Archive of Our Own

Derek can smell the sour notes of Stiles' disgruntlement as he approaches the clearing, trailed by Isaac and Scott. Stiles usually feels compelled to voice his displeasure to everyone around him whenever something is bugging him but he's quiet tonight, shuffling closer to Erica when he reaches the swept back circle of dirt, distancing himself from Scott and Isaac who seem to be the target of his frustration.

"What are we looking at?" Scott asks, the first to do so which is surprising. Derek's a little thrown by not having to answer the usual fifteen rapid-fire questions from Stiles before he gets a chance to explain. It's worrying how used to it he's gotten, how weird it seems without it.

"A pile of teeny, tiny bones," Erica says in a bored voice. "Creep-pee," she adds in a drawn-out drawl.

"You're thinking we have a witch nearby?" Boyd asks and Derek automatically looks to Stiles, because he usually jumps all over the first one to state the obvious like he's playing his own kind of mental bingo, but Stiles is just chewing on the sleeve of his hoodie, still uncharacteristically silent.

"I'm thinking we have a problem. This is inside our border, it could be a challenge."

"Does it do anything?" Scott asks, brows creasing.

"It hasn't yet," Derek admits and kind of shuffles in place. It seemed important to have everyone come and look at the space, feel the import of the threat but it's all falling a little flat now. It's lacking... commentary for want of a better word. Derek throws an exasperated look at Stiles. "Well?"

"Me?" Stiles says, voice garbled because he still has material in his mouth. "I didn't do it."

"I'm not saying you did it, I'm asking you for ideas," Derek says, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, irked.

"Nope, nothing to contribute," Stiles says and he's pointedly not looking at Scott when he does, but Scott's shoulders hunch up all the same.

"Oh c'mon, that's not what I said," Scott protests and just wonderful, it seems that Derek has called everyone out in the middle of Scott and Stiles having some kind of spat.

"It's kinda what you said," Isaac contradicts and Scott turns betrayed eyes on him while Stiles huffs.

"Yeah, don't be on my side," he snaps.

"What did I do?" Isaac demands, sounding pissy.

"You exist, that's what you do."

"Don't drag Isaac into this," Scott says and Stiles narrows his eyes at him. Erica is glancing between them with round, intrigued eyes and Boyd looks like he'd rather be anywhere else on the planet.

"Why? You already did."

"Stiles, there's no reason to be jealous-" Isaac starts to say and Derek knows that's possibly the worst thing he could have because Stiles' nose flares and his eyes widen, whole body trembling with indignation.

"Jealous?" he hisses. "Please tell me that's not what you think this is about."

"It's not, of course it's not," Scott interrupts and Derek knows he should put a stop to whatever is now happening before it devolves further, but he's struck dumb for a handful of precious seconds. It's long enough for Scott to feel compelled to scamper over to Stiles because he's always reassured with contact and that means he runs right at the little pile of bones that is the very reason everyone's out here.

"Scott!" Stiles barks because of course he notices Scott's dangerous trajectory, but it's too late, Scott has crunched straight through the small tower, scattering bones and kicking up a blue powder when he does.

"Don't breathe in!" Derek yells, clapping a hand over his face and he sees Erica and Isaac do the same, their response to the alpha voice almost immediate. Boyd clamps fingers over his nose and snaps his mouth shut but Scott takes a reflexive, hiccuping breath in out of sheer surprise and flails blindly. He manages to catch Stiles in the stomach with his elbow who's breath is jarred out of him and he gasps in, his body's need to replace the air it just lost overriding everything else.

Derek jabs a finger towards the treeline and his betas hesitate for a moment but then they're running for it. Stiles is the first one down, looking up at Derek with large, panicked eyes before he drops and Scott stumbles and goes to his knees right after.

Derek, lungs starting to burn, drops his hand and darts in to grab an arm of each of them, tug them out of the immediate area. Derek doesn't waste time, just tows them both as far as he can before he has to breath, hopes it's far enough.

*

Derek jerks awake face down in a pile of leaves. He'd been trying to make it to Stiles' jeep but figures his body shut down before he was able to, forcing the oxygen issue. He hadn't wanted to risk taking in whatever the blue powder was since he was Scott and Stiles' only chance to get to help quickly enough and he had no idea about the range of something like that.

Derek rolls over and sits up. There are two slumped figures by his feet and while the smell is right, the size is wrong. He's looking at a pair of children curled into each other. It starts making a bad kind of sense when one of them sits up, rubs the back of his head and says, "What the fuck just happened?"

"I think-" Derek starts to say to Stiles because the kid is definitely, recognizably Stiles with his big brown eyes, moles and short cropped hair but then Stiles is holding his arms straight out in front of him, horrified.

"What happened to my hands?" he squeaks.

"What happened to the rest of you?" Scott asks, also sitting up.

Stiles' attention swivels to Scott and then he's laughing, rolling around in the underbrush and gasping, sounding a little hysterical. "Oh dude," he manages between hiccuping giggles.

"What?" Scott says, looks down at himself. "Dude!"

"Are you guys still... yourselves? Do you know who I am?" Derek asks, because it appears like a small amount of luck is on their side and while Derek is dealing with a couple of five year olds physically, mentally they seem to be the same old Scott and Stiles.

"Yeah, Derek. Still present and accounted for," Stiles says, sketching him a little salute and then Scott shocks them both by bursting into tears.

Scott reigns it in quickly, scrubs over his face with a long sleeve and blinks at them, looking sheepish. "Sorry, I... don't know what that was," he confesses.

"Dude, it's okay. I think our ability to process complex emotion is about as stunted as our bodies," Stiles says, his humor disappearing in the face of Scott's obvious distress. "I'm really finding it hard to fight the urge to just run around and kick stuff."

"That's your complex emotions?" Derek says and Stiles flips him off.

"Oh my God," Erica says from the treeline. The betas have edged back, obviously drawn by the sound of voices. "Oh my God, they're adorable! Can we keep them like this?" Before Scott and Stiles can make a break for it, Erica's swept them up into her arms and is squeezing them both.

"Put us down!" Stiles protests. "This is dignified for no one involved." When Erica picks them up, they come straight out of their jeans and shoes, left only in now oversize t-shirts with spindly little legs sticking out the bottom.

"Erica," Derek warns and Erica pouts, but sets Scott and Stiles back on their feet. "C'mon. We'd just better hope Deaton is still at the clinic."

*

"Definitely a curse, albeit a strange one," Deaton says. He'd mixed up a pinkish-orange solution, made Scott and Stiles dip their fingers in it and hummed like the liquid turning purple meant something profound.

"Why strange?"

"Most curses are violent in nature. They take a lot of power and this seems kind of... wasteful. It's more inconvenient than deadly."

"Inconvenient," Stiles snorts and Derek balls his hand into a fist to stop from cuffing Stiles over the back of the head.

"Maybe it backfired?" Isaac offers and Deaton shakes his head.

"This was definitely the intention. I think you're looking at someone bent on mischief rather than mayhem, perhaps someone experimenting. I'm not sure that it was a targeted attack."

"I don't agree," Derek says. "If this had happened to me, I'd be pretty powerless to protect the territory."

"You said it was a booby-trapped pile of bones in the middle of the forest. That's a lousy way to target an individual."

"Not if you know the individual is a werewolf and will take anything unusual on their land as a threat to be investigated."

"Nevertheless," Deaton says. "We have two options. I can possibly reverse this but it will probably be unpleasant," Deaton proposes and Derek hears low growls start up behind him from Isaac and Erica. Boyd's not exactly growling but he doesn't look comfortable. "Or," Deaton continues, pointedly ignoring the betas, "You could wait it out. Curses like these tend to wear themselves out, balance reasserts itself."

"How long will that take?" Derek asks, because something deep down in him balked at the idea of Scott and Stiles going through any kind of trauma.

"I would wait maybe five days at the most. Any longer than that, anything I try will be harder. Once curses settle into you properly, they're hard to shake."

"We'll wait," Derek decides.

"Hey, my Mom is going to notice this," Scott protests, waving arms around his smaller form. "I can't just disappear for a week."

"My dad's on a bonding trip with some of the new deputies this week," Stiles says. "Maybe you could tell her you're staying with me, to keep me company?"

"That could work," Scott grudgingly allows. "She's on nights all week and she hates me being alone in the house."

"Cool, well, we need clothes," Stiles says, brushing a hand down himself, indicating the fact that he's still only wearing a shirt. "I want superhero underwear and sneakers that light up."

"You'll get what I give you," Derek says and Stiles makes a face at him as Boyd helps both boys down off Deaton's exam table.

"Derek, stay back a minute," Deaton says as everyone makes for the door. Derek pauses, nods for his betas to go on and then turns back to Deaton.

"Well?"

"You might want to stop your betas bonding strongly with Scott and Stiles as children," Deaton says when Derek gives him the nod that the others are out of hearing range. "When Scott and Stiles return to normal, they might feel it like a loss, like a death."

Derek knows it's probably a bad idea to let the betas keep going like they are, but it's hard to dampen their enthusiasm. He hasn't seen them so happy and engaged for the entire time he's been their alpha and selfishly, he wants that to continue. "They'll be fine," he grunts and Deaton gives him a hard look, one that says, I doubt your decision making skills.

Derek doubts them too.

*

They compromise.

Derek allows Scott and Stiles to pick out their own shirts and he grabs jeans, socks, shoes and underwear for them. He grimaces down at the armful of nauseatingly colored shirts he gets handed when he's standing at the checkout but it's better than the tantrum Stiles threatened when Derek picked up a six pack of shirts in primary colors and was willing to call it done.

Boyd is standing at the counter with him, eying the impulse racks and Derek rolls his eyes, smacks Boyd's hand when he reaches for a package of small trucks and cars. "They don't need those," he says, losing all hope that Boyd would remain the stolid, sane one in this situation. Boyd grimaces and tucks his hands into his pockets like he doesn't trust them.

Stiles barrels into Derek's legs. He has a pair of jeans on that Derek has the tag for in his hand and his face is covered in something sticky. "What have you been eating?" Derek groans. The woman standing in line in front of them looks back and her face softens at the sight of Stiles wrapped around Derek like a velcro monkey. "He's a cutie. You must be very-" the woman starts to say and that's when Stiles yells, "Kee-yah!" and karate chops Derek in the knee, then tears away into Erica's waiting arms. "-um, proud?" the woman finishes, looking a little unsure.

"That's one word for it," Derek says through his teeth and the woman's attention returns to her own purchases pointedly.

"I think we need to feed them something other than candy pretty soon," Isaac says, appearing with Scott in tow. "They're being a little..." He looks back at where Stiles has torn from Erica's grasp and is punching a giant plush dog sitting on a bed in a bedroom display. Erica's just watching with an indulgent smile on her face and tossing M&Ms into Stiles' waiting mouth whenever he turns to her.

"I could eat," Scott agrees. He's holding onto Isaac's sleeve but keeps glancing back at Stiles like he really wants to join in on the wanton violence against stuffed animals. He's in a pair of plaid shorts that both Isaac and Erica had cooed over frighteningly and Derek is starting to wonder if maybe Deaton was right, that his betas are taking this all a little too seriously.

"We'll go to the diner next door," Derek promises. "As soon as I've paid for this." Derek has always been the worst at picking queues to join and the endless torture this particular one has become is no different.

"Excuse me," a man says behind them and Derek glances back to see he's addressing Erica. "I don't think you should be letting your child do that."

Erica spins slowly around, an unsettling smile gracing her face and one eyebrow raised. "Oh really?" she purrs.

"Boyd," Derek huffs. "Would you please go grab Stiles and Erica before we have to run out of here chased by the sound of screams and alarms?"

"Sure," Boyd says agreeably and moves off, snagging Stiles by the back of the shirt and stepping between Erica and the concerned patron right when Erica's baring her teeth at him and he's looking like he's about to run for his life.

*

Stiles is working his way through a plate full of curly fries and Scott is munching happily on a burger that's almost as big as his head when Derek slumps down into the booth. He'd relented and made the betas and Scott and Stiles head for the diner without him, knowing that the alternative was likely to end in bloodshed.

"Green Lantern shirt!" Stiles demands as soon as Derek sits, making grabby hands at the bags Derek's dropped by his feet.

"Clean hands first," Derek says, because Stiles' fingers are streaked with ketchup and God knows what else. Stiles ignores the napkin Isaac offers him and wipes hands down the front of his current shirt. Derek decides that's probably going to be the best he can hope for and digs into the bag, yanking the Green Lantern shirt out and handing it over. Stiles immediately stands on the seat, skins out of the adult shirt and tugs the other shirt on, looking pleased with himself.

"Which one do you want?" Derek asks Scott and he makes a thoughtful face before he asks politely for Captain America. Suitably attired, they return to their meals with gusto and there's blessed quiet.

"Are you taking them back to the loft?" Erica asks. Stiles has slumped into her side while trying to see how many curly fries he can get into his smaller mouth at once and every now and again she'll catch a stray one as it tumbles out of his jaws.

"I suppose," Derek says. He doesn't see a better alternative. Both Boyd and Erica still live with their parents and Isaac lives in the loft with Derek in the spare room. The old Hale house is in the process of being stripped down and remodeled so it's not really safe for a full sized Stiles let alone a tiny one. "They can sleep on the couch cushions in the living room."

"My dad's in New York so I can stay, help out," Erica offers, sounding hopeful and Derek shrugs. One more warm body in the place never worries him, especially pack. She looks down fondly at the top of Stiles' head as he lets out a tired sounding sigh and sprawls more fully across her.

Scott's given up on his burger and has pitched sideways against Boyd's arm, sleeping with his mouth open. It was quick, Derek didn't even notice him yawning. Stiles seems to also surrender his battle with his plate of fries and promptly passes out as well, managing to have kicked legs up and over Isaac and with his head in Erica's lap.

*

It's getting late when they leave the diner, so they head back to Derek's loft for the night. Boyd accompanies them, not even pretending that he's doing anything else or bothering to ask permission and Derek just cuffs him on the shoulder and accepts his presence.

They make a kind of nest in the living room with couch cushions and blankets and tumble Stiles and Scott into the middle of it. Derek remembers the way his family was, how they'd all had their own spaces but would sometimes sleep in a pack pile just because. He's missed it, but it was never something he thought was on the cards with his current pack.

Erica and Boyd are already sprawled on the floor when he's finished constructing the nest and Isaac is circling, looking for the most comfortable spot. Derek dithers for a moment, unsure as to whether he should retreat to his bedroom or stay but Erica decides for him, grabs his hand and tugs him down to curl around Stiles' small form.

Stiles immediately turns in to him, fists small hands into his shirt and snuffles. Derek rubs a hand over his bristle-soft head to the sound of Erica pitching her boots across the room and Boyd and Isaac making themselves comfortable.

"We used to do this, my family," Derek says, darkness making him bold.

"It's nice," Erica says and one of her hands reaches out and her fingers come to rest on Derek's wrist. "It feels right."

*

Derek wakes up to Stiles sitting on his chest, glaring. "I couldn't reach the shelf with the cereal, ass," he says, jabs Derek in the shoulder with a pointed finger like Derek had reorganized his kitchen overnight for maximum annoyance on purpose.

"Calm down, I'll get it," Derek says, his overnight affection for Stiles dwindling when confronted with his five year old pissy face.

"Oh no, that's fine. Scott had it covered, apparently," Stiles says, flails a hand towards the kitchen and the fact that Scott is standing on the counter teetering on his toes and trying to reach the top cupboard.

"Oh my God, honestly," Derek grumbles, tips Stiles off and gets to the kitchen just as Scott pitches head first off the counter. Derek catches him and sets him on his feet. "New rule, ask, don't attempt junior acrobatics."

"I could totally do it," Scott says, crossing his arms and pouting. "If some people had a little more faith in my abilities-"

"You nearly brained yourself," Stiles says, stomping into the kitchen and struggling up onto one of the stools set at the kitchen island. It teeters and Derek automatically reaches a hand out to steady it.

"I was totally fine," Scott argues. They both glare for a moment and then they just launch at each other.

"What the hell?" Erica demands, coming into the kitchen to see Scott and Stiles rolling around on the floor, biting and kicking.

"I have no idea. You grab Scott, I'll get Stiles," he says and they pry the fighting boys apart, who flail at each other.

"You know, they’re kind of the same,” Isaac observes from the doorway, watching the way Derek is holding a struggling Stiles up by the back of his shirt while Scott is just quietly hugging Erica's leg and chewing on his fist, looking annoyed.

“Unhand me!” Stiles cries in a high, sweet voice. The weird thing is that Isaac's right about the curse/spell/whatever, that both Scott and Stiles are still themselves in all the ways that matter, just with more emotional volatility. They can be having a perfectly reasonable, if spooky because if their size, conversation one moment and be pulling each other’s hair the next.

"Erica, put Scott down.”

“He likes it,” Erica says, having picked up Scott who is now dangling upside down by his feet in her grip.

“I kinda do,” Scott says. “I can’t really explain why this is fun.” He’s frowning, upside down but the frown disappears, replaced by a squeal of delight as Erica swings him around.

Stiles stops struggling and cranes his head over to look at Derek with big, pleading eyes. “Do that to me!”

“I’m not holding you upside down. Erica’s going to drop Scott on his head and he’ll only be fine because he’s still a wolf. Your skull will split open like an egg.”

“You won’t drop me,” Stiles says, and Derek tries not to be touched by his complete and unrelenting faith.

“I’ll do it,” Isaac volunteers and Stiles juts his arms out in Isaac’s direction but Derek kind of reels him in closer scowling.

“No, it’s fine. I can do it.” Derek flips Stiles upside down and then swings him, possibly a little too hard because Stiles goes all the way up and over and Derek has to awkwardly catch him against his shoulder. He’s suddenly cuddling Stiles against his chest, completely by accident, Stiles’ tiny sneakered feet drumming against him.

“Awesome,” Stiles enthuses and Derek resists the urge to bury his face in the top of Stiles’ head, drag deep the little boy scent of him. It might not just be his betas being affected by Scott and Stiles' current predicament.

“Again!” Scott and Stiles cry.

*

"Oh my god, hide me," Stiles says, tearing around a corner and burying his face in Derek's upper thigh.

"What? Stiles, what-?"

"Mrs. Jenkins," Stiles says in this panicked voice that immediately gets Derek grabbing him and yanking him closer. He releases his grip and kneels down so he's eye level with Stiles. They're back at the supermarket because apparently, unsupervised, Derek got the wrong kind of milk and not enough juice. He'd been planning to duck out by himself but Stiles had thrown something that looked suspiciously like a tantrum even though he vehemently denied it later until Derek agreed to take him along.

"What's the problem?"

"Mrs. Jenkins," Stiles hisses again, throwing a wary glance over his shoulder. He huffs when that name doesn't make Derek understand the danger. "She's been our neighbor for years, since I was a baby. She used to look after me. She knows exactly what little Stiles Stilinski looks like and if you don't want to have a very uncomfortable conversation with the woman about how a carbon copy of me exists, you'll hide me."

Derek hesitates for a moment, but then a woman he vaguely recognizes comes around the same corner Stiles did, wearing a puzzled frown and Derek tugs Stiles' hood up and over his head and then picks him up, tucking Stiles' face against his neck. Stiles goes limp, fingers curling in Derek's shirt and he tries not to let it warm him to the core because it's not real.

Mrs. Jenkins kind of falters when she spots him. She's one of the women with her fingers on the pulse of Beacon Hills, always knowing what scandals are occurring and she knows exactly who Derek is and everything that's happened to him and the Hale family. She's one of the people who would have talked about the fire being a bad business but still questioned everyone she could to pry loose every gory detail.

He sees her have a small, internal debate with herself, then she approaches him, pasting on a smile. She's far too curious about the small boy he's holding to be able to stay away. "Derek, dear. How have you been?" she asks.

"Fine, thank you," Derek answers politely. "Yourself?"

"Oh, can't complain," she says. Her eyes keep straying to Stiles and Derek knows she's just dying to ask about him. "The knee bothers me a bit in wet weather but we all have our little crosses to bear."

"True," Derek says. "Well, nice-"

"So, who is this little one then?" Mrs. Jenkins says, a little quickly, like she'd sensed her opportunity to get the scoop slipping away.

"Son of a friend," Derek says. "Just looking after him while she has so me time." Derek smiles, broad and charming. Despite what Stiles always says, he knows how to do that, how to make people blink and flush. Stiles always jokes about him being raised by wolves, unable to interact in normal social situations but Derek's well aware of how to get his way. His default is to be gruff but he has the ability to work outside that.

"Well, aren't you just precious," Mrs. Jenkins says, smiling back at him a little more solidly.

"Yeah, well, I'd better..." Derek says, indicating his arm load and the practically empty shopping basket at his feet. Mrs. Jenkins really looks like she wants to pump him for more information but doesn't know how so she finally nods, sketches a little wave at Derek and disappears.

"Coast's clear," Derek says. When Stiles doesn't move, Derek realizes that Stiles' steady heartbeat means he's fallen asleep, hooked over Derek's shoulder and breathing open mouthed and wet against his throat.

Derek hesitates in waking Stiles up. With his family, there had always been casual touching and no real sense of personal boundaries. Derek fell out of practice with that when he lost them and it was only him and Laura who'd held herself away from Derek, like she was scared of losing him too much to let him be as close as they were. Derek has had to fight through the impulse to bristle, the automatic tension when his beta's reach out, to reach out to them in return. Scott and Stiles in their current incarnation have confused all his natural signals.

If Derek's being honest though, Stiles has been able to touch him for a while now without Derek feeling that automatic discomfit. If he's being brutally honest, it isn't because Stiles as an adult is harmless. Derek knows he should probably get his head read for regarding Stiles as anything other than the useless and easily broken toy to Scott's cereal box but Stiles has a way of pushing and demanding until he's well and truly under your skin.

Derek knows, with sudden clarity, that he has to take the boys to Deaton, and soon. That he can't wait the five days. Derek wants Stiles the adult, to possess him, to mark him and stop his stupid, fragile self from running headlong into danger. Derek sees Stiles the child as his, body and soul, to protect and guide. The wolf inside has separated them into two entities and Derek is afraid that if it's happened to him, someone who can recognize it for what it is because of being a born werewolf, then the betas will have a much harder time of it.

"Stiles," Derek says, jostles his shoulder. Stiles blinks awake, muzzy and unaware, then frowns when he notices he's still being held up Derek and that he's, in fact, drooled on the shoulder of his jacket.

"Ugh, shut up," Stiles grumbles. "You are totally not allowed to use any of this when Scott and I are back to normal."

"I won't," Derek says and even though Stiles looks like he doesn't believe him, Derek will be only too happy to pretend that none of this ever happened.

*

Derek's resolve to return Scott and Stiles to adulthood as soon as possible firms when he gets back to the loft and Erica is sitting in the hallway outside, looking terrible. Her eye makeup's a mess and her lips look bitten raw. Derek nudges Stiles towards the front door and, for once, he goes without protest, giving Erica a worried look on his way.

Derek hunkers in front of her, balances by putting his hands down on her knees and she offers him a watery smile. "I don't think I can do this," she says.

"I know. I'm going to take them back to Deaton-" Derek doesn't get to finish his sentence. Erica's eyes flash gold and she lunges at him, claw and fang. Derek pins her easily, hovers over her throat with his own fangs bared until she goes limp and raises her chin, offering submission.

"You should go," Derek says, moving back and giving her space. Erica looks toward the door, stricken.

"Can't I just say good-"

"Do you think you can?" Derek interrupts and Erica shakes her head slowly, gets up and moves down the hallway, trailing her fingers down the wall like she needs the contact to stay on her feet. "Am I going to have to fight Isaac and Boyd, too?" Derek calls out.

"Boyd probably not," Erica says. "Isaac though?" She shrugs and Derek supposes he gets it. Of the three of them, Isaac and Erica would be the ones craving family the most. Boyd has his grandparents who raised him, his sisters besides. Isaac's been better with the physical aspects of the change, Erica with the instincts and Boyd with the emotional.

Isaac does start up a challenging growl when Derek gets inside and has finished telling them what he's going to do. He stops himself, leaves without being forced to go while Scott and Stiles clutch at each other.

Derek gives Boyd a hard glance and Boyd just nods at him. "I'm okay."

*

Deaton's not surprised to see them back so soon, but then again, Derek's yet to see Deaton surprised by anything.

"Wait, before we do this, I want to sort something out," Scott says, looking resolute. "Before everything gets complex again."

"Are we really having tear-filled final speeches?" Stiles asks. He sounds flippant but his voice wavers, giving away his nervousness.

"Not like that," Scott huffs. "I just wanted you to get that you're my best friend, that you always will be. You keep acting hurt and I don't know how to stop you feeling that way, how to make you see that you don't need to be."

"You can't really tell me how to feel, dude," Stiles says, starting to look annoyed.

"I'm not trying to do that," Scott says. "I'm just trying to get you to understand that I'm not replacing you but it's like you keep waiting for it to happen." Scott taps at his chin for a moment, looking troubled before his face clears. "Okay, so it's like my brain is this giant house and you have a room. You keep thinking I'm moving Allison or Isaac in there with you, crowding you out, but I'm not. They have their own rooms, they can't touch yours."

"That... okay, yeah, I get that but the wolf stuff-"

"It's not in there either. Look," Scott continues, turns so he's facing Stiles, both their knees pressing together, sitting on Deaton's exam table. "When you leave this place, and you will, don't make that face, because it's too small for you, I'm going to be one of those weird parents that keeps their kid's room pristine even though they don't live there anymore. You're always going to have that room. It's always going to be waiting for you, like a Stiles museum."

Scott scrunches his face up, turns his head sideways. "Does that make sense? I think maybe the metaphor got away from me a little at the end there."

"Yeah, it makes sense," Stiles says, reaches out and wraps small, spindly arms around Scott and squeezes him hard. "I can't say I won't get frustrated or feel left out, but I'll deal. We'll deal."

"Cool," Scott enthuses, then they both swival back so they're facing Deaton again.

"Seriously? That's it? All's right with the world of you two again?" Derek asks.

"Yes," Scott and Stiles both say.

"Okay, what do we do?" Stiles asks.

Deaton throws a glance at Derek. "You should wait outside, maybe outside hearing range," he says and Derek can't help bristling at that, because it means he's going to hear something that'll make him come storming back in, try to stop proceedings. "Derek, they'll be fine," Deaton adds, putting a warm hand on Derek's shoulder.

Derek retreats, even though his instincts are screaming at him to pick the both of them up, run like hell. He's outside the clinic before he knows it, Boyd waiting for him leaning against the car. "We should-" Derek says, nodding at the car.

Boyd, who'd been a tense line of misery, relaxes a little, says, "Yeah, let's."

*

Derek's back at the old Hale house, checking on progress when he hears the distinctive sound of Stiles' jeep. He fights the urge to run to the long drive like an eager puppy and instead forces himself to be more sedate about it, moving out to the porch and leaning against the railing as the jeep appears through the trees.

Stiles, adult-sized Stiles, slides out of the jeep and jams his hands in his pockets as he shuffles up. "Hey," he calls.

"Hey yourself. Feeling... better?"

Stiles tugs one hand free to sweep down his body and Derek follows the movement. Stiles is taller than him now, the breadth of his shoulders the same although he's still leaner. He's grown into himself lately and Derek would be kidding himself if he claimed not to have noticed.

"Yep," Stiles says, popping the p on the confirmation. "Had to drink some funky ass tea and then there was some ritual cutting-"

"What?" Derek growls immediately but Stiles holds his hands up, backs facing Derek so he can see. There's a few faint lines, look like they've been healing for days and not hours.

"Magic, bro," Stiles says. "It's a wonderful, if completely oddball thing."

Derek still trots down the stairs, catches Stiles' hands with his own so he can check them over. There's the scent of injury, but it smells old and Derek rubs a thumb over the slightly raised skin, frowning at it. Deaton had been right to dismiss him. If he'd gotten a whiff of blood then he would have been storming the clinic, uncaring of the consequences.

"Scott all good too?" Derek asks, realizing that it's a bit belated.

"Hunky, dory," Stiles assures, looking at him a little oddly because Derek is still holding his wrists. Derek puts his hands down with effort but not before a small, pleased smile starts to bloom on Stiles' face. "You were worried."

"Of course I was," Derek huffs.

"You were worried about me."

"And Scott."

"Yes, and Scott, but you were worried about me. I never thought I'd see the day."

"You're a lot to worry about," Derek says, aiming for dismissive but he doesn't quite make it. Stiles reaches out and this time he's got a hold of Derek's hand, sandwiches his palm with both of his own. They just look at each for a moment, then Stiles huffs and drops his gaze, stepping away and dropping Derek's hand.

"So, glad to have the old junk back to normal size. Talk about shrinkage," Stiles says and Derek rolls his eyes, crowds into Stiles' space. They could lose each other at any moment through curse, injury or misfortune and Derek's tired of not taking what he wants.

He's had a pretty crappy last few years. He deserves a little selfish time.

Stiles' scent goes spicy with nervousness and arousal and he swallows hard. "Um, you want to see?"

"No joking your way out of this," Derek says.

"Not trying to," Stiles says in a higher than normal voice. "Just a nervous vocal twitch. Ignore it."

"You think if I pin you down and fuck you senseless, you'll shut up?"

Stiles seems to contemplate that seriously for a moment. "For at least five minutes," Stiles finally says.

Derek tackles him back into a pile of leaves, Stiles letting out a bark of laughter as he goes.

"I'll take it."