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Scott McCall doesn’t tell Stiles privately. That’s the point. They’re at the preserve under the guise of training, but Scott has stopped pretending it’s about anything other than asserting control. Lydia watches from the hood of her car. Malia sharpens a blade she doesn’t need. Derek stands near the tree line, quiet and watchful, his attention never fully leaving Stiles.
Stiles is tightening the straps on his gloves when Scott raises his voice.
“So,” Scott says, grin sharp and performative, “guess who’s officially off the market.”
The air changes. Stiles doesn’t look up right away. He feels the intent before the words land, knows this isn’t information, it’s theater.
Scott gestures broadly. “Derek. Heard you’re dating someone.”
There’s a pause, deliberate and heavy. Derek’s jaw tightens.
Stiles finally straightens. “Is this where you expect me to spiral, or are you saving that for later?”
Scott laughs. “I just figured you’d want to know.”
Derek steps forward. “Back off.”
Scott ignores him. “I mean, after everything, it’s got to sting, right? Guess Hale types move on faster than you thought.”
Stiles exhales slowly. “I know something you don’t know,” he says mildly.
Scott scoffs. “Sure you do.”
—
Scott doesn’t stop. He escalates. Over the next week, he makes sure Stiles hears it—always with witnesses, always framed like concern.
“You should hear what people are saying,” Scott remarks loudly in the loft one night. “That Derek finally found someone stable.”
Stiles looks up from his laptop. “Interesting that you think stability comes from someone who doesn’t challenge you.”
Scott shrugs. “Just saying. Some people make better long-term options.”
Derek’s voice cuts in, low and dangerous. “That’s enough.”
Scott turns on him. “You don’t get to be mad at me for telling the truth.”
“What truth?” Stiles asks quietly.
Scott’s eyes lock onto his. “That you were never going to be enough.”
The room goes still. Malia growls under her breath. Lydia straightens, eyes cold and assessing. Stiles feels the old reflex stir, deflect, absorb, make it easier for everyone else. He’s done that his whole life. But three years of being chosen rewires something fundamental.
“You’re not saying this because you care,” Stiles says. “You’re saying it because you’re angry I stopped centering my life around you.”
Scott laughs, brittle. “Wow. You really think you mattered that much?”
Derek moves without hesitation, placing himself squarely between them.
“Get out,” Derek says.
Scott bristles. “This is pack business.”
“You don’t get to weaponize my personal life to control him,” Derek replies, voice iron-hard.
Scott freezes. “Him?”
The word lands wrong. Possessive. Ugly.
Stiles steps forward. “Yes. Him. Me. The person you keep trying to punish for growing a spine.”
Scott shakes his head. “You really think this is about control?”
Stiles meets his eyes, calm and devastating. “You stopped seeing me as a person the moment I stopped being useful to you.”
—
Lydia figures it out before the confrontation ever reaches its peak. She watches Derek track Stiles without making it obvious. The way Stiles leans into Derek’s space without thinking. The way silence settles easily between them.
She corners Stiles in the kitchen. “How long?” she asks.
Stiles sighs. “Three years.”
She stares. “And you didn’t tell me?”
“You’re nearly psychic,” he says weakly. “I assumed.”
She studies him. “Are you happy?”
“Yes,” Stiles answers immediately.
“Then good,” Lydia says. “Because Scott’s about to lose a lot more than he realizes.”
—
The breaking point comes on the full moon. Scott storms into the loft like he owns it, anger rolling off him in waves. Derek is on his feet instantly.
“You’ve been lying to me,” Scott snaps.
Stiles folds his arms. “About what?”
“You and Derek.”
The room goes silent.
Derek’s voice is calm. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”
Scott points at Stiles. “You manipulated him.”
Stiles laughs, sharp. “You don’t get to rewrite my agency because you don’t like my choices.”
“How long?” Scott demands.
“Three years,” Derek says.
Scott stares. “You’re choosing him over the pack.”
Stiles doesn’t hesitate. “I’m choosing myself.”
Scott looks around for support. There is none.
“You don’t get access to me anymore,” Stiles says quietly. “You lost that privilege.”
Derek laces their fingers together. “You’re done here.”
Scott leaves furious and empty-handed.
—
Later, the loft is quiet. Moonlight spills through the windows.
Derek kneels in front of Stiles. “You okay?”
Stiles smiles, tired but steady. “Yeah. I really am.”
Derek kisses him, slow, unapologetic, real.
“I don’t need them to know,” Stiles murmurs.
Derek presses his forehead to his. “Good. Because this was never for them.”
Scott McCall thought secrets were weapons. He never realized that some of them are shields. And some loves don’t break when exposed. They sharpen.
—
END.