Work Text:
“This is stupid,” Stiles grumbles, perusing the binders of “art” on the rickety, black coffee table before him. He flips through each plastic sleeve of colored drawings with a dull look upon his face.
“It’s not,” Scott argues. “It’s cool. Tattoos are cool, bro.”
Stiles closes the binder he’s sifting through, glaring dubiously at his friend. “How so, Scott? How is letting tiny needles penetrate your arm causing a gross, bleeding infection, cool?”
“It’s cool because it turns into art. It becomes symbolic,” Scott tells him, looking proud of his answer. He’s feeling deep and profound. Stiles shouldn’t ruin his moment—
“You’re an idiot.”
Scott rolls his eyes, slumping in the dirty leather chair as a heavy set man wobbles from the back room toward them.
“You eighteen,” he asks Scott in a gruff voice that smells like Jack Daniels.
“Yup.” Scott hands over the fake ID Danny made him that claims he’s twenty-one.
The big guy looks it over, eyes darting back and forth between the Scott’s stupid grin and the ID in his hands… “Whatever,” he says finally, tossing Scott his ID back to him. He flops down heavy onto the stool beside Scott and adjusts the Inkbed, angling it and the light for better access. “What do you want, kid?”
Stiles holds up a binder, pointing to a picture of a lizard man inside. “This. He wants this,” he smirks.
“No, I don’t,” Scott tells the tattoo artist. He digs into his pocket and pulls out an Arby’s napkin, handing it over. “I want this. Around my bicep.”
It’s a Sharpie sketch of two long, black bands.
“Good thing you drew a picture of it,” the tattoo artist quips. Stiles snickers.
Scott snatches the napkin from him. “Everybody’s got jokes today,” he mumbles under his breath.
The tattoo artist pulls on a pair of thin latex gloves, then preps Scott’s arm with a swab of alcohol before pouring black ink into his gun. “You got a problem with needles?”
“No,” Scott answers.
“What about blood?”
Scott shakes his head. “No,” he nods to Stiles grimacing as he looks on, “but he does.”
And the world turns as black as Scott’s sharpie sketch around Stiles’ eyes as soon as the needle touches Scott’s arm.
»»»
Stiles holds an ice pack to the back of his head as Scott climbs into the passenger’s seat. Greasy Saran Wrap covers his arm around his new tat.
“You alright,” Scott asks.
“I’ll live. What about you,” Stiles asks, nodding to Scott’s wrapped arm.
“I don’t know. Kind of stings a little…”
“Might have something to do with that needle that was puncturing your skin a few minutes ago, buddy.”
“No, like it really hurts.” Scott winces. “Like really hurts.” Scott’s squirming around in his seat, biting his lip as a searing pain burns around his tattoo. “Aw, fuck, dude!”
“What the hell, Scott?!”
And they both watch as the two solid lines slowly disappear.
“It…it healed. What…?”
“Well, that was unexpected,” Stiles says, eyebrow cocked at his disappointed friend. “Oh, well.” He turns the key in the ignition. “A noble venture, but alas it was never meant to be, comrade.”
“No way. We’re going back in.”
“What? No. I can’t sit through that again.”
“You didn’t the first time,” Scott mocks about Stiles fainting.
Stiles rolls his eyes, ignoring him. “You’re going in there to say what? ‘Yo, man, my tat you just inked on my arm disappeared because I’m a werewolf, so I need you to do it again. Free of charge, by the way’.”
“Well, we’ll just go to another tattoo parlor.”
“One more time, because I don’t think you understand: and what happens when it heals itself afterward, Scott?”
Scott groans and falls into his seat, smashing the back of his head into the headrest, frustrated.
“Face it, Scotty. Wolves are not meant to be branded.” He pats Scott’s knee in mock sympathy. “Sorry, buddy.”
“Derek’s got a tattoo…” he pouts, then bolts upright, a lightblub glowing over his head. “ Derek’s got a tattoo …” His wide eyes turn to Stiles.
“Shit,” the human grumbles.
“Yes! Derek! We’re going to Hale House,” Scott exclaims, excitedly punching Stiles in his arm.
“We’re not going to Hale House.”
“What? Why?”
Stiles could explain the complex decisions he’s made in avoiding Derek, or he can explain the complex desires he has in wanting to see Derek. Really wanting to see Derek.
Or, a third option, he can explain both.
He goes for a fourth, less painful option: the vague truth. “Derek’s busy. He’s got his hands full with his pack. I doubt he has time right now to help with your little tattoo problem.”
“Oh, yeah,” Scott remembers. And Stiles is grateful for his sometimes compassionate friend. Scott’s a bit dim, and selfish a lot of the time, but when you break things down to him in small parts, he’s actually quite understanding. “I forgot about Erica and Boyd being back. Lucky that he found them, you know?”
Stiles nods, because anything else, the slightest whisper could give him away. And Derek’s not a discussion he wants to have with Scott right now.
“Besides, you know, I kinda…still…haven’t, you know, talked to him…yet.”
Stiles’ eyes turn to fire as he glares at his best friend. Jaw set tight and hands tightening on the steering wheel.
“But I will! I am! I just haven’t gotten the chance yet, Stiles, I swear!”
“You got back from Los Angeles a week ago,” Stiles grits through his teeth. Scott’s a werewolf, and his best friend, his brother, but he is not above smacking him around, hoping to rattle some sense into him.
“I was settling in, and I haven’t seen you all summer, so I was trying to get in some bro time before school starts and—”
“You’re avoiding. Stalling!”
“I’m not! I’m going to go see him, Stiles. Before school starts.”
“School starts tomorrow.”
“Oh, right… I’ll go after school then! Derek and I need to talk, and… He’s the Alpha. We have to talk. Clear the air.”
“ And apologize ,” Stiles makes sure to add.
“And apologize. Right. You’re right,” Scott remembers nervously.
Scott’s 170lbs. of werewolf muscle. He can heal himself, howl, grow claws, and fangs, but the moment his best friend snaps at him with the slightest bit of ice in his tone, he’s a total puppy, sad and hiding under the porch. Stiles can’t help the small stroke it gives his ego.
“Will you go with me,” Scott asks.
“What?” And Stiles loses all the piss and vinegar he had a moment ago for sweaty palms and an uptick in his heartbeat he hopes Scott can’t hear.
“To Derek’s. Will you come with me? I think he’d be cooler about us talking everything out if you were there.”
“Why would you say that? I-I mean, wh-what makes you say that?”
Scott shrugs. “You like totally drive him crazy, but… I don’t know. I can’t explain it. It’s something with his heartbeat, and the way he smells when you’re around sometimes. Well, after the pool thing anyway. I just don’t want to go alone.”
Stiles doesn’t know what to do with that information. Well, he does, but storming over to Derek’s isn’t a wise, and though he’s known to make some very hasty choices, he’d much rather leave this one alone. For the time being.
But Scott’s giving him his puppy pout, glancing pathetically at his missing tattoo.
Goddamnit .
“Fine. We’ll go tomorrow. Someone’s got to make sure you don’t blow the whole thing.”
Scott grins stupidly. “Thanks, bro,” he slaps Stiles on the shoulder a little too hard, forcing him to lurch forward. “Sorry.”
Stiles rubs his shoulder. “Just remember this isn’t about your dumb tattoo, okay? That’s just a footnote to the bigger reason we’re heading over there.”
Scott nods. “Right. Of course.”
Scott may be all smiles, but Stiles is not happy. He had a plan. A very grown up, adult plan in how to deal with seeing Derek after 4 weeks of radio silence and a disappearing act, and this isn’t it. Scott and his dead beat tattoo was not how he wanted to sit down and have a mature conversation with the Alpha about what exactly happened between them over the summer.
And then, after their lengthy talk (in which Stiles speculates he’d be doing most of the gabbing), regardless of the outcome, he’d tell Scott.
Maybe.
Probably.
He’s about 70% sure he’d tell Scott.
“Thanks.”
“For what,” Stiles asks.
“Coming with to Derek’s tomorrow after school. I know you don’t like him and he scares you.”
Stiles scoffs. “He doesn’t scare me, Scott. And I… He’s not that bad after all. That’s why you need to say sorry for what you said to him. And what you did.”
“I know. I will, dude.”
Stiles clocks the steering wheel and turns into the street, heading back toward Beacon Hills. It’s almost ten and Scott’s gotta make curfew. Melissa is home, but Stiles’ dad is working overtime.
He thinks maybe he should stop by the station and bring his dad some of those vegan cookies he baked yesterday. The sheriff couldn’t even tell the difference until Stiles told him. And he should probably finish that thesis on the history of gender roles/stereotypes in comic books for his blog. He has blog now.
There’s also that documentary on manatees he wanted to watch, and half the bestiary he hasn’t gotten to read through yet.
“Dude. Stiles. You okay?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I don’t know. You’re quiet.”
“Fine. Just… School tomorrow, you know?”
“Thinking about Lydia, and seeing her with Jackson?”
An odd feel comes over him, or non-feeling. A sense of…nothing. A complete wave of blankness at the name of the girl that’s haunted his every waking (and sleeping) thought. A void. A hollow shell of…space. Quiet, empty space. And it’s weird how easy it suddenly feels to no longer care. It’s peaceful.
“No. I’m not thinking about Lydia. Or Jackson.”
“Well, good, dude. We should both move on.”
He says that, but they both know it’s a lie. Scott can’t move on from Allison, no more than Lydia could let Jackson go.
He’s never understood it. That all-consuming type of love. Wanted it, sure, but made any sense of it? No. But he’s starting to. Little by little, it’s getting clearer to him.
Which is how Stiles knows he’s fucked come tomorrow afternoon.
»»»
“You going to keep staring at her like a creep, or you going to go over there and actually say something,” Stiles snarks as he closes his locker.
“She asked for space. I’m giving her space. It’s the first day of school. I shouldn’t hound her on the first day. Right,” Scott asks, looking confused, desperate for a guiding hand.
“Let’s just get to the cafeteria for lunch, okay, bud?”
“Oh, shit. Lunch. We all eat together. Where are going to sit, Stiles?”
“With us,” interrupts a sultry voice. Erica. In sexy heels and a leather jacket. Boyd and Isaac stand behind her.
“Oh, uh…”
Erica wraps her arms around Stiles in a hug.
He’s admittedly taken aback for a moment, but eventually brings his arms around her, hugging her back. He wasn’t expecting that from her, but he gets why she did it, and it’s nice.
She pulls apart from him. “Come eat with us, Little Red,” she says with a crimson-painted smile and a wink. She loops her arm with his, pulling him along the corridor with her. Boyd follows.
“You, too,” Isaac says to Scott.
And the dopey teen trails after them, not knowing what else to do, as he catches Allison, Lydia, and Jackson’s curious eyes.
»»»
“Two wolves that merged into one wolf? Are you kidding me,” Stiles gripes, tossing down his plastic fork onto his lunch tray.
“Nope. Attacked the shit out of Isaac,” Erica confirms. “Me and Boyd took it down long enough to grab Isaac then run to Derek’s.”
“It had red eyes,” Isaac tells him. “Like an Alpha. And the two wolves: they were twins.”
“Well, that’s not weird at all,” Stiles snarks.
They had just gotten Jackson back to normal, or as normal as he’ll ever be, and taken down Allison’s demented grandfather. Now, this. Stiles thought that werewolves and lizard monsters were more than enough, and now they’ve got a Siamese werewolf to deal with.
“Jesus. You guys sound like you got a lot of crazy on your plate,” Scott says innocently as he pours ketchup on his French fries like a serial killer. Who does that, Stiles wonders. Ketchup goes on the side and you dip the fries in the pool.
Erica and Boyd exchange looks; she rolls her eyes and he snickers. Isaac shrugs in her direction.
Stiles can read their knowing glances. “Scotty, you know, you’re a werewolf, too,” Stiles tries to help.
“Yup,” Scott replies absently. His attention has moved from his stale fries to trying to look nonchalant and cool as he eats them, hoping Allison is watching.
“I’m just saying, if Derek needs help with this thing, this…mega-Alpha thing, then you should lend him a hand, you know?”
Scott looks up from his food at the encouraging eyes around the table. “That’s what his pack is for. You guys.”
Stiles doesn’t have to be a werewolf to hear Erica mumble “fucking hopeless” under her breath. It also helps that they’re sitting next to one another.
Scott shrugs at Stiles: “What?”
Stiles shakes his head and turns to Boyd. “What does Derek plan on doing? Has he ever heard of a werewolf, or two rather, that can do that?”
“He said he hasn’t,” Boyd answers.
“And this two-for-one werewolf is also an Alpha, so doesn’t he like, have to challenge Derek for his territory, or Derek has to toss him out of town on his furry tail?”
“Well, first we have to find the thing,” Isaac chimes in. “I remember what the twins look like, and Derek and I tried sniffing them out around town and in the Preserve, but—”
“Nothing,” Stiles finishes. Isaac nods.
“Well, we’re headed over to Derek’s after school. Let’s see if we can put our heads together and figure this out.”
“Cool. Thanks, Stiles,” Boyd says. He gives Stiles a friendly pat on his shoulder.
Stiles nods. Scott shoots him an odd look; brow furrowed in curiosity.
Stiles ignores it and picks up his Sloppy Joe sandwich. He puts it back down just as the cheap sauce touches his lips, shoving it away from him. He thought this year things would be different, or at least a lot calmer than last year when Scott got turned.
He thought he’d be more focused on school and his social life (or lack thereof) his Junior year. But his appetite is gone, replaced with the same heavy feeling he got when Matt Daehler appeared.
He realizes he was wrong; this year is going to suck.
»»»
“I’m just saying, we don’t have to get involved in this one, Stiles. It’s not like with Peter and Gerard and Matt. That was brought to our door. This crazy twin-Alpha thing has nothing to do with us. Derek’s the Alpha of Beacon County and it’s his territory to protect. He has a pack to help him do that. Erica and Boyd came back,” Scott argues his case.
Stiles makes a right off Main St. toward 14th. “I know that. But still. Derek tried to help us when he didn’t have to.”
Scott scoffs. “He felt guilty about Peter biting me is all.”
“That’s not entirely true, Scott.”
“How would you know? And why are we downtown? Hale House is the other way.”
Stiles parks in front of a 5-story brick building. They’re in Beacon Hills’ tiny “industrial district,” that once housed an old shoe factory and meat-packing facility that moved further south and inland when Stiles was born. More than half the area’s been converted into independent coffeehouses and loft apartments. There’s a bakery and gastropub around the corner, too.
“Derek doesn’t live at Hale House anymore. He has his own place,” Stiles tells him, hopping out of his jeep.
Scott climbs out, too. “When’d you find that out?”
“Over the summer,” Stiles says, offering as little information as possible. It’s pointless to do so. He can practically see the millions of questions Scott has running through his brain that he knows he’ll have to answer soon.
Like, within the hour soon.
For now he just doesn’t want to get into the complexities of it.
They walk to the clean, shiny front doors and enter the clean, shiny lobby. There’s a middle-aged woman wearing red eyeglasses around a gold chain in a crisp, blue blazer that looks up from her US Weekly to smile at Stiles.
“Hi, sugar,” she says.
“Hi, Marcy,” Stiles smiles back. “We came to see Mr. Hale.”
“All you kids need tutoring? You must have some history teacher at that school,” she tsks.
“She’s not that bad. Just detailed with her test and a little hard on essays.”
“Well, it’s a good thing you have Mr. Hale to help you study,” she says.
“It’s a good thing he does it for free,” Stiles says with an embellished laugh Marcy joins him in.
Scott’s mouth is open as he watches their little exchange.
“You’re such a card, Stiles! I’ll buzz Mr. Hale for you.” She picks up the receiver to the small black phone on her reception desk, mashing three buttons, and waiting. “Stiles is here. With a friend… Okay… You’re welcome, Mr. Hale.” She hangs up and presses a button under he desk.
The elevator doors ding and spread open.
Scott follows Stiles inside. “We have a butt-load of stuff to talk about, don’t we?”
“Unfortunately,” Stiles says, and gives a small wave to Marcy before the doors close.
»»»
“An Alpha pack? A whole pack, entirely made up of Alphas? How the fuck does that work,” Stiles asks.
“I don’t know. But they left their calling card on my door, and I don’t know if it’s a threat or an invitation,” Derek answers.
“Well, I mean, it’s got to be a threat if two of them attacked Isaac, right?”
“I tried tracking them down after, but it was too late. I couldn’t pick up his scent. They must have covered it somehow.”
“Isaac, you know what they look like, right,” Stiles asks the curly-haired beta.
“Yeah. Good-looking. Tall guys. Couldn’t tell one from the other. Mostly. Oh, and they were young. Like teenagers.”
“Ever see them before?”
Isaac shakes his head.
“And they morphed into a super-wolf,” Stiles asks for the fifth time today. He just can’t get over it.
Isaac nods again.
“I’ve never even heard of two wolves being capable of that. If they’re twins then they must have discovered they could do that when they were kids, during their first shift, or someone along the way taught them that,” Derek adds.
“Someone like their Alpha,” Erica says.
“Wait. I thought they were Alphas,” Scott says, looking like a confused labrador.
“They are, Scotty. But they’re in a pack, so there’s got to be a leader of the leaders.” He turns to Derek. “Got any clue as to who might fill out the rest of this motley crew of red-eyed mutant wolves?”
“Peter had an idea of who their leader could be. Told me before he skipped town. Will you look into it for me? I got some family history stuff that made it through the fire I can go through, but anything official, public records or hospital records, anything would be helpful.”
It’s the nicest Derek’s ever asked him to do something. At least since…
“Yeah. Sure.”
“Thanks.”
There’s a beat of silence, a moment of heated awkwardness that passes between them. It ends when Stiles catches Erica wink at him.
Stiles clears his throat. “Um, yeah. I-I’ll look into it for you.”
“Thank you.”
Scott hitches up his backpack on his shoulder and coughs obnoxiously. “Okay, cool, so we’re going to go—”
“Don’t you have something you want to talk to Derek about? That thing ,” Stiles interrupts.
Scott tries to communicate…something with his eyes and the constipated scowl on his face.
Stiles shrugs, not getting it.
Scott gives up. “No. It can wait.”
“No, it can’t,” Stiles says sternly.
“What the hell are you two on about,” Erica asks, folding her arms under her perky breasts.
Scott sighs. “My tattoo,” he relents.
“You got a tat, McCall,” Boyd asks, looking a bit amused.
“No, not your…” Stiles stammers, frustrated. “The other thing, Scott!”
Scott’s confused again for a moment, then it dawns on him: “Ohhh…yeah, uh…I-I really, um…” He looks at Derek nervously. “Now-Now’s not a good time. Later.”
And suddenly Stiles is left with his mouth wide open as he watches Scott tug open the heavy steel door and exit the loft.
“You and your boyfriend are weird, Stiles,” Erica teases, flouncing on Derek’s Salvation Army couch.
Stiles rolls his eyes, snatches his backpack off the floor, and follows Scott out to the elevators, feeling Derek’s stare at the back of his head as he leaves.
»»»
Scott: Why do you know Derek moved?
Scott: Why do you know the front desk lady by name?
Scott: Why did Erica and Boyd and Isaac asks us to sit with them at lunch?
Scott: Do you like Erica?!
Scott: Oh, my God! You like Erica!!!
Scott: That’s why you hardly look at Lydia anymore!!!
Scott calls. Stiles hits the big, red ‘Ignore’ button.
Scott: Oh, my God, dude, pick up!!!
Scott: PICK UP!!!
Scott calls again. Ignore after one ring.
Scott: Are you mad at me, bro?
Scott McCall: excited Chihuahua to kicked beagle in a heartbeat.
Stiles sighs and finally opens his messages on his cellphone.
Stiles: We’ll talk about it later.
Scott: But u r mad…aren’t you?
Stiles: Later, Scott!
A slow minute crawls by.
Scott: K. C U 2morrow.
Finally. Stiles tosses his phone down and grabs the empty bowl of popcorn he’s been munching on and heads downstairs. He comes into the kitchen and chucks another bag into the microwave and grabs a Dr. Pepper from the fridge.
Scott’s barrage of questions started before they even made it to the car. The same ones he asked when texting him, except he’s somehow gotten the impression Stiles has a crush on Erica between him dropping him off at home and now.
He ignored him right up to pulling in Scott’s driveway, still seething with him backing out of the talk he was supposed to have with Derek. The apology he owed him.
After the whole thing with Gerard, the bruise on Stiles’ cheek still fresh, Scott confessed to the whole plot, apologizing to Stiles for keeping him in the dark.
He also told Stiles he never included Derek in his plan either. And that left a bitter taste in Stiles’ mouth.
Stiles who knew about Kate, and not only what she did to Derek’s family, but to him. He felt sick with Scott using Derek the way he did.
Its taken Stiles longer than it should to figure out that all Derek’s been trying to do from the beginning is help he and Scott, in his own stiltedly aggressive way. And could the werewolf have communicated better as to what he was doing, gaining Stiles and Scott’s trust a lot faster? Better? Of course, but if wishes were horses… There’s a lot of things they each should have done differently. And Stiles thought it should first start with Scott apologizing to Derek.
Because maybe they can work together to keep Beacon Hills from turning into fucking Sunnydale.
So, he thought he’d try with Scott; convince him to talk things out with Derek, and for God’s sake say he’s sorry to him for using him, his body and his trust the way he did against Gerard. As emotionally constipated as Derek may be, he’s still a person, a good person, that doesn’t deserve to be treated like that.
But Stiles should have known Scott would chicken out. He’s a giant ball of touchy, romantic feelings except when it comes to other people. His he can deal with, expects others to deal with, but when reciprocation is needed, Scott McCall is nowhere to be found.
If this is the new, and improved Scott, than he’s still got some serious work ahead of him.
The microwave beeps and Stiles takes the hot bag out, dumping the popcorn into the bowl. He’d stay downstairs and watch TV, but his Xbox has been acting a little weird lately, not picking up the WiFi.
He heads back up the stairs to finish sifting through confidential medical records for a werewolf named Deucalion, and nearly jumps out of his skin when he catches Derek sitting casually on the edge of his bed.
“Jesus!”
“Sorry.”
His bedroom window is open.
“You could’ve knocked on the front door, you know.”
“I didn’t want your neighbors being nosy and tell your dad I was over here. I can go if you want me to. If you need me to.”
“…No.”
They stand in awkward silence a moment before Stiles realizes why Derek came over.
“I haven’t looked over anything. I just started the research, I mean. Sorry. I’ve sort of been vegging-out a bit. First day of school is over and there’s no homework, so I decided to take advantage.”
“It’s fine, Stiles,” Derek says. And he actually sounds like it is. “Scott seemed…strange. He smelled nervous. He okay? I’d ask but—”
“He doesn’t like you,” Stiles finishes for him, and regrets it immediately at the hurt look on Derek’s face.
“Right. That,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant.
“He’s fine. He will be at least. Just…some stuff…with us.”
Derek folds his arms over his barrel chest. “You guys going to be okay?”
Stiles nods. “Yeah. Yeah, we’ll be fine.”
“…Are you okay,” Derek asks, eyes looking serious and deep into Stiles.
“I’m fine,” Stiles tells him with a plastered on smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s sure Derek hears the lie in his heartbeat, and smells the sadness wafting off him, but this is where they are. No matter how much Stiles doesn’t want to keep doing this.
“Good,” Derek says, ignoring the lie. “Okay. Just thought I’d ask.”
“Thanks for asking.”
And Stiles swears he can hear the quiet hum of central air blowing through the vents in his room, and the accompanying drone of the fan on his computer.
“Let me know when you got that research done.”
“Sure thing, Alpha,” Stiles says dryly.
Derek nods and heads for the window. And just watching him turn his back to climb out of the second story, just like before, like that night is enough for Stiles to clinch his hands tight around his popcorn bowl with white knuckles.
He slams the bowl down on his desk! “We ever going to talk about it?!”
Derek freezes, one leg handing from the open window. He stays there, staring out into the dark night.
“Because this isn’t fair to me! I get a say, too! I have an opinion on what happens next, too, you know!”
And he’s full of such white, hot anger. Anger that he’s built up inside for two months now. 60 days of silence and pretending. Two things Stiles rarely does, but for Derek he did.
Derek finally looks at him. “I know you do, Stiles.”
“Then why are you treating me like what I want doesn’t matter?”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“Then what are you doing? Because you kissed me. You took me to the cliffs and sat and talked with me, about your family, and Laura, and Paige. About that fucking evil cunt, Kate. About what Scott did, what he said and how that made you feel—”
“And you talked to me about your mother, and your dad’s drinking.”
“Exactly my point, Derek! We opened up to each other! I’m not trying to make you feel like an asshole, it’s just… I helped you find Boyd and Erica. I was there when you fucking apologized to them and asked them to stay. I helped you train them, and Isaac, all summer. And you took me to the cliffs on the 4th of July and we talked . You kissed me at sunrise. You want more from me, Derek.”
Derek casually mentioned his family used to watch the fireworks from the high cliffs in the preserve when Stiles showed up that morning and said he had no plans and that his dad had to work.
So Derek drove them out to the surprisingly secluded cliffs.
Erica and Boyd wanted to watch the fireworks show up close and personal at Beacon Hills High’s lacrosse field. Isaac went too, but had a date with a girl spending the summer with her grandmother who lived in town.
Stiles and Derek watched the show silently, and when it was over, Derek thanked him for helping to find Erica and Boyd with him.
Stiles apologized on behalf of Scott. For him using Derek to defeat Gerard.
Derek tried to wave it off, but Stiles wouldn’t let him. He needed the Alpha wolf to know what he thought his best friend did was inexcusable and no one (particularly Derek) should be exploited like that.
Stiles saw to it as his personal mission that Scott redeem himself to Derek the moment he came back from spending the summer with his dad in LA. But he forgot to take into account how dodgy Scott can be when he’s embarrassed.
He and Derek talked all night, well into the sun coming up. And Stiles let out a little surprised whimper when the werewolf leaned in and pressed his lips to his. What didn’t startle him, however, was the way his mouth parted when Derek licked at his lips and slide his tongue inside. He’d been thinking about it, off-and-on, since school ended; wondering how soft Derek’s beard was, how his lips felt against his own, and how he tasted.
They kissed slow and sweet like that for what seemed like ages. Until the sun was bright and warm on Stiles’ face, and Derek held his hand back to the camaro, then drove Stiles home, parking down the block and helping Stiles sneak in through his bedroom window.
Stiles can’t say what he expected to happen next, but he wasn’t all that staggered when Derek was suddenly cold and distant the next day, and since then.
Stiles is exhausted. Exhausted with lying to his dad. Exhausted with Scott’s bullshit, with school, with monsters invading his town, trying to kill him, and with sexy werewolves who kiss him like it’s the end credits of some big, sweeping romance, but then treat him like an annoying kid brother the next day.
He’s exhausted.
He’s. Fucking. Done.
“You want more from me, and for whatever reason you’re lying to us both about it.” He steps closer to him, Derek’s bent knee grazing Stiles’ thigh. “You don’t have to do that, Derek. Whatever it is you want from me…you can have.”
Derek’s eyes narrow at his, and his ears prick up, trying to hear the lie in Stiles’ heartbeat.
There is none.
“…Stiles… I’m going to do nothing but hurt you.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s what I do.”
“That’s not true.”
And Derek scoffs, with a wryly, hurt smirk on his face.
Stiles wants to kill them: Peter for toying with Derek’s teenage heart, amusing himself with the tender crux of young, immature love. And Kate (if she weren’t already dead), for being the beast that she was; a monster cloaked in human skin, cursing Derek with undue contrition. He wants to hurt them both for shattering Derek to pieces and forcing him to put himself back together with broken shards and cracks in the veneer.
He sometimes thinks about the man Derek would have been had such cruel people hadn’t managed to slither into his life. He imagines he’d smile more, laugh more. That he’d sleep better, without the nightmares, and stand less at high-alert, but more with confidence.
He doesn’t know when Derek became this important. He figures it was somewhere between holding him up in a pool for 2 hours and his first kiss in the soft morning light after fireworks. He doesn’t care to figure it out anymore. He just knows that Derek is this important.
“That’s not true,” he says again, softly, eyes never leaving Derek’s, because he needs the Alpha wolf to know it’s the most honest thing he’s ever said.
Derek grabs the back of Stiles’ neck, tugging him forward and kisses him hard. Stiles’ fingertips dig into his leather jacket as he gives back just as hard, opening his mouth for Derek to deepen their kiss.
Stiles tugs lightly on the labels of the jacket, urging Derek from the window sill.
Derek’s lips pull slowly from Stiles’ mouth. He rests their foreheads together and takes a deep breath, inhaling Stiles’ scent and rubbing soft circles with his thumb behind his ear. “I want you, Stiles…”
“You can have me.”
“…But I don’t deserve you.”
He slips out of the window before Stiles utters a single syllable in response. Disappearing into the darkness beyond the tall, street lamps.
He wants to call after him, screaming at him for being a coward. But Derek’s hardly chicken.
He’s cautious, and there’s a difference.
Cautious Stiles can deal with. Cautious he can do. Cautious means proceed, but with care. And Stiles cares. He cares more than he ever thought he would. It accounts for more than half his current problems.
So he watches his movie on manatees, eating all his popcorn, then brushes his teeth. He changes out of his clothes, and climbs into bed, covers tucked around him, eyes closed, and ready for sleep.
With his window still open.