Chapter Text
The loft was quiet in that comfortable way it only ever was late at night.
The windows were open just enough to let cool air drift through, carrying the distant sounds of Beacon Hills: cars passing, someone’s music a few blocks away, the faint rustle of trees. Stiles sat cross-legged on the couch with his laptop balanced on his knees, muttering to himself as he graded lacrosse drills for the next practice. “Why do teenagers insist on inventing new ways to almost die during conditioning…” he mumbled, typing.
Behind him, Derek stood near the large windows. He’d been standing there for a while. Too long. Stiles noticed things like that. He glanced up over the top of the screen. “You’ve been doing the broody werewolf statue thing for like… twenty minutes.”
No answer. Stiles tilted his head. “Okay. Either someone died, someone’s about to die, or you’re thinking about something you don’t want to say out loud.”
Derek’s shoulders tensed slightly.
“Derek.”
The werewolf finally turned, dark eyes flicking toward him before immediately looking away again. Derek Hale did many things. Avoiding eye contact with Stiles Stilinski was not usually one of them.
Stiles slowly closed his laptop. “…Okay now I’m worried.”
Derek ran a hand through his hair, clearly debating something in his head. Then he walked over. Not with his usual confidence. Not with that quiet predatory grace that made Stiles feel like prey and boyfriend simultaneously.
No. This was hesitant. Which was somehow ten times more alarming.
Derek stopped a few feet away. “Stiles.”
Stiles leaned back against the couch cushions, studying him. “You say my name like that when you're about to tell me something weird.”
Derek huffed softly. “Probably.”
“Well that’s comforting.”
Silence stretched between them. Then Derek said quietly, “I need something.”
Stiles blinked. “…Okay?”
The words sounded simple enough, but Derek’s vibe had shifted: nervous, uncertain, something deeper under it Stiles couldn’t immediately name.
Derek didn’t ask for things often. Especially not like this. Stiles sat up straighter. “What kind of something?”
Derek hesitated again. Then he said it. “I want you to… be in charge.”
Stiles stared at him. “…I’m sorry what.”
Derek’s jaw tightened. “You heard me.”
“Oh I heard you,” Stiles said quickly, holding up both hands. “I just assumed I hallucinated it because historically speaking you are Mister ‘throw Stiles against a wall and growl about it.’”
Derek looked vaguely annoyed.
Stiles pointed at him. “Nope. You do that. Don’t pretend you don’t do that.”
Another pause. Then Derek spoke more quietly. “Usually.”
Stiles’s expression softened slightly. “…But not tonight?”
Derek shook his head once. “No.”
The single word carried weight. Something vulnerable sat underneath it, something Derek clearly wasn’t comfortable exposing. Stiles felt his confusion fade into careful attention. He slid off the couch slowly, giving Derek space.
“Okay,” he said gently. “Explain.”
Derek exhaled slowly through his nose. “It’s not… weakness.”
Stiles snorted softly. “Buddy, if I thought needing something from your boyfriend made you weak, we’d have broken up about fifteen emotional breakdowns ago.”
That earned him the faintest twitch of Derek’s mouth. Encouraged, Stiles softened his tone even more. “So what is it?”
Derek looked at him finally. “Sometimes,” he said slowly, “I need to not be the one holding everything together.”
The honesty in the statement hit harder than anything else could have. Because Stiles knew Derek. Alpha. Protector. The one who always stood between danger and everyone else. The one who carried too much.
“…You want to give that to me for a while,” Stiles said quietly.
Derek nodded. “Yes.”
A request. Stiles stepped closer. “Okay.”
Derek’s brows pulled together slightly. “…Okay?”
“Yeah,” Stiles said. “Okay.”
“You’re not… weirded out?”
Stiles tilted his head. “Derek.”
“What.”
“You literally asked your boyfriend for help. That is like… the least weird thing you’ve ever done.”
Derek looked unconvinced. Stiles reached out slowly, giving him time to move away if he wanted. He didn’t. Stiles rested a hand lightly against Derek’s chest.
“Tell me what you need,” he said softly.
The contact made Derek’s breathing shift slightly. “Control,” Derek admitted. “But not mine.”
Stiles felt something settle into place in his chest. “Oh.”
He understood now. Not completely. But enough. Stiles squeezed his shirt gently between his fingers. “You want someone else to hold the leash for a bit.”
Derek huffed. “…Don’t say it like that.”
“You’re a werewolf. The metaphor is right there.”
Despite himself, Derek gave a small smile. It faded quickly though as uncertainty crept back in. “You don’t have to.”
Stiles rolled his eyes. “Derek.”
“What.”
“You trust me with your life.”
Derek didn’t argue that.
“So trusting me with… this?” Stiles shrugged. “Kinda seems like a smaller step.”
Derek studied him carefully. “You’re sure?”
Stiles nodded once. Then, more deliberately this time, he placed both hands on Derek’s chest and gently pushed.
Derek blinked but allowed himself to be guided backward until the backs of his knees hit the couch.
“Sit.”
Derek froze. Not because the word was harsh. But because it wasn’t. It was calm. And Derek’s wolf reacted immediately to the tone. He sat. Slowly.
Stiles noticed the way Derek’s shoulders dropped slightly once he was seated, tension easing just a fraction.
Stiles stayed standing in front of him. “…Okay,” he murmured. “We’re figuring this out together.”
Derek nodded. His hands rested loosely on his thighs, fingers twitching once like he didn’t quite know what to do with them. Stiles leaned down a little, voice soft. “You doing alright?”
Derek met his eyes. There was something vulnerable there. “Yes.”
Stiles smiled faintly. “Good.”
He brushed his fingers lightly through Derek’s hair. Derek’s eyes closed instantly. The reaction made Stiles pause in surprise.
“…Oh,” he whispered.
Interesting.
He continued the motion, slower this time. Derek leaned into the touch almost unconsciously. And for the first time since the conversation started, the tension in his body melted a little more.
Stiles smiled softly to himself. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I think I can handle this.”