherited the alpha spark, the same had happened with Laura. But unlike the rest of his family, Derek’s possible ability to do a full shift has never necessarily needed that spark. 

Because he had been born a familiar. 

Now, when the room stops spinning, the world is a lot bigger. Derek wants to say something, but it’s not words leaving his mouth. 

He barks. 

Derek pauses, looking down at himself. While he can’t really see color in the dark of the night, it doesn’t matter for what he is trying to determine. He’s shifted, yes. But his paws are tiny. His legs are thin like sticks and he can’t even make out the proportions of his body anymore as the rest is swallowed up by the sheer floofiness of his new fur. He hardly has to struggle to step out of the neck hole of the Henley he had worn just a second ago.

He hasn’t shifted into a wolf, but into a dog. A small, tiny one at that. His bark isn’t even a proper one but a squeaky yapping sound. 

A fucking dog. He got turned into a fucking dog. 

Derek looks up at Stiles' face in indignation. At least his eyes are still glowing in the bright, golden color of a beta werewolf. He tries to shift back, hoping it’s the same principle as shifting from beta to human. But nothing happens, there isn’t even the usual tingling sensation. 

He tries again. Nothing happens. Trepidation sets in, his glare morphing from anger to outright horror and disbelief. 

Meanwhile Stiles still stares at Derek all sleepy eyed, his hair a mess. He shuts his eyes and opens them slowly on repeat, mouth hanging open. Dumbstruck. It’s easy to guess why. 

Derek feels speechless as well, except with each failed try at shifting back, he is getting angry again. He tries to glare, but he fails horribly at that as well. Somehow Stiles lack of reaction makes it even more obvious that it’s very ineffective in his current body.

‚Turn me back‘ , Derek wants to demand but only barks leave his mouth. He stomps his tiny feet on Stiles chest for good measure as well.  

Despite not understanding the barks they still kick Stiles into motion, which as Derek has seen in the past few days means an uncoordinated mess. Flailing about, Stiles shrieks and crashes to the ground, taking Derek with him somehow. 

„Fuck, owww,“ Stiles exclaims, fighting his sheets for freedom and nearly smothering Derek in the process. Derek tries to escape, but he is unused to this tiny and weak body. He doesn’t even have thumbs. So all he can do is wait until Stiles finally stops moving.

When the commotion ceases, Derek is left buried in the heap of fabric. Digging himself out of it, he glares at Stiles with glowing eyes. 

Another string of barks leaves his mouth. 

“Hey, hey… wooah! Easy! Good little doggie, nice little doggie, little fluffy ball of fur” Stiles tries soothingly, his hands raised in Derek’s direction. Not that that really helps to calm Derek down. This is downright degrading. Derek barks louder in his anger, which does nothing to quell it because with each bark he proves what Stiles assumes. Damn, how can he make Stiles understand that he isn’t a goddamn dog and that he needs to turn him back? This is his fault. Oh well, they are off to a great start. This is why Derek didn’t want to meet his witch. He just knew it would be catastrophic. 

Stiles squints as he keeps looking at him, trying to come up with more appeasing nonsense to babble. 

Derek huffs and then admits defeat. Barking won’t help. While he tries to come up with a plan, Stiles slowly approaches him. Derek has half a mind to bite the hand that Stiles is stretching out hesitatingly. But it wouldn’t help him in the long run. 

“How did a dog magically appear in my room?”, Stiles asks under his breath, his hand brushing along Derek’s fur. 

‘You are a witch, Stiles,’ Derek deadpans in his thoughts. 

“Shouldn’t it be ‘wizard’? I’m sure it’s supposed to be ‘You’re a wizard Harry?’” It seems like Stiles’ mouth still hasn’t quite caught up to his brain and his answer is just on autopilot. Derek, however, is acutely aware that his statement has been answered – dog or not – although he hasn’t spoken. At least not physically.  

“So let me get this right.”, Stiles starts, gnawing at the end of his pen as he is huddled in front of a notepad and his notebook. “Someone in my family tree might have been burned on a stake at some point in time, modern tv shows are sexist assholes for making all the witches female and putting them in sexy skirts and dresses and somehow that results in me, a guy, being a witch.”

It takes a second for Derek to sort through the gush of words and extract what Stiles is saying. He is laying on Stiles' lap. ‘Yes.’

“And you are supposed to be my familiar, but more like the Salem kind instead of magical animal sidekick, except you haven’t been forced to become a dog as a criminal sentence. You were supposed to turn into a majestic dog but because I don’t have any training, you turned into a small, fluffy dog and can’t shift back.”

Rolling his eyes, Derek huffs affirmingly.

At this, Stiles claps into his hands with too much enthusiasm for someone who got awoken and told they are a magical entity in the middle of the night. Derek on the other hand feels dead tired. 

“Well then, I guess we need some serious google-fu to figure out how to turn you back, buddy.”

It still feels awkward, sitting on Stiles lap like this. But they need to maintain body contact if they want to communicate and with Derek’s reach being what it is – nonexistent –  this is the best solution they have come up with. But even then, he is barely tall enough to look over the edge of the coffee table, staring at the candle sitting on the table, an old grimoire in front of them. Derek still doesn’t know how Stiles was even able to find an authentic grimoire on craigslist on such short notice,  but he is at a point where he just doesn’t question it. From what he has gleaned of it, the book holds up to his basic knowledge of magic.  

According to the grimoire, lighting a candle on fire is a beginner spell, the small spark to lighten the fuse not needing too much magic. It was a spell a witch could do on her own without a familiar, though not endlessly. It also didn’t require any rare or weird components, simply a candle and a bit of concentration

And yet.

They have been staring at the candle for half an hour now. Derek doesn‘t even need the telepathic link to be able to tell how restless Stiles has become. How restless he has been from the beginning. Derek can feel it underneath his paws, the twitchiness of the muscles. Hell, it's a miracle the candle hasn’t yet gone up in flames just from the intensity of the boy's glare.

“This is stupid," Stiles finally says, aggrieved. He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “It won't work."

Derek sighs, looking up at him. He feels just as restless and agitated, perhaps a spillover from the bond. But unlike Stiles he doesn't have the luxury of just giving up. With a paw he pokes him, accusingly. ‘Of course it won't work, if you don't concentrate on the spell.’

From the unimpressed look Stiles gives him, Derek yet again realizes that he is as intimidating as a squeaky toy. Perhaps less. Admonishing someone as a pomeranian is a lot less effective than it would have been if Derek had his human body back. Then again, they wouldn't be sitting here having this trouble if he had.

It is kind of amusing to watch as Stiles pouts. “I am concentrating.“

‘No, you are thinking about roasting marshmallows.’ As soon as Derk thinks about it, he almost regrets it. But only almost. After all he knows Stiles is trying, but Derek has now a front row seat to the chaos that is Stiles’ thoughts.  While touching him at least.

“And whose fault is that?" Stiles grumbles. “You thought about it first."

Stiles is right, kind of. It's not like Deck is afraid of fire in itself, but it's hard staring at a candle for a long time, waiting for someone to magically make it light up. It's easier forcing himself to think about Marshmallows and happy memories than let his mind drift without direction, waiting for something to happen. 

Except this is not an excuse for Stiles to do so as well. After all, Stiles had something to concentrate on. Derek is just here for moral support for now. And to provide the magical juice when Stiles runs out. For everything else it seems he has to be patient for now. How difficult can it be to train a witch?

Derek really wants to cross his arms over his chest, but he has tried it out and well. It’s not something that comes naturally to a dog or looks in any way the same as it would for a human.

So Derek is left with just glowering from his beady black eyes and hoping that at least enough of his displeasure comes across the telepathic bond between them. ‘I am not gonna sleep in a dog bed,’   he declares for good measure.

“First, it’s not a dog bed but a pillow. And second, I never asked you to break into my room and turn all furry.” 

By now, even though it has only been a day, Derek is already familiar with Stiles’ tirades. He would be more put off by the biting snark in them if he couldn’t feel only faint exasperation along the bond. And Stiles is right in the regard that Derek is at fault for their situation but then again it’s also Stiles fault. Since it’s the boy's magic that keeps him stuck in this tiny body.

Derek glares at the pillow for another moment, before gathering his resolve. It’s a bit dirty and absolutely shameless, but Derek had never made bones about using the cards he has been dealt in life. A nice flirty smile can get you far. Except now stuck in the body of a Pomeranian his tactics will have to adjust.

Even if Stiles is aware that what follows is just an act, he won’t be able to escape this trap.

Drooping his ears to lay them flat against his head, he stares up at Stiles with the most pitiful gaze he can muster. He can see Stiles wavering. It’s time for the death blow. He lets out a small, very pitiful whine.

It’s not begging, it’s just weaponizing one’s greatest advantages.

And as predicted, not a second later Stiles sighs and carries him over to bed. “And who is gonna clean the dog hair from the sheets later, huh?” 

‘Well, it's your fault that I am a dog in the first place,’ Derek thinks back.

“Are we really playing this game? Should I remind you that I take no responsibility for injuries and injustices suffered by unwanted trespassers?”

‘But I am not exactly an unwanted trespasser.’

Stiles doesn’t honour this with more than a grumble, but at least he lets Derek settle in beside him to sleep.

Stiles lies starfished across the mattress, leaving Derek only the gap at the edge. Frustratingly, Derek can’t even complain because he doesn’t need more room. Even though Stiles seems exhausted, he is wide awake. Derek can’t hear all of his thoughts, but close like this, Stiles mind is almost a constant stream of white noise.

One day in and Derek already knows that his earlier assumption of Stiles being completely unaffected by the bond is wrong. It's just that most of the signals Derek has sent must have simply been buried under the flood of thoughts. That and the fact that Stiles didn’t even know a single thing about magic, thus easily mistook the foreign feelings as just his own.

The room is dark except for the faint lights spilling in from the window. It's unbearingly quiet, because Derek won’t be able to sleep until Stiles relaxes. He can feel the tension in the other. Stiles, despite not moving at all, might as well be vibrating out of his skin.

“Hey, Derek,” Stiles whispers, turning his body to face Derek.

For a split second, Derek thinks about ignoring him by feigning sleep. But the bond is a two way street, so the bluff would be exposed straight away. Also he thinks, Stiles wouldn’t simply settle after speaking up. Derek gets immediately proven right, when Stiles doesn’t even wait for Derek to answer.

“Are you really sure I am magic?”, he whispers. Even in the dark, Derek can see his eyes. They look earnestly at him, vulnerable. It’s frightening how effective it is at disarming Derek’s defenses. 

Stretching out a paw, he boops Stiles nose. Besides the fact that it scratches a certain itch within Derek it also establishes the physical contact to communicate. ‘How else would you explain this.’

Stiles scrunches his nose cutely. With one of his hands he takes hold of Derek’s paw, ducking his face away. “Feels like a dream.”

Derek scoffs, a bit annoyed. For magic, doubt is the deadliest poison. Derek doesn’t know all that much about magic, but he knows this much. Without belief, even the greatest witch in the world wouldn’t be able to use magic.  Magic is a part of nature, it’s shaped by all existing things. The natural order, the powers in the universe, everything at its root is magic. You first need to believe before you can control it.

Because magic is wild, untamed, it can act on its own. It’s why Derek is stuck as a dog even though Stiles has a hard time believing in magic. But he needs Stiles believing in his own magic to be able to turn back into a human. He doesn’t know how, because he also has never not known about shifters and magic. 

Even worse, Derek has never been the most eloquent when it comes to comforting someone. 

So instead of trying to find words, he goes for pinching Stiles. Except little paws aren’t made for pinching, so instead Derek stretches a bit lazily and just nibs at the meat of Stiles hand. It must sting, because Stiles cries out and tries to tug back his hand. Derek doesn’t hold onto it.

“Fuck, why did you bite me?” Stiles tries to glare at him, but he just looks like an angry chipmunk. 

Derek huffs. Without the body contact, he can’t really speak and he is too lazy to move his whole body. They continued staring at each other, Stiles still cradling his hand. But as moments pass, the teen slowly relaxes again until he gives in. 

His hand is a bit cold when it lands on Derek’s head, dexterous fingers scratching gently behind his ears. Derek glares intensifies, simply because he hates being treated like a dog. Even though the petting itself does feel nice. ‘You said it feels like a dream to you. So I pinched you to prove it’s not.’ 

It is kind of ironic, that soon after having just childishly proven that Stiles is not dreaming about Derek being a pomeranian, but the harsh  floofy reality, Derek dreams. Derek finds himself in front of the Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital although everything is a bit hazy. Sometimes he thinks there are other people there, but their faces are blurred and once he looks away and back they are gone.

In the dream, he is human. It's at least something.

The weather is warm, maybe sunny. It feels sunny on his skin like an exceptionally warm spring day. Not yet the glaring heat of summer, but winter's cold already forgotten. A slight breeze from nowhere brushes past him. It's nice.

Even outside of the hospital, he can hear the beeping sounds coming from a heart rate monitor, smell the antiseptic chemicals clinging to the building. He would as well in reality, but both sound and smell would be muddled by more sounds and even more scents. Here though, there is only silence except for those.

Derek doesn’t know why he dreams of this place. Although they had visited Peter sometimes, this is not the place that usually haunts him. Looking away from the hospital, the streets and surrounding areas taper off into nothing more than vague shapes of what might be there.

He looks back to the hospital. The entrance is unchanged. In contrast to the surrounding area its edges are sharp, uninviting. Derek thinks about just staying here, simply refusing to walk across the boundary into the place. It's not like the hospital could do anything about it. But he is curious about why he is dreaming about this, curious what his mind came up with now.

Before he can think further, his legs are already moving. The space distorts and  two steps later, he comes to a halt in the corridors of the hospital completely skipping the entrance area. The halls are in the same, too sharp definition as the entrance. Without the sun and the breeze outside, they make him feel claustrophobic.

The heartbeat monitor keeps beeping in his ears as loud as it had outside. He can't place where it comes from and looking around he just finds rows and rows of closed doors. The hall is empty. Walking along it, Derek isn’t really watching where he is going, trying to make sense of this dream. It's at the turn of the corner that it happens, he collides with someone. On instinct he reaches for the person, trying to catch them.

Stiles looks up at him, gaping mouth open. Unlike all the other people in the dream, his features are clear.

And then his face morphes into indignation, maybe anger. “What are you doing here?!”

 Derek still holds Stiles upper arms with his displeasure making itself shown on his own face, so he lets go. “Why shouldn’t I be here? This is my dream,” he retorts. He doesn’t even know why he is humoring Stiles at all. This is just a dream.

Dream Stiles of course has to be just as contrary as real life Stiles. “Your dream?”

“Yes, my dream,” Derek lets out a sigh. “How else would you explain that I walk around like this?” 

So far Derek hasn’t revealed much about himself and it’s not like they had much contact before. None, if you count out the times they didn’t even exchange words. Yet Stiles looks at him like he said something incredibly stupid. It’s very offensive. “Because that’s how you look?” And then Stiles shakes his head, "Why am I even arguing with you?”

“Exactly, this is my body. How would you know how I look in such detail?”, Derek tells him. It breaks Stiles on some visible level as he struggles to find a retort. It makes Derek smirk in victory. But before Derek can feel too pleased about that, an uneasy feeling creeps up on him. 

Because besides a faint stutter, Stiles flushes a deep crimson color. He is embarrassed. It wouldn’t be Stiles however, if that were enough to silence him. “Because you were everywhere I went lately? You aren’t the most inconspicuous person.” 

To underline his words Stiles sticks out his finger and pokes Derek in the chest. “Also you kept staring at me!” 

Guilty as charged, but really the pot was calling the kettle black here. “As if you didn’t stare at me.” 

Though it still eats at Derek that Stiles knows, because it doesn’t really make sense for Stiles to recognize him. Not when Derek had been a dog the whole time they have been together  except for that split second Stiles had awoken. And even then it had been dark. 

And even though Beacon Hills is pretty small compared to New York, there are enough people living here with the name Derek. Derek hasn’t told him anything about his family. He shouldn’t know. 

“Point proven. I know what you look like.” 

“But why do you know this is me ?” 

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because I am stuck as-”

At this Stiles scrunches his forehead, squinting his eyes, before butting in with an exclamation of “You are the dog, Derek! I knew it! Wait, no, I don’t know. This is a dream.” 

And of course Dream Stiles would know, because Dream Stiles is a figment of Derek’s subconscious imagination. Him putting two and two together isn’t weird at all. “Yes, my dream. So stop contradicting me.”

Naturally, Stiles doesn’t stop. “Yada, yada. You keep saying that, but how do you explain being here then? Huh?” 

“It’s the Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital. I have been here often enough.” 

“Not here, at this time.”, Stiles insists. He deflates like a balloon. “Not when my mom is the only patient here.” 

It suddenly makes sense, the singular heartbeat resonating through the dream, the high pitch of its beeping monitor accompanying it. It had been unrecognizable to Derek, which had been odd but Derek had accredited it to being made up. 

The dream has stopped adding up now however. Why would he make up a sick mother for Stiles? Then again, it seems absurd that Derek is wrong. He knows he is self aware, he exists. 

 Unless… The bond. Derek feels stupid suddenly. 

They share thoughts if they aren’t careful and asleep, who would guard against it? They sleep on the same bed, close enough that they are probably touching. 

Dream sharing. The idea isn’t as absurd as it sounds. 

The next day, laying on the couch, Derek is draped over Stiles lap. The need for physical contact to communicate is a cheap but effective excuse to do so. Stiles laptop has been carelessly thrown to the side, its window screen dimmed. They had been researching magic and familiars, well mostly Stiles had. To fill in all the gaps in the information Derek had given him. Derek still isn’t convinced that google has the solution to their problem, though he has to admit that Stiles is a lot more skilled in searching for information on the net than he is.

 Stiles rests against the back of the couch, head thrown back over the back rest and an arm draped over his eyes. The t-shirt he wears is loose and big, its color washed out by too many rendezvous with the washing machine. The silence is loud, only interrupted by the rhythmic beat of Stiles’ heart Derek is already too attuned to to ignore.  It annoys him a bit, that he knows he would recognize it even in a sea of people.

Deft fingers are carding through his fur, blunt nails scratching along his skin. It feels nice. If he were a cat instead of a proud wolf, he might have purred. Well, he is more like a dog right now, because a proud wolf would have protested the petting too. Probably.

But ever since this morning, Stiles has been in a mood. Derek is too. It has a bit to do with the dream last night, Stiles' weird mood. Mostly though it's whatever strange ideas he has about magic. His thoughts get transmitted through the connection sometimes – a jumbled mess that feels like listening to a phone call with bad reception. Unlike Stiles, Derek holds his own thoughts close to his heart. He is so much more aware of the leakage.

There are many things he can’t share, has not really shared with anyone. It has been hard to fool Laura, a lot of things cannot be hidden from the sensitive senses of werewolves, but they can’t read minds. If Derek isn’t opening his mouth, there is nothing she can do to change that.

If Derek had known there would be a mental link between his witch and him, that the one mind, one soul thing was to be taken literally, he would have resisted even more. He probably would have run back to New York. He can still do that once his situation gets resolved, once he has his body back. The fear that nests in his heart has only grown over the years, the shame and the guilt constricting him. No one is supposed to know. Yet with a little bit of carelessness, Stiles would get a front row seat to Derek's inner world.

And he has already been careless about it, knows that sometimes things bleed through, that he is not always aware enough to stop it. So far it has been meaningless, harmless. Else, Stiles would have said something about it. After all, he barely shuts up – mentally or vocally.

Now that he thinks about it, the constant noise has grown silent.

Alarmed, Derek looks up, his ears pressed flat on his head. Somewhere in between, Stiles has removed the arm hiding his eyes, his tilted back head now looking down at him. His gaze is intense, the stark sunlight filtering in from outside coloring his eyes a mesmerizing whiskey shade instead of the usual warm brown.

For once, Derek feels trapped under that gaze. Caught.

 Stiles' voice is soft when he speaks. “I have been thinking,” he starts. It is a perfect setup for a ‘you can think’ joke, but Derek can’t even fully form that thought in his head. It would do injustice to the truth anyway.

“How long have you known? Why haven’t we met earlier?”, Stiles asks. It feels a bit like an accusation or at least to Derek it feels this way. He doesn’t need Stiles to say the obvious, Derek himself can conjure it up; They have grown up in the same town, have been going to the same school although a few years apart. Derek clearly knew about magic, about familiars. So why now?

‘I only found out it was you a few days ago. I needed some time to think.’ The lie that comes from Derek is easy. He has only told the truth, the lie lies in the omission. And it's such a close one. If Derek reiterates it often enough, he could make himself believe and then no one would know anymore.

The first time Derek has felt the tug of the bond, the itch just beneath his skin urging him into a direction had not been when he came back to Beacon Hills.

It also hadn’t been before Kate because then all her lies would have crumbled like a house made of stacked up cards.

No, the first time Derek had felt it had been the night of the fire. The flames had reached sky high, fiery tongues licking greedily at anything that got too close. Derek hadn’t even noticed his heart breaking as much as he had noticed the emptiness of where all the pack bonds should have been. Hollowed out, that's what it had felt like.

And in that moment, as if mocking him, he had felt it. The first flicker of the bond. Yet, the harsh pull had died out much like the flames of his home, only burning embers had been left by the time the morning sun had dawned.

They had left Beacon Hills not long after and with the distance between them, it should have been easy to forget it had been there at all.

Of course he hadn’t been able to. Because the bond between a familiar and a witch is like coming home. It's abandoning the ability to even feel alone. The bond isn’t even complete yet. Another thing Derek hasn’t told Stiles about. What they have now, this fledgling thing, is only a fraction of what it could be. It is only a possibility. It can be broken, killed. Of course, like all magic, there will be a price.

“Oh,” Stiles says. He gnaws on his chapped lips. Derek doesn’t need the mental link to see the gears turning inside Stiles' head. He dreads what Stiles might conjecture. It reminds him of the dream last night, the fact that Stiles has connected Derek Hale to Derek, his familiar turned dog. Acting like an idiot so often, Derek hadn’t even noticed up till then how sharp Stiles could be, how dangerous it is when they are connected so closely.

He hopes it had been a fluke or else there is another reason, Derek doesn’t want to stay. They keep piling up.

The reasons to stay too, though they feel fleeting. Like the fingers playing with his fur, once they are gone, he can forget about the momentary pleasure they brought.They are dead weights Derek can abandon. Derek doesn’t need this home, he already had one and it burned down.

The smile Stiles gives him now, feels forced. The bond is still silent, so Derek can’t even gouge his thoughts. “Sorry, I just… Well, that's good. We are gonna be the most kickass team ever, right?”

‘Yes,’ Derek responds instantly. He feels guilty straight after, cause this time it's a complete lie. He just doesn’t know that he has been lying to himself for so long, that what he thinks is a lie might be the truth. 

They are back to magic practice. Derek lazily perches on a stack of pillows on a chair. The chair has been dragged close to Stiles, so that they are close enough that Derek could easily reach out a paw to talk to Stiles.

This time they decided to not keep in touch, so that Stiles can concentrate on the magic on his own. No distraction by accidentally leaked thoughts this time. Since Derek isn’t actually needed for this. It feels weird though, sitting away from Stiles and just watching, hoping for him to succeed. He feels cold, even in the warmth of late spring.

A tiny part of him doesn’t want Stiles to succeed without him, but Derek is getting used to ignoring it. He should be annoyed that nothing is happening and he is, kind of. Because he really wishes he wasn’t stuck in the body of a dog. Mostly, however,  he kind of feels guilty, which annoys him even more.

The white wick of the candle is still in pristine condition. Today, Stiles is wearing a shirt that fits him, his hoodie abandoned over the backrest of the chair. His usually beloved plaid is nowhere in sight. Both Derek could not care any less about, except now Derek realizes how well hidden Stiles is beneath the swaddle of clothes. This time, the tense lines of Stiles' muscles, the rigidness of his frame are easy to detect. He twitches every other second and Derek tries to figure out if it's either because Stiles is trying to stop himself from moving constantly and failing or because he unconsciously reacts by trying to light up the candle physically.

Either way the scowl on Stiles face has only deepened in the last few minutes. Then his frustration must peak, because he lifts his hand and drops it on the table with a resounding smack. “I can’t do it,” he presses out between teeth, running his hand through his hair messing it up.

Derek does his best stretch to make contact with Stiles’s knee, placing one of his front paws against it in what he hopes might be a comforting gesture. ‘ Not with that attitude,’ he tries to encourage even if that feels unfamiliar. At least he is confident that Stiles could do the magic, it’s not a matter of Stiles having the ability to Derek. He has all the proof he needs that Stiles is his witch and that he has the needed magic. The amount of magic used for a spell - that's what a familiar is supposed to help with. So should be only a matter of learning and concentrating, which in turn might work better if Stiles would stop giving up mentally before he even tried. 

“This has nothing to do with attitude. The candle won’t light up. I’ve tried. Again and again.” Stiles’ voice is getting louder now, angrier even. 

It makes Derek angry too. Like a vicious feedback loop, the bond is filled with it. It makes his next transmitted thoughts sound unkinder than intended. ‘Did you really follow all the steps? Without getting distracted? You need to visualize the whole process, you need to think about how the wick would combust.’

“Well if you think you can do better, light the candle on your own, please I am waiting!” Stiles hisses, his eyes glinting with a challenge. He waits a second or two, his gaze holds Derek’s. 

“Didn’t think so,” he finally adds with what might be a bit of defiant satisfaction. “I’m out of here, I promised dad I would help at the precinct this summer anyway” Stiles nods as if to give himself the okay to go, jumps up from where he had been sitting and before Derek can really react to the last outburst he is gone out of the front door. 

The anger abates as fast as it has risen up. He still can hear the ringing sound of Stiles slamming the door closed in his head. Alone now, the Stilinski home feels horrifyingly large. Sure, being stuck inside the body of a small dog had been annoying and mortifying before but it had been fine. After all, he had been sure it was just a temporary thing. 

He doesn’t know why, but the anger is replaced by fear. 

It’s not the fear of never turning back - no magic is truly undoable and certainly none cast by an inexperienced witch on accident. But it would mean that Derek would have to make his way to Laura or Peter, which would end up in utter humiliation for him. They would never let him live it down.  

It’s with a shock that he realizes something else. 

Stiles could walk away just as well. He has never considered that his witch could reject him as well.

It’s pitiful and absolutely humiliating. That’s what it is. 

It’s worse enough he is stuck on four paws with more fur than actual body mass, but of course Beacon Hills wouldn’t be Beacon Hills if it didn’t absolutely hate Derek. 

And perhaps he should have anticipated it, but that would mean acknowledging that he was stuck as a dog. Derek refuses this narrative, which is why he is currently locked inside a cage in the back of an animal control van. 

He shouldn’t have run after Stiles. It had been a dumb idea, though calling it an idea would imply that Derek had actually used his brain to think. Which he definitely had not done. He also won’t admit that panic was probably what made him follow the witch out of the door. A proud wolf – he feels more like a sham.

He could have waited at Stiles’ home since at some point the boy would have had to come back anyway. 

But in a way Derek guesses Stiles and him are very similar. They can be as dumb as they can be smart. It’s just normally not Derek who gives in to the spontaneous stupidity. And now he has landed himself behind bars. And this stupid little dog body? Yeah? It doesn’t even come with the perks of being a shapeshifter. All his werewolf strength? Gone.

At least no one is there to witness the pathetic whine he lets out.

The sight of the Beacon Hills veterinary clinic was truly a sight for sore eyes. For a moment Derek had feared he would end up being brought to the local shelter and where he would have had to suffer even more humiliation before escaping, but the clinic might spare him that. 

Because at least Dr. Deaton was in the know about the supernatural, so it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility to convince the man that Derek was not in fact a dog. 

That however proves a little tricky when the animal control people deposit Derek in a backroom of the clinic and Dr. Deaton is not paying attention to him at all. Derek tries the whole register of noises at his disposal, from growl to pitiful whining bark. It doesn’t make much of a difference. In the know or not doesn’t mean much when the vet is not really looking his way. Derek could as well be a real dog for all that it is worth. 

After Deaton lets one of the dog catchers into the back room to put down the cage, he just follows him out of the room to sign some documents and unluckily he doesn’t seem inclined to make a comeback anytime soon. Just Derek’s luck.

All he had to do was wait now. It makes him wonder how Stiles would react, given that he wouldn’t be waiting at the Stilinski’s home for him. Maybe he would try to find him. He doesn’t know why he hopes for such an absurd thing, Derek usually knows better. Just being connected by fate, doesn’t mean one has to care. And then there is the fact that Stiles doesn’t have the first clue about being a witch. It's not like Derek’s absence suddenly enables him to cast spells. The only way Stiles would be able to find him would be through the bond which Derek doubts is strong enough for Stiles to follow. 

But just when Derek has gotten comfortable in the little cage he starts to feel it. A humming in his chest, the restlessness, that’s the bond, that’s Stiles being close. He expects him to maybe ring the doorbell or knock. And the boy does appear at the door first, rattling the handle quite aggressively and —  is this a key he is trying to use? Whatever Stiles is trying to do it doesn’t seem to work. So after a bit of commotion by the door, the witch appears peeking into the window next. His face looks somewhat silly while he presses it against the glass to look into the dark room beyond. If there was an audience, Derek knows he would pretend to not know Stiles who has now seen him and is waving exaggeratedly. 

Derek would like to ignore the sounds that follow next, as the boy that managed to somehow open the window is trying to shimmy or crawl his way through the space. His flailing limbs make him a serious danger to himself. Finally and with a very loud bang he falls more than lands in the room.

With other people Derek might have been worried that they could hurt themselves but he has witnessed Stiles crashing into walls and corners and falling over his own two feet so often already. By now, he saves his worry for when Stiles doesn’t shrug it off with a maximum amount of complaints. Maybe he is also a bit stunned, because he hasn’t expected Stiles to track him down and commit a felony by breaking into the clinic. 

And as anticipated, Stiles simply jumps up second later and dusts himself off dramatically. “All part of the plan,” he says looking at Derek with a lopsided grin. 

What is decidedly not part of the plan is the door opening just in that moment, revealing a very nonplused veterinarian.

Stiles, even while being admonished for breaking in, has the audacity to pout as if he has been wronged. “Dr. D, how is it my fault? You changed your locks.” 

“And you never should have had a key to begin with.” Deaton tells him, completely unphased. He is inspecting the window Stiles used to get in. “You are aware that the clinic has a front door.”

“Look at the bright side! The window only needs a new hinge at most and it’s good as new. Your door might not have gotten away that easily.”

“This is why the clinic has business hours.”

“Yeah, but it was an emergency. I swear. I adopted this little guy just a few days ago and he has separation anxiety! I was so worried,“ Stiles says while indicating Derek in his current prison. 

It’s the first time that Deaton gives Derek any real attention since he got here. 

The look he fixes Derek with makes him feel like a specimen under a microscope, purely analytic. Stiles valiantly tries to hurry him along, proclaiming his undying love for the dog he adopted and promising to not lose sight of him again. But the vet won’t be rushed. 

After quietly studying him for a minute, that feels like an hour, the corner of the doctor’s twitches up. “Ah,” he proclaims,”I see.” Derek doesn’t know if he should be reassured by the answer but he chooses to hope for the best. Just this once, life can be not a shit show.

“You aren’t quite what you seem to be, are you?” The vet directs at Derek before he turns around and addresses Stiles next. “Would I be correct in assuming that you are already well aware this is not a dog?”

Stiles sputters at that. Stopping the near constant flow of words that he had tried to use as distraction up until then for just a second before he starts up again. “What…what are you saying doc? I mean what else would he be? Sure he is a bit small but he is clearly not a cat if that’s what you are implying. Although that one time, I saw him pushing a glass off the table. Makes him more of an asshole than a cat though if you ask me. Or he could be a really furry rat. Though as a vet I would think you should be able to recognize what is clearly a dog.” Derek sometimes asks himself if Stiles maybe hides a second pair of lungs somewhere. He has long abandoned all hope that Stiles hid a brain to mouth filter.

Deaton simply holds up a hand to silence more of the incoming rant. “What I mean to imply is, that this is in fact a person and not a dog,” he specifies in an even voice. Stiles makes a noise as if he wants to argue but a well placed bark from Derek draws his attention and he stays silent. When the vet also looks his way he resolutely nods his head up and down. 

“Well, in that case I think it would be the best choice to free you of the predicament you so clearly got yourself into, “ the doctor says as he gets to work on the lock of Derek’s cage.

“You can do that? Why can you do that? Wait, stop, also how can you do that? Are you also a witch or maybe a wizard or perhaps you go by sorcerer?” Stiles has come closer, his curiosity winning over every other agenda he had until then it seems. 

As soon as Derek’s cage is open, he hops to the floor and looks up to Deaton expectantly. If the emissary can help, he better make quick work of this. Derek can’t get out of this tiny, helpless body soon enough, that’s for sure. “Would you excuse me for a moment?” The doctor doesn’t really wait for an answer before he exits the room, leaving the door open at least. 

As soon as he is gone Stiles is all over Derek, pressing his fingers into his fur. “I was worried, dude. Why would you leave like that? I’m still mad but damn it’s good nothing happened to you? How did you end up in that cage?” ‘How do you think?’ Derek decides to keep the answer purposefully vague. If he can get away without talking about this humiliation to any living soul ever, he will count himself lucky. ‘ It’s not important now,’ he tags on, ‘what is important is that we can trust Deaton. He works for my family.’   

Deaton uses that moment to come back into the room. Holding several containers that smell strongly like herbs, a vial of some violet fluid as well as a mortar and pestle. He sets everything down on a table and begins to mix the ingredients together without saying anything more. Derek can feel how excited Stiles is for any form of magic, how much he just wants to ask questions right now. But he seems to save them for the moment and Derek is thankful for that. The quicker he isn’t a dog anymore the better. 

“That should do it, “ the vet decides with a final pass of the pestle. He takes out a rubber glove from god knows where and dips it in the paste he has just produced. It sure as hell doesn’t smell pleasant but Derek will take that if it means two instead of four legs. “Here let me help you.” Derek hears from behind before his world view changes. Stiles lifts him up so Deaton won’t have to bend down to him. Derek huffs in indignation. 

But he doesn’t have much time to be offended. Almost as soon as the veterinarian places his paste-covered finger on Derek’s forehead, he can feel the change. The bones in his body elongate again, mold in their once familiar shape. It feels good like stretching after sitting for far too long in a tight space. Derek sighs out when his bare feet finally reach the floor again. He feels grounded and far less unstable than he felt even with four little paws. 

What brings him back to the situation is the far too high pitched yelp  coming from behind him. Stiles, who up until a second ago had his hands on Derek’s hips, has jumped back as far as the small room allows. He stands with his back to the wall, his face red as a beet. With his hands in front of his face, he is peeking through the gaps between his fingers. Apparently trying very hard at failing to not look at Derek’s ass. “DUUUUDE! Where are your fucking clothes?” 

Derek can hear the indignation in his voice, but he also can smell the interest. Huh, would you look at that? A bit of a cocky grin spreads across his face. But before he can make a comment Deaton throws what turns out to be a lap coat at him. Well, okay then, Derek will table this discussion for later. Maybe. If he feels like it.

As soon as he is halfway dressed, the doctor has them come to his office, where they take place opposite him at the desk. “So, I assume that this little show was not what you had planned. At least, it doesn’t look like you two have already solidified your familiar bond,” Deaton begins his spiel. 

“Did that look like it would be my preferred form?” Derek deadpans. “It was an accident. Something went wrong with the bond and I got stuck.”

“That’s what I assumed,” the doctor says. “Your bond seems to be in a half- finished stage. You started the bonding process when you touched for the first time,” he looks at them both, his thoughts as unreadable as Derek remembers. “ I guess that would have been around the beginning of the lunar cycle?” When Derek nods and Stiles just shrugs his shoulders he continues, “ that would mean you have until the end of it to decide if you want to enter into this bond or if you want to dissolve it.” 

Derek doesn’t even have to look over to Stiles to know that this is news to him, that the bond can be broken, that this magical destiny is not completely cast in stone. He feels Stiles’ eyes on him and knows what he is asking, without words this time which is so very out of character for him. Derek decides to be brave and look up at Stiles. He nods once to answer the silent question of ‘Did you know it could be broken?’. 

“So what would we have to do?”, Stiles asks, neither specifying if he wants to know both ways. Of course, Deaton seems to have an agenda on his mind, because in calm words he starts explaining the process on how to finish the bond. 

Derek finds it hard to concentrate on the technical explanations of the emissary, because he is more interested in knowing how to dissolve the bond. Yet at the same time, that line of thought leaves him feeling guilty. He catches fragments about spinning the twine, about cutting a length of it and tying it around their wrists. When he is done explaining, Deaton falls silent without having told them how to dissolve the bond.

Derek feels restless. He hesitates even. “And,” he starts, licking his suddenly dry lips. “How would we dissolve it?”

The silence after he asked is earthshatteringly loud, broken by Stiles deep sigh. Deaton doesn’t seem faced, with the same neutrality as he had explained solidifying the bond he explained on how to dissolve it. The twine still needed to be spun, needed to be cut to a certain length but instead of tying it, they would need to burn it. 

The thought left a bitter aftertaste in the back of his mouth. Still, Derek smiles. “Thank you.”

Stiles sighs deeply, “I take it that’s what you want?” He sounds unhappy while he says it, the feeling of rejection Derek gets over the bond is muted but apparently too big to hide it entirely. 

Unable to respond with actual words, Derek nods. The urge to comfort Stiles and not leave it hanging like that is growing in his chest. It frightens Derek, makes him question his feelings. Is it the bond that forces him to feel Stiles’ heartbreak and loss? Are those all Stiles’ feelings? They have to be. Because Derek, Derek is sure that he doesn’t want this bond. And yet, he thinks if he would open his mouth to speak right now, he certainly would betray that.

“I kind of suspected…” Stiles' voice is quiet when says that. “God, stupid me hoping you meant it about being a team, even though I knew better. So I guess, this is it, huh?”

This time Derek can’t get away with not answering. His earlier suspicions become reality, because instead of completely cutting all ties, he hears himself tell Stiles “Just give me some time to think.”

Derek has been hiding at home nearly the whole time since he came home a few days ago. He has crashed hard, all those thoughts in his head eating him up. One second he wants to go out and talk to Stiles, missing the warm feeling of being close to someone else, of just existing together. The next second, he wants to hide away, never come out again, to forget everything about the bond and leave it all behind. He knows eventually he will need to decide and face reality, even if it is just to cut the bond off completely.

“So, you gonna run?” Laura’s voice is sharp as it cuts through the room. She is leaning against the doorframe, blocking the only way out.  He looks at her, getting annoyed. It’s his decision anyway. He is an adult and sometimes Derek wishes his sister would keep her unwanted opinion to herself. 

“So what if?”, he asks her. 

Laura is quiet as she watches him, her gaze evaluating. It reminds him of their mother. He doesn’t know what she is looking for and Derek tenses, trying to hide it even though he doesn’t know what. 

It’s futile, because Laura’s gaze then softens, the rigidness of her posture relaxing. “I am worried about you.”, she tells him earnestly. 

Instantly, he feels guilty. “You don’t have to be.” 

“I think that’s impossible.”, Laura’s lips twist up unconsciously into half a smile. “Especially since I think you are making a mistake.” 

“So you think I should go through with the bond.”

She shakes her head, “No, that’s your decision. But the Derek from before the fire was so excited about it. You had wished for it.”

“People change. Just because past me wanted something, doesn’t mean I do now. He was a naive idiot.” 

“That’s what little brothers are supposed to be. And you are still my little brother. That didn’t change. And I think your feelings also didn’t change as much as you try to make yourself believe,” Laura lets out another sigh. 

Derek can’t really bear to look at her face, the sadness in her eyes too much to bear. Nevertheless she continues and Derek just knows that whatever she is gonna say, he has been trying not to hear for the longest time. 

“I know something has happened that you won’t talk about. I should have had this conversation with you a long time ago. I have seen how much you have struggled with this after the fire and I made this easy for myself by telling myself you needed your space to heal. But lately I have been thinking that I might have just left you alone with it because I had my own issues. I haven’t been the best alpha to you, Der. I’m sorry. I’ll try to be more approachable  and I will be there whenever you are ready to talk about it,” even Laura’s scent mirrors her regret now. “But maybe it’s not me you need to find your peace.”

She licks her dry lips, “I’m not saying you should go through with the bond, I’m just saying that you should stop pushing people away. I don’t know if it's to punish yourself or if you are just afraid. I think you gave up on the idea, because you think you don’t deserve it. Give it a chance, allow yourself to consider it. Just try it until the full moon, you can always decide then.”

Derek can’t believe he is here yet again. It must be karma or destiny or something. 

It’s the middle of the night again though at least this time Derek has slightly better arguments for his stalking expedition. And well, this time Stiles will understand what is up. Kind of. 

After talking to Laura he had thought about it and he hates to admit it but she was right. He has been making pitiful excuses on why he can’t form the bond. So pitiful in fact, that they hadn’t stopped him from going along with the natural flow of things anyway. If he truly hadn’t wanted to, there would have been enough ways to avoid it. Even the pull of the bond itself, could have been ignored if he hadn’t spent each and every second thinking about it.

Perhaps all this time it has been just too easy to blame the bond for everything that is not going how Derek planned, one way or another. Even if it has really been his own stupidity or stubbornness that has made him struggle. He should give this a real chance and feel it out. 

Just like last time he broke in, Stiles’ father seems to be at work at the station, the Sheriff’s cruiser is nowhere in sight. There is only one bedroom that is slightly illuminated at all, only one heartbeat in the house. Derek doesn’t need much energy to climb the tree outside of Stiles’s window. From up there he can see Stiles already in bed, tangled up in his checkered sheets as always. 

Noiselessly, Derek hops over onto the windowsill and slides the window open. Stiles draws in even breaths, one of his arms hanging out of the bed still holding the grimoire he bought a while ago. There are several pages with bookmarks and the floor is filled with research notes Stiles has apparently worked on. 

Derek gently takes the book and puts it to the side, before he tugs in the whole blanket more neatly around Stiles’ body. How the boy can sleep in this wrapped up ball every night is a marvel to him.

The full shift comes to him naturally. A second later he is back to standing on four paws and covered in too much fur for so little dog. Just like the first time it’s easy to escape his clothes through the neck hole. He is just so small as a dog. But curling up besides Stiles on the bed when the boy is asleep, would feel weird otherwise. And Derek is too much of a coward to wake Stiles up. They can talk in the morning, when dawn has broken and he doesn’t feel like this.

Finally, sleep comes for him.

The next time he wakes, it’s inside a dream. 

Surrounded by trees, Derek recognizes the familiar orthography of the Beacon Hills preserve. But unlike the real place, it seems to stretch on infinitely and yet it's utterly devoid of any wildlife. He can’t tell which season it is, can barely see the sky through the thick and densely grown tree crowns. In this dream dimension, he has lost all sense of direction except for the familiar pull of the bond. 

Like a compass always pointing north, he knows where he will find Stiles. At this point he isn’t even surprised that this dream is a shared one. He had known the possibility when he had gone to sleep right beside Stiles, in truth it had even been his intention. 

He hadn’t wanted to bear the loneliness anymore.

His legs move on his own and like before, space stretches and shrinks like the last time. Suddenly the preserve isn’t as infinite as it had been before. And then he reaches Stiles, catching up to wherever he meant to wander. There is a graveyard instead of the forest, the names of the headstones move and shift. 

Stiles seems lost, not even noticing Derek until he reaches out and touches his shoulder. The boy breaks out of his own thoughts, big, brown doe eyes staring at Derek. The corners of his eyes are red, his cheeks glinting with not yet dried tears. It’s so different from his usual lively and chaotic appearance.

The vulnerability of Stiles' expression doesn’t stay, it shifts to anger. “Why are you here?” he asks, voice rough. 

“Why shouldn’t I be?”

For a bit Derek fears Stiles' answer might be ‘Because I don’t want you here’. Except it’s a bit more heartwrenching. “You left,” Stiles tells him and it is an accusation. “Like they all do eventually. Can’t get anything right.”

Derek doesn’t have an excuse, because Stiles is right but for all the wrong reasons. It is exactly the point Laura has hinted at; Derek’s aversion had never been about Stiles being his witch. His whole struggle with the bond? Stiles personally had never been a factor in that.  Now that realization hit like a truck, feels wrong. 

“You are wrong,” and Derek grimaces at his own word choice. So much for a literary major. “It has nothing to do with you as a person and for that I am sorry.”

Stiles doesn’t seem to believe his words, his eyes clearly saying that he thinks Derek is just placating him. “Because I am not a witch. There must have been an error.”

“Why do you keep insisting on that?” Derek takes a deep breath, stalling for the duration of it to gather his courage. It has never been easy for him to talk about his own troubles. “And when I said it has nothing to do with you, I meant that   I .. wasn’t ready to accept this fate, whoever my witch might have been.”

“And you are right, why would you accept me?  I haven’t been magic before we met, why should I be magic now? No matter how many times I try, I won’t ever be able to do it. I simply can’t do the spells.” Stiles seems really stuck on his missing magical abilities. “So what good would it be to even have magic?” he asks dejectedly.

And Derek can’t even really argue, because he has asked himself a similar question often enough. Why have this bond if it only came alive after tragedy had already struck? If it had acted up earlier, wouldn’t it have prevented the fire? Except that that line of thought was just deceiving oneself. These thoughts only made one barricade oneself from something that could be truly magical. No pun intended. 

“What good would abandoning it do?” he asks and he doesn’t even know if he asks Stiles or himself. Derek’s lips curl up self-deprecatingly. “I know how you feel. It’s why I haven’t given this a real chance. Maybe that’s why you kept failing as well. Because we both didn’t believe in the bond.”

Derek remembers Stiles asking  ‘We are gonna be the most kickass team ever, right?’ This time his smile turns genuine, before he adds. “How about we try it out  as a team again. Together, this time.”

Together, he had promised.

This time, they are both sitting on the ground with the candle between them. Holding both of Stiles’ hands in his own ones, Derek tries to smile encouragingly at Stiles before closing his eyes. Stiles follows suit and they both open the link as completely as the unfinished bond will let them. Thoughts and feelings come crashing in; it’s almost overwhelming. Derek takes a deep breath, trying not to lose himself in it. It would be so easy.

  ‘Focus,’ Derek thinks, more of a reminder to himself.

‘Focus yourself,’ Stiles quips back nonetheless.

Then Stiles seems to try and remember the words from the book, tries to visualize the flow of magic and the ignition of the wick. Derek does the same. When one of them falters, the other’s thoughts fill the gap. The bond grows warmer between them. 

Once the fire is lit, it will burn on its own. They just need a spark to light the fuse. And in the end it is as easy as breathing out. Derek can feel the energy glowing hotter and hotter in Stiles’ chest and with the next exhale it spreads from there, down to his arms, through his fingertips and beyond. Derek feels magic flowing across his skin. With their minds interlinked, it feels like he is moving the magic himself. He helps Stiles  guide it into the right direction. The candle comes to life with a flickering light, growing brighter.  

Suddenly, hot air hits his face. “SHIT”, Stiles shrieks, scrambling back. Derek opens his eyes to  what looks like a bbq someone put too much alcohol on. The wick is not only ignited, the flame blazes way too high. He is on his feet a breath later, stumbling backwards away from it. With the connection between them lost, the flow of magic is interrupted and with no magic to fuel a flame of this size, it dies down quickly. Only the fuse is left burning and even that tiny flame is put out a second later by Stiles’quick, spitslick fingers.

Open-mouthed, Stiles stares first at the candle and then at Derek, disbelief written clearly on his face. There are smudges of black soot on his face. Derek is just as stunned, barely able to comprehend what has just happened. He hadn't expected this.

And then, Stiles suddenly jumps forward, crashing against him. Derek barely manages to catch him. Stiles’ arms wrap around his middle and instinctively Derek cradles Stiles face carefully.  Their faces are only inches apart and Stiles' face is bright with glee. There isn’t even time to think because a fraction of a second later their lips meet.

It's as surprising as it is sudden, but it’s not unwanted. Euphoria thrums along the bond, the absence of all thoughts leaves Derek with just enough brain capacity to respond. It’s uncoordinated, more laughter and stolen breaths than sensual. Their noses bump against each other, their teeth nearly clicking together. Stiles' fingers curl around the fabric of Derek's shirt, digging into his sides. 

And then Derek is dimly aware of the stairs creaking, the heavy footfall of someone approaching. The handle of the door is moving, the hinges of the door creaking.

There might not be a poof sound, but Derek’s vision is blurring, the world is turning upside down before everything turns dark as he is swaddled by his own clothes. Stiles, having lost Derek’s support, stumbles, nearly crashing down on top of him.

The Sheriff steps into the room a second later, about to start a sentence. But whatever he wanted to say to Stiles, gets abandoned. “Do I even want to know what you are doing?”

Only the foundation and a bit of the porch is left. It is weird looking at it, knowing that soon even those things will be gone as well. All reminders of Derek’s childhood home gone, the mausoleum to his trauma broken down and carried off.

It hurts, but it is a necessary hurt. Derek knows that Laura hadn’t made the decision easily. "Mom and Dad wouldn’t have wanted us to keep it like this.‘ She had told him. Derek agrees, but he knows he wouldn’t have had the strength to do it if it had been him in her shoes.

Sitting on the porch, he stares at the moon. It is almost perfectly round, only a day left until the next full moon. This time tomorrow, he will have had to make a decision.

It should be easy. Derek knows he should just break the bond, but each time he has wanted to tell Stiles that, he didn’t. He can’t even think about it too much, afraid his thoughts will slip along the bond and ruin the smile on Stiles’ lips. 

That damn bond. 

Because no matter how many times Stiles tells him that he is fine with either choice, Derek knows that Stiles is just saying that for Derek’s sake, knows that Stiles will be disappointed if they break the connection. 

Stiles is excited about magic. He wants to learn, deep down, even if his words say otherwise. 

The bond is a curse in that sense. Because Derek knows all these unsaid things with certainty and he can’t fault Stiles for feeling like this. 

He can blame the world for being this cruel however, for making this decision into an ultimatum. 

“If you think any harder, I’m afraid you might break something.” 

Derek startles out of his thoughts. Looking up, at the edge of the treeline he finds Peter. The scars on his face have faded a bit by now, but they are still there. The deformed skin is giving his smirk an eerie touch.

“You mean I will be as broken as you are?"Derek retorts back, unfazed. The best way to communicate with Peter is being just as snarky as his uncle is. No holding back punches, because else the man will get offended.

Peter lets out a laugh. „That's where you are wrong. Can’t break perfection, can you?“

Asshole. A sigh escapes Derek as he contemplates standing up and leaving. He doesn’t feel like dealing with Peter's antics, not when he came here with the purpose of being left alone to think. He should have guessed though that his family would meddle. They always do.

And their old burned family home isn’t exactly a secret place to hide from his family.

But Derek can be as stubborn as the rest of them and he doesn’t want to go somewhere else right now. Especially since he has no clue where to go and he doesn’t feel like aimlessly wandering around physically when he already feels so lost. “What are you doing here?”

“In all my graciousness I have come to offer my dear nephew some much needed advice.”

Derek can’t help but snort. Peter’s advice is a bit like a two-sided sword. While his uncle loves to hoard information, he isn’t always inclined to provide good advice. If at all. “Do I even have to list all the times your advice made things worse?”

Peter continues to smile, unfazed by the blatant dismissal of his advice giving skills. “It’s not my fault you are bad at using my advice.” 

This time Derek doesn’t even deign to answer him. It’s not worth the effort. But of course Peter doesn’t take the hint. Instead, he even comes closer, sitting down besides Derek on the remains of the porch. 

“So what got your panties in a twist that you spend your time moping about here instead of being with your cute little boyfriend?”

“I thought you came to give me some advice, shouldn’t you already know what’s up?” Only belatedly, Derek realises the second part of Peter’s question. Heat creeps up his neck and he adds hastily, “Stiles isn’t my boyfriend.”

The damage though is already done. Peter smirks insufferably. “Could have fooled me. And I know the general gist of it, but even I can’t read minds. So why are you sitting here? Please don’t tell me it’s because you are getting cold feet like a groom to be?”

“Stop joking.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Derek dodges his uncle's inquiring gaze. “It’s not like that.”

“So it’s absolutely like that. Well to me it seems you made up your mind already, you just don’t want to admit it. Because if you didn’t want to bond, why would you even entertain the thought? Derek, you have been meeting with him nearly everyday and if you aren’t, you are sulking around like a lovesick teenager. At this point you are just delusional.” 

What his uncle says is the truth and deep down Derek knows it. 

Some 80's classic rock is playing over the speakers in Morgan's Diner'. Stiles is drumming with his fingers to the beat of it along the edge of their table. Instead of sitting opposite each other, they are huddled together on one side of the bench, their knees and arms knocking against each other with each tiny little movement. A position that they have assumed more than once this week. 

In a few hours the full moon is going to rise and they have yet to talk about what will happen next. 

Derek would have thought that Stiles would pester him about it relentlessly, but he hasn’t brought it up even once, not today and neither on any time they have hung out this week. No, instead he had grabbed Derek’s hand and dragged him along to the diner as soon as he appeared at the Stilinski home today.

Since then, Derek still hasn’t found the right moment to bring it up. It’s stupid, because he just has to tell Stiles he wants to go through with it. Deep down he fears getting rejected. Maybe they can talk about it now. It seems like this will be one of the last chances he gets. 

But before Derek can open his mouth, the waitress is there with their food. While both of them have gotten a burger, their tablet seems to be drowning in curly fries courtesy of Stiles. Any hope of holding a serious discussion now is lost, because a bit enraptured, Derek watches as Stiles shovels the first handful of fries into his mouth. His cheek puff up like a chipmunks, followed by an obscene moan at the salty goodness. 

It will have to wait until after the food. 

There are only moments until the full moon will rise to its peak. The night air seems abuzz with energy, electric. At least it feels like that to Derek. Time trickles by too slowly, unbearingly so. Usually when he is looking at the moon, he yearns for it to never fade or for it to disappear forever. Tonight is different though, because he for once does not care about the moon at all. This time, the moon is only a witness.

Looking away from it, Derek turns to Stiles. The boy's neck is stretched and unguarded as his gaze is still locked on the sky. Stiles is atypically silent, almost unnaturally calm. It's weird to see him like this after witnessing him bounce around all day.  

Feeling Derek’s gaze on him, Stiles turns to look back at him. His lips are curving in a smile that is simply stunning. It's weird how you can spend so much time around someone and only in moments like this, when the world seems to halt and breath, you realize how beautiful they really are. Derek wishes he could take a picture, so he wouldn’t forget, but no camera can capture how he feels. It’s a mixture of nervosity, of hope and the beginning of something else. He doesn’t dare to name it love yet, but it’s the beginning of it. 

Derek smiles back. His hand reaching for Stiles, their fingers intertwine when the witch takes it. Stiles hand feels warm, but it’s the influx of feeling and thoughts that comes with the bond that is truly heartwarming. 

And then the moon has reached its zenith and it is time. Squeezing Stiles hand, Derek lets out a hum. “We should start.”

Stiles nods, reaching into the pockets of pants with his free hand to retrieve a crimson red cord. The string of fate one might say. They have woven it in the last few days for the ritual. The ritual itself is surprisingly simple. A bit of a cliche and kind of corny even. 

To break the familiar bond and the fate between them, they would need to burn it. 

To accept the bond completely, they just have to weave it around their hands, tying them together. 

“This is it, I guess. So uh..”, Stiles begins, the calmness from before broken as he wrestles for words. 

Derek knows what Stiles is asking and he feels bad for delaying his answer. But every time he had wanted to bring the bond up today, something else had butted in. It had always seemed unfitting. “I don’t like fire,” Derek mumbles.

“I can burn the string on my own…” Stiles starts off. “It’s really okay, if you don’t want to. We don’t need to do this. We can stay…” he continues before trying to find the right word. It must  escape him, as he settles on “friends.”

It's almost endearing, how dense Stiles is at this moment. 

“Stiles, we are not gonna destroy the bond,” Derek tells him clearly and firmly. “Also I usually don’t want to kiss my friends.”

Despite what Stiles has said just seconds before, Derek can feel the joy thrumming along the bond coming from Stiles. Stiles' cheeks turn red as well at the subtle reminder of their kiss. With a gentle smile of his own, Derek tries to keep them on track. “We should start now.”

Normally tying a cord around their wrists might have been an interesting act of their mutual hand coordination, but because the cord is a physical representation of their bond, it needs to be woven magically to last. Opening the mental link connecting them completely, they both try to visualise the way the cord will tie itself around their joined wrists. How the fiber will feel against their skin as it brushes against it, how each knot will need to be tightened to hold. The first knot is to tie their bodies together, the second to tie their souls and the last to tie their fate, to give root to what has previously only been loosely bound. 

Unlike the other times, the magic responds to them immediately. No trial or long concentration on it needed. The red string is moving on its own, driven by their thoughts. Soon the first and the second knot have been tied.

Weaving itself through the last loop, the third and last knot finishes tying itself. With the last knot in place, the bond solidifies. The sudden onslaught of thoughts and feeling that has been swelling like the reservoir before a dam is giving and turns into a spring flood. It’s overwhelming in its intensity. 

Glowing in the moonlight, the magic imbuing the cord grows. Yet, neither of them notices as it sinks into their skin, disappearing from view. Only, once it completely vanishes, does the bond settle enough to take back control. Around their wrists, where the cord had been just a moment before, there now is a red band branded onto their skin. Derek doesn’t even register. Neither does Stiles, both too enchanted by each other's gaze. They barely dare to breathe, too fearful of breaking the moment. 

Of course, that’s the moment for a rather rude awakening

because, at least Derek should have anticipated his family's nosiness.

“YOU MAY NOW KISS THE BRIDE”, shouts Laura before falling out of a nearby tree with a loud crash. The sounds following, howling laughter, make it one hundred percent clear that she is doing just fine.

Startled, Derek nearly lets go of Stiles hand as he looks around in search of his sister. He can feel the heat already rising up his neck. His ears must be bright red with embarrassment. Not because they got caught in an embarrassing moment, but because he is embarrassed about his sister. Stiles laughs out loud, bright and clear. “Well, I am waiting! Not that I am the bride, I think...”

As Derek registers the words coming out of Stiles mouth, he just knows that whatever Stiles is going to say next, it is only going to get worse from here on out - well at least worse in the sense that  clearly they aren’t as alone as Derek had thought and hoped. How had he not noticed his family sneaking up on them? Not that that matters much right now. Tugging on Stiles arm, he draws him in. Cradling the boy’s face with his free hand, Derek dips in to kiss him on the mouth, effectively silencing him to the rest of their onlookers. Still, through the bond, Derek is exposed to the beginning of Stiles’ mental presentation on why Derek would clearly look better in a bridal dress.

Not many of Stiles’ thoughts survive the first soft kiss, though and by the second one his mind is just about as blank as Derek has ever heard it.

“Derek!”, the voice of a young man is echoing through the apartment.

The pitter-patter of tiny nails clicking against the wooden flooring can be heard as a tiny pomeranian is scurrying towards the owner of the voice. Its tongue is hanging out its mouth, as its panting for the treat it hopes to receive once it reaches its goal.

Derek groans, burying his face in Stiles’ neck. He is questioning his life choices, yet again. It seems to be a familiar activity ever since he and Stiles moved in together. Though to be more correct, ever since Stiles found the perfect dog at the shelter. “Just why,” he asks again.

Stiles laughs, Derek can feel the vibration of the sound through the arms slung around Stiles’ waist. It’s a recurring question that Stiles answers like he always does “Because how could I not adopt him! I went to one shelter and what did I find there? A tiny little pom and the label on his collar even spelled Derek!” Derek still isn’t sure if that story is true. But even through the bond and with his werewolf senses, he can’t tell.

By now Derek, the tiny pomeranian, has reached its goal. Skidding along the floor in a futile attempt to brake, it crashes against their legs. Not a little bit bothered by the collision,  the dog looks up at them all eager and expectant. Its tail wagging at the speed of sound, its beady black eyes seem to ask ‘TREAT?’

With a bit of vindication, Derek thinks to himself that he definitely looks cuter in full shift. 

There is a new picture on the fridge in the Stilinski household. The Sheriff sometimes looks at it while he drinks his morning coffee. It shows Stiles, eyes half closed and mouth wide open in one of his ridiculously expressive full-bodied laughs. In his arms, he is holding a tiny, fluffy dog that is scrunching its adorable snoot while smelling an offered treat. On the floor beside the two sits Derek, a private and far too fond smile on his lips. He always says he hates Stiles for adopting the little Pomeranian dog, but the love and happiness on his face proves him a terrible liar.