Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stiles is sick to death of hospitals. But even as he thinks it, he knows that isn’t fair. At least he gets to leave. Scott’s been in there nearly two months already, surrounded by beeping machinery and other patients wheezing in the beds all around, and it doesn’t look like he’ll be coming home any time soon.

This is the worst it’s ever been, at least for as long as Stiles has known him. He’s suffered with lung problems ever since he was born, but he’d made improvements as he got into his teenage years and they’d thought he’d be able to live his life, albeit not a very active one. That had been until Scott’s Soulbite manifested on his neck and the shock and the pain of it sparked an episode so bad that it landed him in the hospital, permanently hooked up to oxygen and too weak to stand. At risk of heart or respiratory failure, a few years at most. That’s what the doctors are saying.

Scott’s mom, Melissa, has been spending almost every waking hour at the hospital, either on shift or staying with Scott on his ward. It leaves another absence in the house, despair lingering just like when his mom got sick, like the way it had been before Melissa and Scott came into their lives and he started calling Scott his brother. He knows his dad feels it too. He says it in every one of his bone-crushing hugs and helpless shoulder squeezes. With Melissa gone so much of the time, Stiles had been expecting him to disappear and pick up more shifts at the station where he works as a Sheriff’s Deputy, like he can remember him doing after mom died. Instead, he cuts down wherever he can, spending more time at home to be with Stiles and take care of the house while Melissa focuses on Scott.

The two of them had met back when Stiles’ mom was in hospital, but it wasn’t until a few years after her passing that they bumped into each other again while his dad was visiting the hospital to question a patient. Melissa had lost her Soulmate too, and as the parents of two young boys of the same age, it had felt only natural for them to come together.

He’s always taken comfort in their small family unit, but he can’t escape the invasive thought that it’s soon going to get even smaller. It’s hard not to think it when each hospital visit feels like a last goodbye, no matter Scott’s eternal optimism and chipper smile through his oxygen mask.

The house is too quiet, but even switching on the TV does nothing to combat it. It especially doesn’t help when it comes on to a news channel displaying a shot of the welcome sign out the front of Beacon Memorial Hospital. It’s in the middle of a story about a female patient who was administered the Bite by Alpha Talia Hale earlier in the day - at the same time that Stiles was in the building. The girl is apparently the Soulmate of one of the born wolves in the Hale pack, which got her bumped up the list for the Bite after a seizure left her hospitalised. Stiles nearly grinds his teeth at that. Scott has made the application for the Bite, but they don’t have any connections they can use to move him up the list, stuck with relying on the system.

Seeing the Alpha walk out of the very same automatic doors Stiles had left by nearly makes him sick to realise how close he’d been to her without even knowing. But if he had, what would he have done? Marched down there and demanded that the Alpha give the Bite to Scott right now and wagged his finger in her face?

Probably.

But even if he had, it wouldn't have been any good. They’re still waiting on the results to know if Scott’s body is even compatible with the Bite, and the chances aren’t good. It hadn’t been an option for his mom.

The Alpha strides down the front steps with two of her children by her side, Laura and Derek, both in consideration to eventually be the next Alpha. Laura is sunny and elegant, but Derek looks even haughtier than usual, eyebrows drawn down in a scowl and stubbled jaw clenched. He’s still - always - ridiculously good-looking, and even amongst Stiles’ current dark mood, seeing him still makes his stomach flip.

Half of Derek’s Soulbite peeks over the collar of his leather jacket, the fanged imprint making him and his two sisters the seventh generation of Hales in a row to all have born wolf Soulmates. It supposedly makes the Hale pack more powerful, though a pack’s strength is mainly determined by a combination of its age and number of members. In the past, an Alpha’s Bite was so often abused to boost the strength of werewolf packs, often without permission of the recipients. As a result, the Beta Treaty was drawn up and signed by every city-state in North America over fifty years ago, an agreement to limit the number of Bites that can be administered each year to prevent meteoric shifts in power, and only then if it’s to save a life.

Without all of those newer rules and restrictions, Scott probably would have had the Bite by now. Instead, they’re still waiting, and even if the results do end up positive, who knows how long it will take for him to get to the top of the list. And in the meantime, anything could happen.

He stabs at the off button with his thumb and whips the remote down onto the sofa with an unsatisfying whump. He’s living in a constant state of wanting to destroy something, though he’s already discovered it does nothing to help. Last week, he’d snapped in half every pencil from an old art tin he’d begged for in middle school during a short-lived artistic phase. For a moment, it had felt good, but his dad had just looked sad when he discovered them in the trash, saying nothing. Then it had just felt like something else ruined, something else he can’t get back.

He turns his back on the TV and makes the slow climb up the stairs to his room, trying not to look at Scott’s closed bedroom door as he cuts across the landing. Open or closed, it’s still a reminder that he isn’t in there.

His dad gets home almost an hour later with the news that Melissa will be spending the night at home, the first time in over a week. She’s pale and tired when she walks in the door, and his dad insists on running her a bath after dinner even as she weakly protests. She probably won’t sit in it for more than ten minutes, and Stiles is sure she’ll have already left for the hospital before he gets up in the morning.

“I’m going to turn in early,” his dad tells him once Melissa is already out and climbing into bed herself.

He’s been doing that a lot lately, like he’s hoping the earlier he goes to bed, the earlier he’ll manage to fall asleep. Sleep isn’t something that comes for any of them right now.

“Yeah. See you in the morning.”

He gives Stiles his usual shoulder squeeze, and Stiles follows him up not long later to lay in bed on his phone, losing all his lives in the current match 3 game he’s playing and then opening and closing Twitter even though there’s nothing new for him to look at. Scott hasn’t replied to his last message which means he must be asleep - and he doesn’t lie there thinking about what he’ll do when the time comes that he never gets another response.

Sleep takes a long time to come. Most nights pass in a weird sort of haze where he must drift in and out while the numbers on his clock barely move, plagued by the constant sensation that the phone is a beat away from ringing.

He’s somewhere between sleep and wakefulness when he hears a noise somewhere in the house - Melissa, he thinks through his sleep-muddle, rolling onto his back and floating in exhaustion. But then his world tilts, the bed dipping, and there’s a weight over him, caging him in. Growling. His eyes flutter open in distant confusion as hot air sweeps over his throat and he stares up at twin beams of gold shining inches from his face.

Werewolf.

He goes limp in terror. The werewolf over him makes a pleased noise, and then the breath is back at his neck again, sharp fangs pricking against the skin there. The wolf whines, a pitiful sound like a kicked dog, fangs shifting over his skin.

Stiles does the only thing he can.

“DAD!”

The werewolf jumps at the sudden shout, blanketing him tighter, and it’s only seconds until his dad is in his bedroom doorway with Melissa close behind, flicking on the light.

The werewolf whips his head round to the intruders, a warning growl sounding long and low in his throat. Stiles stares open-mouthed at the side of his face, at the thick eyebrows, sharp nose and perfectly groomed stubble of a golden-eyed and fanged Derek Hale. He’s covered in sweat, dripping in it, like he took a quick dip in the community pool on his way over here.

“Dad,” Stiles whispers, and his dad holds up his hand, though whether he’s trying to placate him or Derek, he has no idea.

“Okay, son. Just don’t move.”

“Couldn’t if I tried.”

Derek hasn’t stopped growling. His dad holds an arm out to Melissa and they both retreat until their backs hit the hallway wall outside his room. Derek seems to consider that better and returns to Stiles’ neck, making whining noises again.

“Who do we call for something like this?” Melissa asks quietly, and a laugh starts to bubble up Stiles’ throat, hysterical. Has anyone ever been briefed for this kind of situation?

His dad dithers like he doesn’t want to take his eyes off Stiles but ultimately decides he has no choice.

“Keep an eye on them.”

He disappears from the doorway, his tread creaking on the stairs.

“You okay, Stiles?” Melissa asks, and Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever appreciated her quiet strength more.

“Yeah, he’s—he’s not hurting me.”

In fact, it’s like Derek is trying to do the opposite. Rather than a cage, he seems to think he’s acting as a shield, protecting. Then his hips shift and Stiles’ eyes go wide, staring at Melissa in horror. That definitely isn’t just something in Derek’s pocket.

And now Stiles realises exactly what this is. He’s not gone feral. This is heat.

Derek Hale is in heat in his bed.

Derek’s hips shift again, this time with intent, and Stiles really wishes Melissa wasn’t watching this.

“Hey!” she shouts and Derek growls, half-turning his head towards her, but his hips still. “None of that,” she warns, meaning business. “Don’t make me throw things.”

Derek’s hips might not be moving anymore but that doesn’t mean Stiles can’t still feel him. And this is Derek Hale, a ‘celebrity’ heartthrob Stiles has had a borderline fixation on since he first discovered what attraction was. Or maybe Derek was the reason for him discovering what it was in the first place. The point is, he’s a seventeen-year-old boy pressed up against a sexy wall of muscle and strength and danger - a very interested wall of muscle and strength and danger. He can’t help it if he’s a little affected.

Derek lifts his head to look at him then, nostrils flaring and eyes still glowing, his head cocked. Stiles squeaks, mortified that Derek can scent on the air what this is doing to him, but it just has Derek leaning in closer and Stiles has the funny thought that he might be going in for a kiss.

“Hey!” Melissa shouts again and this time she steps back into the room.

Derek whips his head back round to fix his golden eyes on her, back to growling a warning. He stays that way, even when his dad returns.

“I pulled some strings at the station and managed to get in touch with the family,” he murmurs. “They’re sending someone.”

That someone ends up being Alpha Talia Hale.

It only takes fifteen minutes going by the clock on his nightstand, but it’s still the longest and most awkward fifteen minutes of his life. His dad and Melissa stay hovering in the doorway while Derek eventually tires of growling and buries his nose in Stiles’ neck. The Alpha strides straight in the house and up the stairs when she arrives, the front door already busted in from Derek, according to his dad, and Stiles’ mouth drops open at the sight of her, at the sight of Laura Hale and her Soulmate close behind.

She doesn’t stop at Derek’s warning growls, marching right over to him and not hesitating even when he gnashes his fangs at her. He lashes out with one arm, the other hooking around Stiles, cradling him like a ragdoll.

“Derek, let go,” Alpha Hale orders, her eyes flashing red and her voice reverberating with an Alpha command.

Derek goes limp on top of him, face dropping to the pillow beside Stiles’ head, his growl rising to a frenzy in his displeasure.

Laura and her Soulmate step into the room to wrestle him up and off, and though Derek’s body might be going along with what’s been ordered of him, his expression is mutinous. He snatches at Stiles’ comforter as he’s dragged away, clutching at it with both hands as he’s hauled, snarling and glowing-eyed, out the door.

Stiles props himself up on his elbows and stares after him, at his dad, then Melissa, then up at the Alpha herself still standing beside his bed. His dad and Melissa are still as dumbfounded as he is, but Stiles is never one to be short of words.

“What the fuck was that?”

Chapter Text

Stiles stares in amazement at Alpha Hale sitting primly in a chair at their kitchen table. She looks so human lit by the overhead lights, and he doesn’t mean it in the non-werewolf way. He’s only ever seen her on TV screens before, on the front pages of newspapers and glossy magazines. It’s hard to comprehend that the two are one and the same. She’s not wearing makeup and her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail after she must have just rolled out of bed, but it does nothing to subdue her intimidating aura. 

Melissa had offered her tea or a glass of water, feeling like the thing to do despite the late hour, but Alpha Hale had respectfully declined.

“I hope you’ll accept our sincere apologies for what happened here tonight.”

Stiles still isn’t sure what did happen. “But why did he come here? In heat?”

Alpha Hale pauses. “As this is a matter of confidentiality, I can’t discuss the details of Derek’s mating status.”

“But why Stiles?”

The Alpha’s guarded eyes study Melissa. “I would like the answer to that myself.” Her gaze flickers to Stiles and he almost gulps. “A similar scent most likely.”

“But if he was in heat, how did he escape a heat room?” his dad asks, like he’s got his Deputy badge on and is mid-interrogation.

The Alpha purses her lips; it looks like someone is going to face her wrath. “I can’t disclose those details. Whatever the case, I will see to it personally that this doesn’t happen again.”

“Is there a chance that it could?”

“Until I speak to Derek, I have no way of knowing the reasoning behind why he came here.” She rises to her feet, a note of finality in the gesture. “You already went to great lengths to be discreet when you got into contact, and we’re all very grateful. I’m sure I don’t need to stress how important it is that you continue to be so.”

And doesn’t that sound like an opportunity? Stiles squares his shoulders, stomach clenching as he prepares to hold his ground. “On one condition.”

“Stiles,” his dad reprimands, horrified.

“Just a request,” he defends.

The Alpha’s expression is guarded as she studies him. He doesn’t know what she’s looking for or what she sees, but she gestures with her hand for him to go on.

“We made an application for the Bite, for my brother, Scott.”

“I’ll look into it,” she agrees before Stiles can even ask.

Melissa's shaking fingers curl over his shoulder, squeezing. “Thank you, Alpha Hale,” she breathes, the sound of years of worry condensing into weak-kneed relief.

Stiles doesn’t dare to allow himself the same hope. When it comes to Bite compatibility, he’s been let down once before. But at least they’ll know. At least they won’t be stuck in this limbo. That is, if the Alpha really does pull through.

She starts to head for the door, but Stiles has another question. “Am I gonna get my comforter back?” 

Her eyes widen, her lips pressed together; it’s the first time she's been flustered in this whole situation. 

Stiles’ cheeks go hot. “On second thought, you can keep it. I’ll use Scott’s.”

He trails behind the adults as they escort Alpha Hale out, and she purses her lips again as she regards the front door swinging on its hinges.

“I’ll have someone sent to fix this.”

“Thank you, Alpha Hale,” his dad says, and Stiles has to bite his tongue. Fixing their front door is the least they should do.

She gives him one last look before she heads back down the front path, and Stiles watches her go, wondering if this will be the last they’ll ever see of her. Their paths will have no reason to cross again if Scott’s results come back negative.

His dad doesn’t push the door shut until she’s reached the road. They all turn to each other, Melissa shaking her head and her mouth open even though she’s lost for words to describe the past thirty minutes.

“I thought you shouted because you’d gotten your Soulbite. Not—” His dad waves vaguely around with his hand in a way that aptly conveys his speechlessness at the situation.

“I can guarantee you, no one was as shocked as I was.” It feels like he’s left his stomach back up in his bed. “Are we going to tell Scott?”

Excitement overcomes Melissa’s face, but it flickers and fades, her hand coming up to squeeze at his shoulder again. “No, sweetheart. Not yet. Not until we have the answer.”

That makes sense, but Stiles knows they're all imagining what they’ll do if the answer isn’t the one they’ve wanted. 

Melissa clings onto some positivity, even though her smile is sad. “This is a good thing. Thank you, Stiles,” she says, pulling him into a hug, her mouth by his ear. “That was very brave.”

‘Desperate’ is what Stiles would call it. It’s not like it took much courage. The Alpha wasn’t going to tear him to pieces for asking. 

“You did good, kiddo,” his dad agrees, joining in on the hug.

They stay like that for a good minute, and if their thoughts are anything like Stiles’, he knows they must be cycling between relief, worry, and praying in their own way that they get the outcome that they’re wishing for.

“Come on,” his dad eventually says with a simultaneous pat to the back to each of them. “Back to bed, I think. You’ve still got school in the morning.”

“Can’t I take the day off? After what my poor heart just went through, I think I need a day or two to recover.”

“You can recover by making the most of the rest of the night back in bed.”

Stiles heaves a sigh, grumbling under his breath as he climbs the stairs, leaving his dad to sort out a temporary solution for the front door.

He doesn’t even know how to make sense of what just happened. He would chalk the whole thing up to a shared dream brought on by their exhaustion if his comforter wasn’t still missing when he gets back to his room.

Derek Hale, he thinks, shaking his head as he steps into Scott’s room to steal his covers. He gets that the Alpha couldn’t give them any personal details, but curiosity burns in his chest. A ‘similar scent’? Was he just wandering the streets, confused, until he caught the scent of the Stilinski household and got pulled in their direction?

But for Derek to have gone into heat, he has to have met his Soulmate. It’s encountering their other half’s scent which triggers it in a werewolf in the first place, but there’s been no mention of that anywhere on the news.

What’s going on?

He can still catch a hint of the way Derek had smelled when he climbs back into bed, his aftershave and leather jacket and all that clean sweat. He wonders what it might smell like in here now to a werewolf nose, if the scent of Derek’s heat is like a fog. And what was it about Stiles that enticed Derek in off the street in the first place? It irks him that he’s probably never going to find out.

*

The Hale Pack acceptance letter is waiting for them on the mat the very next morning. It takes them a minute to parse exactly what it means, scouring the wording, unable to believe their eyes. But it’s there in black and white: Scott is compatible. He’s going to become a werewolf.

It’s the source of a lot of tears and hugging as it starts to sink in, brimming with disbelief as they stare at the letter over and over, one of them reaching for it as soon as another puts it down, rereading, just to make sure they haven’t misunderstood.

Melissa hurries off to get dressed as soon as the shock has worn off, and Stiles starts begging for the day off school so he can go with her to the hospital. He relents when his dad convinces him to give the two of them a private moment. This is something they’ve been dealing with ever since Scott was born; he can understand that this might be some news Melissa will want to deliver by herself.

He heads upstairs to get ready for school instead, wondering what sort of strings the Alpha must have pulled to get Scott’s blood tested so quickly, but the answer is simple. She’s Alpha Hale. She probably just had to snap her fingers to get a minion to make a phone call and it was done. She must really, really want to keep them buttered up and quiet. He can’t blame her. If word got out that the Alpha’s son had been roaming the streets in heat, breaking into houses…

But what if their house wasn’t the first one he went to? How far did Derek’s trail through the city go?

That’s classified, is probably the answer he’d get if he tried to ask if he sees her again. But he is going to, isn’t he? She’s going to have to administer the Bite, and Stiles will fight tooth and nail to make sure he’s there for it.

The three of them share another round of hugs before they go their separate ways for the day, everything outside seeming a little brighter than it had been the day before. Seeing Mr. Harris’ face, and even sitting alone at a lunch table isn’t enough to dampen his mood.

He gets a text from Scott during first period, an appropriately apt: Dude??????

Dude. Stiles sends in response.

They don’t speak again until Stiles visits him in the hospital straight after school. Scott has already been moved to a private room when he gets there, all taken care of - and even the costs up to now - by Alpha Hale. It’s like they’re living a dream.

“I have you to thank for it,” Scott says, oxygen mask pulled away from his face despite his laboured breaths. His head is propped up by his pillows, too weak to hold it up for long on his own. The upper jaw of the human Soulbite on his neck stands out above the collar of his gown, the reason for him being here in the first place.

Stiles doesn’t understand it. How could his Soulmate’s very existence, something that’s supposed to be uplifting and beautiful, have landed him in here with this shortened life expectancy? He’d always wondered how Scott’s Soulmate was going to feel if he managed to meet them and they learnt that truth. He’s immeasurably grateful that that’s no longer a possibility.

“Hey, I only had to get humped by a feral werewolf.” Stiles shrugs. “No big deal.”

Scott shakes his head. “That’s so weird. And you still don’t really know why it happened? You just smelled similar or something?”

Stiles shrugs again. “Apparently, but I’ve never heard of anything like that before.”

“And why was it him of all people?” Scott asks in wonder. He knows all about Stiles’ celebrity crush.

“The irony isn’t lost on me.”

He still can’t believe he saw Derek up that close, even if it was with glowing eyes and fangs. But it’s that scent he can’t forget, leather and cologne and that hint of something else. He’d smelled wild.

“Maybe that’s the reason he got drawn to you,” Scott says. “He probably knew you’d be down for him getting all up in your space. If you see him again—”

“Don’t you dare breathe a word!” Stiles warns; he doesn’t like Scott’s sly smile.

“But was he really, you know—?” Scott gestures down towards his crotch, wide-eyed, and Stiles leans in to whisper.

“Completely.”

Scott puts his hand over his mouth and giggles, but then he starts to cough, and Stiles has to help him with his mask.

“Like, dude. Spank bank material or what?”

“Gross,” Scott wheezes.

“It’s something you’ll have to look forward to from now on,” he points out with relish. Now that Scott is going to be a werewolf, he’ll have heats of his own. There are only two ways a human can experience it: either by being turned or having a werewolf Soulmate. Chances are, Stiles is never going to find out what it’s like. He’s never been able to decide if that’s a good thing, or a tragedy that he’ll miss out on ever experiencing a scheduled two-day sexathon.

Scott grimaces at that, but his expression is quick to clear. “At least I’ll be able to have sex without busting a lung,” he gets out through tortured breaths.

“That’s the spirit,” Stiles laughs.

Melissa enters the room then with her phone held to her ear, shielding the mouthpiece with her hand. “Alpha Hale is on the phone. She wants to know when we want to schedule the Bite.”

“Now?” Stiles suggests and Melissa flaps her hand at him to be quiet. It’s too late; the Alpha will have been able to hear him.

“The soonest she can fit us in is in two days’ time.”

Scott is nodding before she’s even finished. “I’ll take it.”

Melissa goes back to her phone, ending the call with profuse thanks and a beaming smile, lighting up her eyes in a way Stiles wasn’t sure he was ever going to see again.

“That was actually Talia Hale? Not a secretary?” he asks as soon as she’s hung up.

“That was the Alpha herself.” Melissa confirms. “Such a gracious woman.”

Stiles supposes that after what happened with Derek, she’s probably taken a personal interest. He wonders what sort of wrath he might invoke if he ever lets slip to anyone what happened and resolves to never mention the words Derek and heat in the same sentence. Maybe he just won’t ever say Derek’s name at all.

“She’s invited your dad and I to a meeting beforehand just to go over what to expect and to answer any questions we might have. We’ll be going to the Hale compound after dinner.”

Stiles perks up at that. “Can I come?”

“Sorry, Stiles. She made it clear this was for parents only.”

“But I have questions too!” he protests.

“You just want to get inside the compound.”

“Well, sure. That too.”

The Hale compound is at the western edge of town, a gated community of apartment buildings where a good portion of the pack members live, offering extra protection from any lingering Hunters for those who choose to live there.

Only once did the Hunters try to get inside - that Stiles knows of at least - but it was back when their strength was at its peak and it didn’t end very well for them. In fact, it ended so badly that the Hunter cell in Beacon Hills was pretty much eradicated, along with their leaders in the form of the Argent family.

Stiles supposes the main reason for the werewolves wanting to live inside the compound now is just because of the sense of community or whatever mystical bond it is that keeps werewolves feeling like part of a pack. It’s not something he’s ever going to understand, but Scott will soon know all about it firsthand.

That night, while his dad and Melissa are gone, he spends his time trawling the internet looking for any mention of Derek from the night before. There’s nothing, not even a photo. None of him out in the street, none of him breaking into their house. He wonders if it’s just because they got lucky or because the Alpha is having them suppressed.

Aside from that, it just comes up with the usual images, along with one or two of Kate Argent pasted beside photos of a younger Derek, pulled from a news story from the time.

She’d been a key player in the Hunter cell residing in Beacon Hills, a holdover from years past when warring werewolf factions spelled trouble for humans caught in the crossfire. They’re only purpose nowadays is in the rare case a werewolf goes feral if their human Soulmate dies before they can seal their bond, but some Hunter organisations have taken it upon themselves to orchestrate those situations through murder instead of working to prevent them.

The Argent family had already been successful at pulling that off in a neighbouring city-state a few years ago with the daughter of an Alpha, throwing its pack’s hierarchy into chaos, and then they’d gotten bold. They’d turned their sights on the Hale pack, their white whale.

Kate had approached a sixteen-year-old Derek claiming to be his mate, using one of those scent enhancers desperate people use to entice werewolves who haven’t met their Soulmate yet and don’t know what the real scent is supposed to be like. She’d bemoaned living in fear under the thumb of her father, claiming to be nothing like him and wanting out of her situation. 

It wasn’t even the first time someone had tried that with Derek, but it was the first time someone had had such deadly intentions. Stiles doesn’t really know what the full extent of her plan even was, he just knows it couldn’t have been anything good. But Derek hadn’t fallen for it. The Hunters might have tried again if Peter Hale hadn’t happened to them.

He backs out of the story and closes his laptop when he hears the front door open  - newly fixed with new keys provided - and bounds down the stairs to greet them.

“How did it go?”

His dad envelops him in a hug with so much force that he’s knocked back a step.

“I guess it went well,” he gasps out around constricted lungs.

His dad has tears in his eyes when he pulls back to look at him, a joyful smile on his face.

“Everything’s going to be just fine.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, eyebrows on the verge of creasing with confusion.

It hasn’t really sunk in for him yet - probably won’t until Scott is growing claws in front of him - but it heartens him to see his dad so relieved, to see Melissa beaming over his shoulder. He can’t remember the last time he saw so many smiles from her in such a short space of time. He can’t believe just how much their luck has changed.

Chapter Text

Melissa spends the night before Scott will be given the Bite at the hospital, wanting to make sure his last night in there - his last night as a human - is the most comfortable it can possibly be. Stiles had wanted to be there with party hats and solo cups, but Melissa had put her foot down, insisting that Scott needed a good night’s rest. Scott ends up being up half the night anyway texting Stiles. It’s no surprise he can’t sleep; he might have been tested and given the green light but that doesn’t quash a glimmer of doubt. A what if.

His dad is already phoning in Stiles’ absence to the school when he goes down for breakfast in the morning, thanking the woman on the other end of the line after her congratulations. He pulls Stiles into a tight hug when he hangs up, with the same tight squeeze as when he’d gotten back from the compound. It’s drawn out and ends with some back slapping and cleared throats, bolstered by the relief of feeling like something is actually going right in their lives for once.

“Come on, kiddo. Eat some breakfast and then we’ll get going.”

The journey to the hospital feels like looking at the world through new eyes, no longer looking towards the future knowing that a piece will soon be missing. With any luck, this will be the last time he’ll need to make the trip for a very long time. If everything goes as it should, Scott will be coming home today.

They sanitise their hands as they wait to get buzzed into the wing where Scott’s room is, Stiles glancing in through the window on the door. He double takes.

The rest of the hospital corridor falls away as his gaze zeroes in on Derek Hale standing at the end of it, green-eyed and fangless and—not sweating.

Stiles hadn’t really considered that he’d run into him again so soon. He’d just assumed he wouldn’t be present because of a heat hangover. He’s only now realising how short-sighted he’d been. Laura and Derek are known to attend every single Bite. If Derek was absent, that would raise too many questions, especially if they’re still keeping it secret that he’s met his Soulmate. That’s probably the reason for the delay in giving Scott the Bite.

Derek stiffens, head whipping round to stare at him through the glass like he’d heard the skip of Stiles’ heartbeat. It’s agonising having their eyes meet, to have this image of him - put together and lucid - war with the one in his mind where he’d been so dishevelled and wolfish. That night mostly feels like a fever dream, no matter that the waking repercussions have so far been very real.

They’re buzzed in and his dad has to open the door, Stiles still frozen in place. 

For years now, Derek has been plastered in poster spreads of teen magazines alongside actual celebrities - candid photographs instead of posed photoshoots; Derek would probably rather pull out his fangs with pliers than stand in front of a photographer in a studio. When his Soulbite had manifested three years ago at the age of nineteen and revealed - as predicted - his born wolf Soulmate, his desirability had dipped slightly, considering he’d been confirmed as out of reach to ninety-nine percent of the population. That doesn’t stop the internet brimming with photoshopped pictures of a neater human bite at the base of his neck though, and Stiles intends to take to his grave the number of times he’s pictured his own bite there and fantasised about fitting his teeth to it, of hearing Derek gasp and groan into his ear. Now is not the time to be thinking about that. Though the fact that Derek looks even more uncomfortable than he does makes him feel a whole lot better.

“Stiles,” his dad prods, and Stiles snaps his eyes away from Derek’s to where his dad is holding the door for him, eyebrows raised and a teasing smile playing around his mouth.

Stiles sighs quietly and follows after him.

Derek’s sister, Laura, is standing at his side, and she’s grinning at Stiles as he heads towards them. By the time they reach the end of the corridor, she’s stepping forward and holding out a hand. 

“Hi, I’m Laura,” she says, warmly, as she shakes Stiles’ hand, a tone that must be well-practiced after all the families she has to greet in preparation for these moments. “Sorry I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself the other night.”

Derek looks like he’d rather press himself up against the nearest wall and let it eat him than face this situation. He still manages to hold out a hand for Stiles to shake as Laura moves on to his dad though, his gaze averted and a slight crease between his eyebrows as he mutters, “Derek.”

“Stiles,” Stiles introduces himself, and Derek gives him a sour look like he’s saying I know that already, dumbass. Or maybe, One more word and I’ll rip your throat out with my teeth.

“Good to see you again,” his dad says, a little too innocently, and the addition of that acknowledging again has Derek freezing, eyes glazing over a little as his ears burn bright pink.

Stiles’ eyes go wide, clamping his lips together on a laugh. Laura looks delighted. How much teasing must he have already put up with since his heat broke? Stiles grins at him and Derek’s blush spreads to his cheeks, rising up out of his stubble. The upper jaw of his fanged Soulbite curves out from under the collar of his forest green Henley, and seeing it this close up is just confirmation that what Talia had said was true. Stiles must just have had a similar scent. Nothing more.

The door to Scott’s room opening saves Derek from any further embarrassment. Alpha Hale emerges, having met with Scott and Melissa early to go over with him what’s about to happen, what to expect. She shakes their hands in greeting, and something about her presence settles Stiles, soothed by her cool, confident grip and sure, unwavering voice as she directs them into the room. It doesn’t last.

Melissa is sitting in the chair beside Scott’s bed, holding his hand, and a doctor waits in the corner to act as a witness - in case it goes wrong, Stiles tries not to think, but if it does, there won’t be anything anyone can do about it. Laura and Derek follow in behind them, Derek closing the door.

Scott has already had his IV removed and he’s out of his hospital gown, but he is wearing his oxygen mask. He’s been instructed to keep it on throughout the process just to make it a little less unpleasant. Once it’s done, he’ll have no need of it ever again.

“Hey, buddy,” Stiles says in greeting. He wants to ask how he’s doing but doesn’t want to make him admit nerves or fear in front of everyone, or make him lie and say he’s fine when the wolves in the room will hear the falsehood. He would go in for a hug, but he’s learned from experience how awkward it is to do when Scott’s confined to a bed like this, and has to settle for giving his foot a reassuring squeeze through the blanket instead.

“Hey,” Scott croaks back, Stiles catching a small smile through his mask.

His dad takes up position beside Melissa, giving her shoulder a squeeze, and she reaches up to take his hand.

“Hiya, kiddo,” his dad says, and Scott’s eyes crinkle as he smiles up at him.

Stiles stays at the foot of the bed, both hands clutching the railing there in a way he’d hoped would be nonchalant, but he’s not fooling anyone with his white knuckles. 

“Are you ready for this, Scott?” Alpha Hale asks, taking a seat on the other side of the bed to Melissa.

“As I’ll ever be,” he says, still somehow managing to sound chipper and confident through his breaths rattling behind the mask.

Stiles is glad she doesn’t ask again. He appreciates that she accepts his answer.

She lifts his left arm, stretching it out to give better access to his forearm as she holds a wad of bandage in one hand at his elbow, presumably to soak up the blood that will drip down.

With one more look at Scott, she opens her mouth and her fangs elongate. They look impossibly long, and Scott’s arm goes tense in her hold before relaxing. It reminds Stiles of how he feels before an injection, when the nurse says to relax the muscles in his arm right before the needle goes in, except this is an injection of a dozen needles, all at least as thick as chopsticks.

Alpha Hale leans down, pausing for a moment for her eyes to flare red, and then she bites. Scott gives a quiet cry of pain, his face screwing up as he turns his head away towards Melissa whose hand has gone white in his grip.

The Alpha only holds the bite for a second, but it feels so much longer, the blood welling up and trickling down Scott’s arm, soaking the bandage. Awful rasping breaths sound even louder in his oxygen mask, and Stiles’ heart is ready to beat a hole through his chest. He wants it to be over, never wants to hear Scott breathing like this ever again, but then Scott’s body curls up on itself, tearing his hand free of Melissa’s, and the whole thing just gets worse. He starts to convulse, just like what Stiles has seen of seizures, an awful choking sound trapped in his throat. But he’s researched this. He knows this is the part where Scott’s cells mutate, the part of the transformation that would kill most other people, but that doesn’t stop him squeezing the railing in his fingers, probably bending it in the ferocity of his grip. It’s horrifying to watch. He’s starting to regret begging to be here to see it.

He glances at the Alpha, looking for any sign of unease, but she calmly watches on. Derek reaches out and grabs the railing next to him, making Stiles jump; for a strange moment, he’d thought he’d been about to take his hand.

Scott’s shaking doesn’t stop, lasts thirty, forty seconds, before he finally, mercifully, falls limp. Silence roars in Stiles’ ears as they each hold their breath, and he doesn’t release his grip on the railing even when Scott’s eyes flutter open, not until he reaches a trembling hand up to remove his oxygen mask and takes an easy, effortless breath of unaided air.

He turns his head to his mom, surprise and relief and gratitude colliding as his face crumples with tears. He’s in Melissa’s arms in the next second, and Stiles is lurching around the corner of the bed to throw himself on top of them, tears streaming down his own cheeks as the weight of his dad’s arm settles over his back. He can hear Scott breathing by his ear, the easiest breaths he’s ever taken in his entire life.

“Thank you,” Melissa is sobbing, over and over.

Stiles has his face pressed to Scott’s shoulder, head twisted at an awkward angle in their crush of a hug, but he doesn’t care, not until he realises it’s getting difficult to breathe.

“Too tight, Scotty,” he groans, trying to pull away.

“Oh,” Scott says, voice wobbling with tears and laughter as he loosens his new, freakishly strong werewolf grip. “Sorry.”

Stiles extricates himself from the family hug and scrubs at his eyes with the edge of his sleeve, glancing at the Alpha still standing on the other side of the bed and watching with a warm smile. He wonders how many dozens of times she’s seen scenes like this, how long it took until she could remain unaffected. Laura has the same smile on her face as her mom, but it seems Derek is the least experienced of the three of them, looking at Stiles with rounded eyes, Laura’s hand on his shoulder.

Stiles turns away from the intensity of his stare, dabbing at his eyes and sniffing hard.

“Welcome to the Hale pack, Scott McCall,” Talia says, formally, but she’s still smiling and Scott beams back. She takes his arm to wipe away the rest of the blood and inspect the bite, the wound already closed in a scar. It looks exactly like a born wolf Soulbite, just in the completely wrong place, and Stiles wonders how the Alpha’s mate might feel about that, knowing the mark on his neck is worn by many others on their arms.

Alpha Hale steps back, which Stiles takes to mean there aren’t any problems, and the doctor finally approaches to inspect the scar himself. Once he’s satisfied, his dad and Melissa are immediately beckoned forward to start dealing with the matter of having Scott discharged. Stiles didn’t realise how quickly this would all progress.

“How are you feeling?” he asks Scott where he’s sitting up in bed entirely unaided.

“Like I could fly.”

“You could give it a shot,” Stiles says, gesturing to the window. “It probably won’t even hurt when you hit the ground.”

Laura snorts a laugh, skirting her mom to come and stand by Stiles at Scott’s bedside, Derek following close behind. “Not exactly. You’ll need a bit of practice before you work your way up to something like that.”

“Could you do it?” Scott asks, eyes as big as the moon.

“Sure. Maybe on your first full moon I could teach you. Though perhaps we’ll start from somewhere a little lower down.”

Scott gasps a deep breath like he’s about to breathe out a cool! , but he’s wracked by a coughing fit instead, and panic grips Stiles by the throat. He’s ready to lunge for his oxygen mask, but Scott recovers immediately.

“Hospitals stink,” he complains, eyes watering. “What is that?”

“Chemicals and more chemicals. And hospital food,” Laura says, wrinkling her nose.

Scott gives a tentative sniff. “And blood,” he adds with a shudder.

“Come on,” Stiles encourages, throwing back the blanket. “It’s about time you get your lazy ass out of bed.”

Scott grins and swings his legs round to stand up. “I guess I should pack up my stuff,” he says with relish, reaching for the drawer of the cabinet next to his bed. He rips it straight off its runner and Stiles barely dodges it landing on his feet as it crashes to the floor, the handle clutched uselessly in Scott’s hand. The adults spin round at the sudden noise, and Scott turns to look at them all, wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

Stiles doubles over with laughter in the ensuing silence, arm wrapped around his stomach.

“How about you leave this sort of thing to us until you’ve got the hang of things?” Melissa suggests, coming over to pry the handle out of his hand.

“Better be careful with your dick,” Stiles guffaws, and his dad looks like he’s on the verge of a facepalm.

“Stiles,” he warns, but there’s no real heat behind it; he’s long learnt to put up with the embarrassment.

Stiles feels no guilt, only elation, especially when he spots Derek turning away to hide a smile even as his shoulders shake with a silent laugh.

“You’ve got a lot more to get used to, I’m afraid,” Talia informs him, “and we start straight away.”

Stiles guesses this is the part where Scott is whisked off to the Hale compound to learn their werewolfy ways, probably how to howl at the moon and keep other people un-maimed. Melissa is going to go with him, and Stiles hopes he’ll be able to show him something cool when he gets home. Maybe by tonight he’ll have learnt how to do the glowy eye thing.

Scott goes to draw him into a hug when it’s time for them to part, but he hesitates, looking warily at his arms.

Stiles laughs and pulls him in. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Yeah. See you at home.”

The fact that Scott gets to come home swells another lump in his throat, but he talks over it before it can fully form. “Try not to break anything else.” His voice still wobbles, enough that he knows everyone heard it.

Scott looks down at his hands like they’re about to start throttling his own throat. “No promises.”

Stiles hugs Melissa before he goes, squeezing her tightly and scrunching up his face when she presses a hard kiss to his cheek. He shakes Alpha Hale’s hand as he thanks her, the two words feeling so inadequate in response to what she’s given them. He almost wants to throw his arms around her, but he isn’t sure if that’s acceptable or not, and forces himself to step back after just the handshake.

He turns to Laura next, but she doesn’t hesitate to go in for a hug, and he wonders if he could have gotten away with it with the Alpha.

“See you soon,” she murmurs in his ear.

The words catch him off guard. He’d been so focused on Scott getting the Bite - and having him survive it - that he hadn’t spared a thought for the after. Scott will be invited to the usual initiation ceremony on the full moon, and it stands to reason that Stiles will get to be there for it. Their lives are going to change in ways they’re not even aware of yet.

Derek is hovering when Stiles pulls away from Laura, looking like he’s dithering between copying Laura’s hug or just settling on a handshake. Stiles saves him the trouble of deciding by holding out his hand.

“Thanks,” he says quietly as Derek hesitantly takes it. Out of the three Hales in the room, he probably means his gratitude to Derek the most. None of this would have happened without him.

Derek doesn’t answer, just keeps looking at him with big eyes, his touch lingering as Stiles starts to pull away.

He heads to the door after his dad, giving Scott a final wave as he goes; it’s the first time he doesn’t need to feel any guilt over leaving. His dad slings his arm around Stiles’ shoulders as they head back down the corridor in the direction of the elevators, humming quietly to himself. It conjures a smile on Stiles’ face that he doesn’t even try to hide; it’s been a long time since his dad has been in a light enough mood to do that.

Some cameramen are waiting at the bottom of the front steps for the Alpha’s emergence, but the two of them easily slip by. He glances back, wondering if they might catch sight of Scott on the news later.

“I think you need to pinch me,” Stiles says as he climbs into the car, but then he frowns. “On second thought, maybe don’t. This is a dream I want to keep living in.”

His dad gives the back of his neck a squeeze before starting the car. “It’s real, kiddo.”

Stiles turns his head to look out the window as they drive, ignoring the urge to give the hospital one last look as they leave it in the rearview.

He checks his clock app instead to see that the next full moon is next week, realising with a burst of excitement that it means he’ll get to go into the Hale Compound. The initiation ceremonies are always held on the roof of the main apartment building, a place he thought he’d only ever get to see in photos. A lot of things - and people - he thought he’d only ever see in photos have come to life before his eyes.

“You sure you’ll be alright by yourself?” his dad asks as he pulls up in front of the house, ready to head to his shift at the station.

“I’ll be fine, Dad. More than fine.”

He waves goodbye as he heads up the front path, his dad not driving away until he’s safely inside.

Surrounded by the silence of the house, it’s hard to know if he imagined everything that just happened at the hospital. He can’t concentrate for the rest of the day, stuck wondering what Scott’s doing, if he’s taking to being a werewolf like a fish to water or if he’s a total failwolf. Wonders if he’s with Derek.

Thinking of Derek makes his stomach flip over, still stuck picturing him that night in his bed. This is something they’ll always be connected by, no matter that Derek would probably rather he never have to see him again. Derek may not have been in his right mind when he broke into their house and crawled onto Stiles’ bed, but that doesn’t mean he won’t be eternally grateful that Eau de Stiles tempted him over their doorstep.

*

He gets a text from Scott late that afternoon to let him know they’re on their way home, so he sets a cake Melissa had baked the day before on the kitchen table, the same cake she’s always made Scott for every single birthday. Stiles had helped with a finishing touch, cutting out the shape of a wolf in a piece of paper to use as a stencil for a silhouette of powdered sugar on top of the chocolate frosting. Scott won’t be able to achieve a full shift because he wasn’t born a werewolf, but it’s the idea that counts.

Stiles waits in the front doorway when he spots Melissa’s car pulling into the driveway out the window, grinning as Scott scrambles out and comes bounding up the path towards him. Their neighbour, Mrs. Baker, who had been watering the plants in her front yard, marvels at Scott’s new perfect health.

“Look at this!” Scott exclaims by way of greeting, and jams his hands under Stiles’ armpits, lifting him like he weighs as much as a pillow.

“Put me down!” he laughs as Scott effortlessly carries him into the house and all the way up the stairs, shrieking in terror that Scott’s about to drop him on his head. He’s finally set down in Scott’s room, watching him look around.

“I started to wonder if I’d ever see this place again,” he says quietly. 

An immediate sick feeling sinks into Stiles’ stomach, and he has to take a slow breath, reminding himself that that’s over now, that Scott’s home for good, that he’s not going to relapse. The fear and panic he’d been living with for months - years - still wars with this new reality.

“Hey, I’m okay,” Scott tells him, and he comes back to himself to find Scott’s hands a steady weight on his shoulders, his new strength tangible in his grip. He hadn’t realised his breathing had started to speed up.

“I know,” Stiles says, breathlessly, leaning into a hug and clapping Scott on the back. “Come on, there’s a surprise waiting for you in the kitchen.”

Scott pauses to poke his head in Stiles’ room before they head down the stairs.

“The scene of the crime,” he says, taking a few experimental sniffs.

“Can you still smell Derek?” Stiles asks, amazed.

“I don’t know what I can smell. It’s all a complete jumble,” he tells him, wrinkling his nose.

Stiles isn’t sure if he’d wanted a yes or no to that question. The way he feels about that - and Derek - is also a complete jumble he can’t even begin to unravel.

They head down to the kitchen, Melissa only just stepping inside after her chat with Mrs. Baker, and Scott gives a whoop of delight when he spots the cake. It’s all his favourite foods tonight, with Stiles’ dad picking up Chinese for dinner on his way home from work with all of Scott’s favourite dishes.

They end up watching in amazement as he finishes off the leftovers of what’s twice their usual order.

“They did tell us this would happen, but it’s something else to see it,” Melissa laughs.

It’s mostly to do with his body still adjusting and it will even out eventually, though he’ll still have a bigger appetite from now on. Stiles is just pleased his transformation hasn't changed his taste buds and he'll still get to enjoy the same foods he always used to.

They all stay seated round the table once they've eaten, like they’re making up for all that lost time when they couldn’t be a family. Melissa has broken out a bottle of wine for her and his dad to celebrate, one that had been gathering dust in a kitchen cupboard. The two of them have been granted a few days off work to be with their family and make whatever new adjustments they need in light of Scott’s new status as a werewolf, so they don’t limit themselves to just one glass.

Despite Scott’s reassurance that he’s okay, Stiles is still hit by lingering flashes of terror, like the occasional bolt of lightning to his heart. He’s so sure he should be panicking about something he’s forgotten, even though Scott is sat right here next to him. How long will that take to fade?

They’ve not long finished eating when his dad casts Melissa a look during a lull in the conversation and then turns to Stiles.

“There’s actually something we need to talk to you about.”

One look at Scott’s eager face tells him he already knows what’s coming, whole body almost vibrating with excitement.

“What?” Stiles asks, glass paused halfway to his mouth

“Alpha Hale has offered us a place to stay in the Compound. In the main building.”

He drops his glass back down to the table, soda slopping over the edge. “Are you serious?”

It’s not unusual for newly-turned wolves to be made the offer, but he thought it was more for people who didn’t have much existing family or friends, who would benefit from getting acclimated to the pack as they get a better handle on their new abilities. He never considered it would be something offered to them.

“An apartment has opened up and she thinks it would be good for Scott and the rest of us as he makes this transition.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow, seeing straight through the flimsy reasoning. “They really want to keep us quiet, huh?”

“It’s because—” Scott’s mouth works but no sounds come out. He sighs. “Yeah.”

His dad and Melissa share a look and Stiles decides he must have hit the nail on the head.

“But—we’re taking it, right?”

“That depended on you. We’ve been invited back tomorrow so you can see the place as well. See what you think. It doesn’t have to be permanent. We’ll be keeping the house for a while, just in case.”

“Sooo,” Stiles starts, slyly, “am I getting another day off school?”

His dad answers with an exasperated smile. “Yes, you’re getting another day. But I’ll be making sure they send your schoolwork home,” he warns. “I won’t have you falling behind.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “You know I’m already way ahead.”

“And let’s keep it that way.”

“Yeah, one of us needs to graduate,” Scott says, wrinkling his nose. His education has suffered through all his stints in the hospital over the years, never realising his full potential. Stiles knows he’s had a lot of low points where studying had just felt like a waste of time he didn’t have.

“You’ll do fine,” Melissa assures him, giving his hand a squeeze. “We’ll get you back on track in no time.”

Scott gives his mom a smile, but Stiles can see he doesn’t share her confidence.

“I’ll give Talia a call,” Melissa says, excusing herself from the table. “Let her know we’ll see her tomorrow.”

Stiles watches her go, wondering when they became close enough for a first name basis, and when she was given the Alpha’s personal number.

They migrate to the living room after that, giving Scott free reign of the TV controller. It turns out there’s no need to check the news to see if he made an appearance: Alpha Hale had him leave by the staff entrance with Melissa to go to her car instead of exposing him to the camera crews.

His dad and Melissa both stay up later than they usually do, until they reach the point where they can no longer keep their eyes open, throwing in the towel to go to bed just after midnight. Scott and Stiles stay up, going to Scott’s room to relive the days when they were younger and they’d call sleeping in each other’s rooms a sleepover.

Scott tells him all about his time at the Compound, where he started to learn how to hone and mute his hearing and sense of smell, practicing exercises to learn control over his claws and his new gold werewolf eyes. He has glowing things to say about Laura.

“Derek’s a complete bonehead though.”

Stiles laughs. “A bonehead? Why?”

Scott opens his mouth like he’s struggling to find the answer, and his breath rushes out of him in a huff. “He just is.”

He perks up suddenly and rushes over to his desk to grab a pen and paper, his hand hovering over the page. His face scrunches with a frown of concentration as his hand starts to shake, but he ends up tossing the pen aside with an actual growl after writing nothing.

“What the hell was that?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Scott grouches, flopping back onto his bed, exhausted.

Stiles guesses it’s some werewolf trick he’d been learning but doesn’t have the hang of yet. It’s been a long day for him. Even with his new werewolf healing, it’s still going to have been a lot of stress on his body.

“Come on, move over,” Stiles says, jabbing at him until there’s space to lie down next to him. “We should probably get some sleep. We’ve got another exciting day tomorrow.”

Scott scoots off the edge of the bed. “They gave me these,” he says, reaching for his bag of stuff from the hospital and pulling out some special earplugs. “I think I’m gonna need them. Your breathing sounds like a tornado, and I can just hear your stomach going blublublub. Your heartbeat too. I noticed it get faster when I mentioned Derek,” he adds, slyly, and Stiles is sure his face drains of all colour.

“That’s... not good.”

“You don’t need to worry about it.”

“‘Don’t need to worry’?” he almost shrieks, lowering his voice to a hiss at Scott’s gesture in the direction of their parents trying to sleep next door. “Scott, tomorrow I’m going to be surrounded by werewolves who will probably be able to smell what I had for breakfast two days ago! I think they’re going to notice if my heart sounds like it’s got double bass pedals attached at any mention of Derek!”

“Well, you’ve got an excuse, haven’t you? Dude climbed into your bed trying to bone you. Everyone will think that’s all it is.”

Stiles buries his face in one of the pillows with a long, drawn-out groan.

Being around Derek hadn’t been too bad today because he’d been too worried about what was going to happen with Scott to pay that much attention to how pretty his face is and combine it with everything else that occurred when Derek was in his bed. He can only hope that he and Derek won’t be seeing much more of each other. It’s not like they have a reason to, after all. Derek had to be there for the Bite as potential future Alpha, but that’s the end of it.

He’ll be fine.

Chapter Text

They all bundle into his dad’s car in the morning like they would on a family outing, something they haven’t done for months now. The closer they get to the Compound and the main apartment block towering over the rest of the city, the more Stiles realises that he’s never really had a cause to get so close to it before - and definitely never to go inside.

They’re waved in by the guards at the gate without even needing to show ID, his dad driving them into the parking lot beneath the main building. Stiles is expecting him to park in a guest spot, but it turns out they’ve already been given their own spaces. Just how far along has this agreement already gone?

The lot is well lit, the cement painted pristine white instead of being left dingy, with bright lighting that just highlights how clean the place is, but he doesn’t know why he was expecting anything less. He trails after the others as they head for the elevator, glancing around, trying to fathom that this place could be home for at least the next few months, trying to picture his Jeep in one of the spaces.

They take the elevator up to the lobby, Stiles studying the buttons beside the door neatly labelled with things like Gym, Library, Rec Room and, higher up, family names for what must be the apartments. Boyd, Deaton, Lahey. He spies Derek’s name near the top, sharing a floor with Laura and her Soulmate, Jordan, Peter’s name on the floor above. At the top of the list is Alpha Hale in the penthouse, and above even that is the Roof. That’s where they’ll be next Thursday, with Scott standing up on the stage.

The elevator doors open and they find Alpha Hale already waiting for them, along with a small audience standing around her in a cluster to greet them. There’s a lot of excitement over something as they step out of the elevator, and Stiles looks to Scott, smiling; he’s pleased they’re so eager to welcome a new pack member.

Stiles is surprised to see Derek standing at the centre of the group. His eyebrows are drawn down, but he somehow looks kind of hopeful, and Stiles can’t tell if he’s there under duress or because he wants to be.

“It’s good to see you again,” Alpha Hale says, greeting Melissa with a hug and kiss to the cheek.

The next minute becomes a whirlwind of names and handshakes as the onlookers all crowd in close to introduce themselves. Stiles soon gives up on trying to keep track of who’s who, but any names he did manage to remember go flying out of his head when he spots Peter Hale lingering at the back of the group and his heart gets lodged in his throat.

It was because of Peter that the Beacon Hills Hunter cell had been destroyed six years ago, not taking it too kindly that the Argents and their minions had decided to set their sights on his family. The Alpha had held a conference to assure the citizens they were handling the threat, but it had just been interrupted by a blood-soaked Peter Hale striding in holding a torn-off arm tipped with perfectly-manicured nails which he slapped down on the podium. All taken care of, he’d said, lifting his claws to lick away the blood as he flashed blue eyes at the camera - I-just-took-a-human-life blue. When the rest of Kate Argent’s body was found it was apparently in too many pieces to count.

So yeah, when Peter Hale makes eye contact and smiles a predatory smile and starts to head straight for him, Stiles thinks he might just slit his own throat and save Peter the trouble.

“You must be the step-brother,” Peter says, stopping in front of him and holding out a hand. “Peter Hale.”

“Stiles. Stilinski,” he returns, reaching out a trembling hand to shake.

“Peter,” Derek warns, appearing at his uncle’s shoulder, glaring.

“Ah, nephew!” Peter greets, strangely enthusiastic, slapping Derek on the back. “This is Stiles, brother to Scott who—Oh, do the two of you already know each other?” he asks innocently.

Derek is still glaring but his ears go pink at the stutters of stifled laughter from the others, and Stiles’ face heats at the realisation that every person standing here knows exactly what happened the other night.

“You were told,” Derek bites out, but Peter just smiles.

“No need to worry, nephew. Our lips are sealed, after all,” he says, silkily.

“How about we head on up?” Talia suggests, giving the back of Derek’s neck a gentle squeeze.

He throws her a grateful glance, loosening under the touch, and it somehow makes him look so young, like a disgruntled teenager forced to endure his family’s teasing.

They leave the crowd behind and step back into the elevator, this time with the Alpha - and Derek who seems to be coming along for some reason. Stiles is only half listening as the adults make small talk, studying Derek’s vague, blurred reflection in the wall of the elevator instead, unable to work out if he’s looking back and too nervous to turn his head to check. He’s standing close, but the space is kind of cramped with so many of them in it.

Stiles has no understanding of how life in the Hale Compound works, so it’s only just starting to dawn on him that, if they do move in, it’s not going to be unusual for the two of them to run into each other on a weekly, perhaps even daily, basis. He’d never considered this. He’d just imagined Scott would get the Bite, would head out here for full moons and whatever other pack events went on, and their lives would go on as normal. He never thought he’d find himself at the heart of this, and definitely not with this awkward history that he and Derek now share, forever a blip on their timeline.

The Alpha presses the button for the floor labelled Boyd, and Stiles fights another glance at Derek’s distorted reflection. He knows Vernon Boyd is Derek’s best friend since their school days, but the thought just makes him cringe. He knows too much about these people with what he’s picked up from gossip magazines over the years. He tries not to think about how his focus was always Derek and that everything he knows about everyone else is just tangential.

The elevator doors open on a short hallway with a door on the left and one on the right, and Stiles’ mouth immediately drops open. They’re being given half an entire floor. His family neglected to mention that when they told him about this last night. He had no idea the apartments were this big.

Alpha Hale steps up to the door on the right and leads the way inside, revealing an open plan living area with a kitchen on a raised level at the other end of the room, brightly lit by sunlight pouring in through the wide windows along the opposite wall. He has to consciously keep his mouth shut as he steps inside. It’s unfurnished, but he can easily picture what it might look like with all their belongings in it.

There are three bedrooms, but Stiles can’t even be miffed to find out the rooms have already been decided, especially when Scott shows him what could end up being his room. It’s a little bit bigger than his current room at home, with a view out of the front of the building and an alcove that he can just picture his bed slotting perfectly into.

“I’m never moving back out,” he whispers to Scott. He doesn’t care that Alpha Hale and Derek can hear him. This is jackpot levels of luxury. If they get evicted, the Alpha is going to have to drag him out screaming.

“So, what do you think?” his dad asks when they rejoin them out in the living area where it seems Melissa is talking over furniture placement ideas with Alpha Hale.

“It’s nice.” ‘Nice’ is an understatement, and every person present knows it.

“Derek, why don’t you give Stiles a tour of the building?” Alpha Hale suggests, pausing her conversation with Melissa. “He’s the only one who hasn’t seen it yet.”

Everyone turns to stare at them. Stiles had thought the Alpha was sympathetic to Derek’s embarrassment, but it seems she’s even worse than Peter. Derek’s expression only tightens for a second before he looks at Stiles and his displeasure melts away. He tilts his head towards the door.

“Come on.”

Stiles casts imploring eyes at Scott as he follows Derek to the door, but the traitor just waves.

“I’ll show you the rec room first,” Derek tells him as they wait for the elevator, and Stiles nods. Derek isn’t meeting his eye and his voice is stony, void of all excitement. They step into the elevator in silence and have only gone down one floor when the doors open again revealing a woman and a boy who can’t be older than five or six and a little grey wolf pup. Stiles gasps as the pup trots inside, looking curiously up at him with bright blue eyes.

“You're—!”

Stiles looks at the little boy who’s staring at him in amazement. His mouth opens and closes like he can’t get any words out - fighting a stutter perhaps - and he screws his face up in concentration, then stamps his foot.

“I’m Stiles,” he introduces himself, saving the boy the trouble.

“I know!”

Stiles glances at Derek, wide-eyed - do even the kids know what happened the other night? - but Derek is smiling softly.

“This is Megan, and her kids, Tommy and Annabelle.”

“Hi,” Stiles says in response to Megan’s cheerful greeting, but he’s distracted by Annabelle starting to paw at the leg of his jeans. He crouches down and holds out a hand, waiting for her to butt her head against it before he dares to stroke.

“She’s beautiful,” Stiles says to Megan, and Annabelle yips, her tail giving a little, satisfied flick, and Stiles laughs, scratching under her chin.

“How old is she?” he asks as Derek pushes the button for the lobby for Megan. A werewolf’s full shift is always a bit bigger than their human form so he’s never been very good at guessing ages.

“Nearly four.”

“You’re a big girl, aren’t you?” he praises, running a hand down her back.

“I’m bigger,” Tommy tells him proudly.

“And I’m biggest,” Derek teases, and they stick their tongues out at each other, feeling like some sort of ongoing competition.

“How big are you?” Stiles asks, tilting his head to look up at him. His eyes widen as his question is followed by a beat of silence and the unintentional innuendo washes over him. “When you shift, how big are you when you shift?”

There’s a glimmer in Derek’s eyes, and it doesn’t fade when he says, “Bigger than you’re imagining.”

Stiles’ brain grinds to a halt as Megan snorts a laugh into her hand. Did he just—? Because Stiles is already imagining—The other night, he’d already felt—But oh fuck, these are werewolves with sensitive noses and he really doesn’t need to go down that road, there are children—

Stiles leaps to his feet as the doors open on what has to be the rec room, speeding out of the elevator.

“It was nice meeting you!” he says over his shoulder, voice a little too shrill.

He catches sight of Derek ducking his head with a smile before he steps out to follow, Megan’s see you later tinged with laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Tommy asks as the doors close.

Stiles doesn’t meet Derek’s eye, his gaze skidding over the room instead, barely able to take in the pool and air hockey tables in the centre when all he can feel is his flaming cheeks.

“This is where a lot of the kids your age come to hang out in the evenings, especially if they have curfews,” Derek explains. “There are board games in the cabinets if that’s more your thing, or we put on movies sometimes with the projector,” he says, gesturing to the plush couches in one corner, a projector hanging from the ceiling.

It’s eerily quiet without anyone else here, magnifying Stiles’ awkwardness, though a quick glance in Derek’s direction shows his shoulders seem to have relaxed a little. Perhaps any embarrassment he’d felt to be around him has been mollified slightly by however Stiles’ body reacted to him just now.

A gym is their next stop on the tour, and Stiles is glad they don’t bump into anyone else for him to embarrass himself in front of. The floor is filled with rows of treadmills and rowing machines and weights and—other equipment Stiles wouldn’t even begin to know how to use. Derek must notice his blank stare.

“I could give you a one-on-one session later if you needed any help learning to use it,” Derek offers, and Stiles’ gaze immediately drops to his biceps and away.

“I’m not really one for working out,” he says, trying not to think about Derek’s hands on him as he fixes his posture while he lifts some weights, pressing up close behind. “Scott might be interested though. He always wanted to get involved with sports.”

“How long have you known each other?”

“About eight years now. My dad knew Melissa a little, but it wasn’t until a year or two after my mom died that they reconnected and finally introduced me and Scott.” He shrugs and gives Derek a half-smile. “We knew straight away they were gonna get together.”

“It’s good that they both found someone,” Derek says, quietly. “I’ve seen how hard it’s been on Peter, losing his so young.”

Even being a werewolf pair doesn’t guarantee a long and happy life together. That had been one of the reasons why Peter had been so reckless in his attack on the Hunters a few years ago. He’d probably felt like he had nothing left to lose.

“Yeah. Just makes me more impatient to meet mine already.”

Derek clears his throat and nods his head in the direction of the elevator. “Come on, I’ll show you the library.”

There’s a similar hush amongst the aisles of books in the library on the floor above, but here it feels right, like this is somewhere he can imagine himself coming to do some work at the tables arranged in the centre of the room.

“You can come here for schoolwork or just to read if you feel like it. You can take any book out except for the ones on the shelves at the end.”

Stiles looks down to where Derek is pointing and immediately notes the difference in age of the books lining those shelves compared to the others.

“Restricted section?”

Derek smiles. “Something like that. The Emissary, Deaton, has them enchanted. The elevator won’t work if you try to take them.”

“Cool!” Stiles heads straight for them for a closer look, sparing a glance for Derek as he reaches out to touch one. Derek nods for him to go ahead and he carefully slides out the first book to catch his eye, a faded green spine printed with gold curlicues and the title The Mythologie of Soulbites. It’s warm to the touch somehow, welcoming, though he’s too nervous to try cracking it open more than an inch in case he damages it. What he does see seems to be a passage on the myth of Romulus and Diana, the old story of why werewolves with human Soulbites go feral without sealing their bond.

“How old do you think that is?” he asks as he slots it back onto the shelf.

Derek shrugs. “Couple hundred years?”

“And you just leave them lying around?” he asks, whirling round to stare at him.

He laughs. “Honestly, not many people dare to touch them. And anyway, the important ones are all in Deaton’s care.”

Stiles is pretty sure being a couple hundred years old marks that book as important, but he doesn’t argue.

Derek starts to lead him back in the direction of the elevator. “There’s a coffee shop next door to the Compound where a lot of the others your age go to study and hang out after school. I’ll get Cora to take you one day.”

“Cool. Thanks.” He’s not sure he’s going to get used to names of the other Hales being thrown around so casually.

He guesses that the tour is winding down and is expecting Derek to press for the Boyd floor again, but instead, he takes him up to the roof.

The doors open on a small, enclosed area walled with glass and automatic doors straight ahead. They slide soundlessly open at their approach, and the first thing he sees is the sky stretching out above, the blue so blue and the clouds so white that it looks like the background in a cartoon. It’s a little windy being so high up, whipping at the long thin leaves of plants displayed around the roof in great stone pots, but he can imagine what it might be like on a full moon, how close it must seem in the sky above.

There are clusters of chairs dotted around, just hard metal frames like the cushions are currently being stored elsewhere in case of rain, though it looks like there’s some kind of awning that can be extended from the elevator block behind them in times of bad weather. The stage is empty and waiting along one edge, Stiles trying and failing to picture Scott standing up there.

At the front of the roof is a lower balcony reached by descending a small flight of steps in the centre, and that’s where Derek takes him to lean against the railing overlooking the city. Beacon Hills is surrounded by the Preserve, only two ways in and out, the roads snaking out of the city to the north and the east with parallel railway lines.

Straight ahead, beyond all the buildings and just jutting out of the foliage is Huntsman’s Rock, a place he used to hike to with his mom when he was a kid. Just by laying his eyes on it, it’s like he can hear the sound of the creek that flows nearby, can taste the banana loaf his mom would bake and take with them whenever they had bananas that got too ripe. It starts an ache in his chest, something closing just a little too tightly around his heart.

“Do you not want to move?” Derek asks, quietly, and Stiles blinks in surprise, turning to look at Derek who seems to have been watching him.

“Stop smelling me,” he teases, aiming to lighten the sudden sombre mood, but it just makes Derek look away, his expressive eyebrows furrowing. Stiles supposes this sort of thing is just something he’s going to have to get used to from now on, now that it seems he’s going to be surrounded by werewolves every day.

“It’s not about the move,” he elaborates. “I was just thinking about my mom. We used to walk out to Huntsman’s Rock on weekends sometimes. I haven’t been out there for years.”

“We used to play Lion King out there on full moons when we were kids.” Derek holds his hands up like he’s holding a baby under its arms. “Laura used to throw me off.”

Stiles turns to stare at him in shock, imagining Laura as a little girl pretending to be Rafiki holding Simba up to the night sky, launching wolf cub Derek off the end. He starts to giggle until he’s doubling over, and Derek laughs with him, laughing harder the more Stiles laughs.

“That might be the best thing I’ve ever heard,” he manages to get out, wiping at his eyes. “Did you ever get hurt?”

“No, I always landed on my feet. It was a bit of a shock the first time she did it though.”

He’s hit by a new burst of giggling. “How old were you?”

“Mmm… I was maybe five and she would have been seven. My mom wasn’t very happy about it.”

Stiles starts to snicker again, leaning his elbow on the railing to cover his mouth with his hand until realisation hits him. “Wait, so when Laura said she’d help teach Scott jump from high places, that’s what she meant?”

Derek starts to chuckle again. “Most likely.” He shakes his head in wonder. “I’d forgotten all about it until just now.”

They look back out at the preserve, the lighter mood as refreshing as the air. It had felt good to laugh like that. He’s laughed a lot over the past couple of days, after too long of wondering if he still knew how. 

“Thanks.”

“What for?” Derek asks, turning his head to look at him.

Stiles meets his gaze. “For breaking into our house.”

Derek looks away, his ears going pink again. His eyebrows are drawn down in a scowl, like Stiles had expected they might, but he still needed to say it anyway.

“That’s actually something I wanted to apologise for,” Derek mutters. “That and—all the rest.”

“You don’t need to. I’m glad it happened. If it makes it any less embarrassing, just remind yourself that you saved someone’s life.”

“That was all you. When you asked my mom for help, I mean,” Derek is quick to add. “I know that must have taken guts. She was impressed.”

Stiles shrugs. “It didn’t take anything. Not when Scott was—” He shrugs again.

Derek crosses his arms tighter on the railing, his shoulders hunching. “I just hate that your first impression of me was some… heat-stupid meathead.”

“That wasn’t my first impression.”

Derek looks at him, something like hope in his eyes.

“You’ve kind of been everywhere my entire life, dude.”

Derek’s eyebrows draw down again. “That first impression is hardly much better,” he mutters, and Stiles has to try to hide a smile.

He’s always thought Derek to be standoffish and surly. Even over these two times he’s met him properly, he’s probably scowled more times than Stiles can count on all his fingers. But that doesn’t mean that there’s not so much more to him. In just this short time, Stiles has seen a sense of humour, a bit of playfulness, empathy worn on his sleeve at seeing their joy of having Scott finally healthy. He’s seen him flustered, embarrassed by teasing from his family, curious. It’s charming that a werewolf like Derek - so high in the hierarchy of such an important pack - would even care about the first impression of a human nobody like Stiles. That alone speaks volumes about his true character.

He can feel his heart beating in his chest, and he’s suddenly on edge remembering what Scott said to him last night. Can he feel it because it’s pounding harder than usual? Is it just beating out the message I’m-so-goddamn-attracted-to-you to Derek’s ears as clear as Morse code?

He straightens up. “I guess we better head back down.”

Derek looks back out at the city, taking a deep breath of the fresh air tugging at them before pushing himself up from the railing. “Yeah,” he agrees, and they walk back to the elevator side by side.

“Did you have a good time?” his dad asks when they step back into the apartment, and Stiles gives him a quizzical look.

“Yeah, the place is really nice.”

“There’s no need to make a decision straight away,” Talia tells them, and his dad comes over to clap a hand to his shoulder.

“We’ll let you know by the end of the day.”

“Either way, we’ll see you next Thursday,” Talia reminds them. The night of the full moon.

After one last look at what’s so close to being his new room, Stiles and his dad get ready to leave. Scott and Melissa are going to stay to give him some more werewolf practice, so his dad will come back to pick them up at the end of his shift at the station. Stiles glances around the main living space as he heads for the door, trying to picture this as home. It’s still unfathomable.

“Thanks for the tour,” he says to Derek as he passes, but Derek just nods, stony-faced once more. It looks like their warming up to each other has gone back to square one.

“They really want to keep us quiet,” Stiles says as soon as the two of them are back in the car and heading home. He knows he’s said it already, but seeing the size of the apartment is just more evidence.

“What do you think? Is it too much too fast?”

Stiles pauses before he answers, considering.

They should take advantage of what they’re being offered. They deserve it: his dad, Scott and Melissa. They won’t need to worry anymore. And really, it’s a whole lot more exciting than the life that was in store for him just last week.

“Maybe a little. But after what we were looking at until just a few days ago, I’m not going to complain about anything.”

“You don’t have to say yes to this just because you think you should. This is every bit your decision too.”

Stiles looks out the window, letting his dad’s words sink in and thinking of Scott’s excitement last night when they’d told Stiles about the offer at the dinner table. “He wants it, doesn’t he?” he asks, quietly.

“Yeah, I think so,” his dad says, just as quiet. “And we just want to keep you safe. You and Scott. This is a big change for him. For all of us.”

Safe. Stiles supposes they’ve been so used to worry over the past few years that it must be hard for them to let go of. He’s expecting life to throw another curve ball any minute himself. It’s that thought which cements his decision.

“I think we should do it.”

His dad gives him a small smile. “I’ll let Melissa know.”

Stiles nods and turns to look back out the window, thinking of that moment of peace with Derek up on the roof. It soothes him, quiets the frantic voice in his head as he layers the way he’d felt standing up there over any flashes of doubt or panic that try to shake him. He’ll deny it to his very last breath, but there was another reason floating in the back of his mind when he’d said yes to his dad just now: the thought of all the chances it might give him to see Derek again.

Chapter Text

Things move just as quickly after that. Melissa coordinates with Talia - and it’s still so crazy to him that she’s no longer just the Alpha - and oversees the boxing up of their belongings.

He doesn’t have a great attachment to the house so it isn’t difficult to say goodbye to the place - even if it does turn out to only be temporary. They moved out of his childhood home when the relationship between his dad and Melissa turned serious enough, and with the turbulence of Scott’s illness, it’s never felt like much of a home. Maybe now that Scott’s well they would have been able to make something of it, but it just serves to make the idea of building a new life in the Hale Compound that much easier.

He’d liked the energy of the place, seeing the other people around, and the friendliness. He’s been so used to having a small family unit all his life that he likes the idea of being part of a community like that. He just hopes it ends up panning out the way it does in his head.

While packing up the belongings in his room, he comes across an old magazine, a secret copy of Hug he’d stashed at the back of a drawer in his nightstand from a few years back. The six-page spread of Derek Hale posters - pre-Soulbite - is still intact in the middle, and he tries to reconcile the image of this younger, out of reach Derek with the one he’d been with on the roof, in the library, in the gym. In his bed. It isn’t possible. If anything, it just puts more distance between him and the Derek he’d met, blurring the memories into something more dreamlike.

He doesn’t want to throw the magazine away, but keeping it seems a little creepy. Okay, a lot creepy, but then his dad appears in his bedroom doorway and he has to jam it into one of the boxes in front of him. He slaps the flaps down and pretends to be busy with the tape, but when his dad doesn’t immediately leave, he has no choice but to seal it inside.

When the moving day comes, a group of the pack turn up on their doorstep to help with the boxes, Derek and Laura among their number, and some new faces too. Laura’s Soulmate, Jordan, makes another appearance, and Stiles recognises Vernon Boyd immediately. He’s with a blonde girl who looks like she must still be in school, and she comes bounding over as soon as she’s out of the car.

“You must be Stiles,” she says, greeting him with an enthusiastic handshake. “I’m Erica.”

“Hey—” he cuts himself off, wincing in pain as he pulls his hand free of her iron grip.

Her eyes widen in horror. “Oh, sorry! I don’t quite have a handle on it yet.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’re doing better than Scott.”

“Hey! She’s had a few days more practice!” Scott shouts from somewhere in the house.

“You’re the other new beta?” Stiles asks.

“Yep. I was there in the hospital the day when—It’s because of me that—” She growls in frustration at something, her eyes flashing gold for a second, and Stiles guesses this is something else she doesn’t have a handle on yet.

He saves her the trouble. “I saw on the news. Epilepsy, right?”

“Not anymore,” she proclaims, flipping her hair over one shoulder. She catches sight of Boyd standing a few feet away with Derek and hooks an arm through one of his to drag him over, Derek following. “This is Boyd, my Soulmate,” she says, vibrating with pride.

“Hi, neighbour,” Boyd says in greeting, sliding his hand down Erica’s arm to link their fingers.

“Hi,” Derek says quietly.

Stiles returns the greeting, but his heart gives a resounding thump in his chest as soon as their eyes meet and Erica twitches, her eyes lighting up. He gulps.

“I’m gonna go get a box,” he announces, spinning round and retreating into the house.

He does his best to keep his distance from Derek as they start loading up the moving trucks, a lightning-fast process with all these werewolves around. More than once, he catches Erica sniffing at him hard, and she gives him a lot of sheepish grins whenever Boyd scolds her for it.

“Sorry. I’m still practicing,” she tells him after the first time. He just wishes she wouldn’t keep doing it whenever Derek is around.

When they reach the compound, the wolves of the pack lift the boxes as Melissa takes the lead and directs them where to go. With the strength of all the wolves, the only obstruction keeping the whole process from taking just ten minute ends up being the wait for the two elevators or the journey up flight after flight in the stairwell.

Derek somehow ends up in charge of Stiles’ boxes, taking them two at a time in an effortless bulge of biceps that Stiles knows he’s openly gawking at. Derek is built, even by werewolf standards. He doesn’t know if Derek catches him looking, but Laura definitely does and she smiles in a way that just instils him with fear. It only deepens when he realises the box Derek is carrying contains that incriminating magazine. He’s just glad of the extra layer of tape he smothered it with.

Scott is the most energetic out of all of them, running up and down with boxes, relieving Stiles of any loads whenever he passes, though Melissa makes sure he doesn’t get to handle any breakables. Surrounded by super-strength and a desire to help, there’s not a lot for Stiles to do except carry a potted plant and feel totally inadequate.

He follows after Derek as he carries the final boxes into his room where his bed has already been placed.

“Do you want me to move this?” Derek asks, setting the boxes down and gesturing to the bed.

“Uhh, against the wall would be good. In the corner.”

Derek pushes the bed into place, and Stiles finds himself wondering if any note of Derek’s heat is still wafting off it. Derek doesn’t give any reaction if there is something there, just straightens up once it’s in position and looks around the room.

“Do you need help emptying any boxes?”

“No,” Stiles replies way too quickly. The incriminating magazine box is right in front of Derek’s feet. “No, that’s okay,” he tries again, sounding a little less frantic. “I’ll sort them out later. Thanks.”

Derek nods and gives one last look around before Stiles trails him from the room.

Melissa is directing the placement of furniture like a conductor, much like a reverse of Merlin’s magic in the Sword in the Stone, everything finding its place in no time.

They’re just bringing in the final few boxes when Talia greets someone at the door and Stiles turns to see a dark-skinned man has just stepped inside. He recognises him immediately from all the times he’s seen him standing at the Alpha’s side on TV: the Hale Pack Emissary, Alan Deaton. It seems his dad and Melissa have already met him, because they wave Stiles and Scott forward to introduce them.

The Emissary’s face is about as expressive as a brick wall as he shakes Scott’s hand with a Mr. McCall and turns to Stiles with a Mr. Stilinski. Stiles reaches out to accept the handshake, but a shock zips between them at the first brush of skin, lightning flying up as far as his elbow and tingling in the core of his bones.

Derek snarls and tears Deaton’s hand out of Stiles’ by his wrist, but even then the sensation doesn’t fade. It feels trapped, like his forearm is no longer his own. He’s surprised his skin isn’t glowing.

“What just happened?” Melissa asks in the ringing silence left in the wake of Derek’s outburst.

“Is he really?” Talia asks, and the hairs on the back of Stiles’ neck stand up by how awed she sounds. Stiles didn’t think she could ever be shaken by anything.

“Yes,” Deaton says without hesitation.

“Really what?”

“I’m afraid I have some more life-changing news,” Deaton says gravely, and Stiles’ stomach plummets to somewhere down by his toes. “The Hale Pack Spark has recognised you as its successor.”

Stiles’ eyes dart around the room at all the people staring back: Laura the most solemn he’s ever seen her, Scott in total confusion, Derek with eyes big and round. He swallows hard, throat so dry he nearly chokes.

“What does that mean?” he asks, just as his dad breathes, “Emissary.”

His dad’s hand lands on his shoulder, squeezing and unsqueezing, and Stiles’ knees get closer to buckling at every new jolt of pressure. His hand is still tingling, and no amount of clenching and unclenching his fist is shaking it off.

“If I may,” Deaton says, waiting for Derek to release him so he can reach out to take Stiles’ hand and drain away the peculiar sensation, leaving him with residual pins and needles.

“But what does it mean?” he asks again, though he’s not sure any answer he gets is going to penetrate the fog swirling round inside his head.

“One day, a very long time from now, you’ll be the next vessel for the Hale Spark, and you’ll become Emissary of this pack.”

“Don’t I get a choice in this?” He’s a high school student. A kid. How is he supposed to be Emissary of an entire city-state? Of Beacon Hills?

“The spark chose you. It’s done so for a reason. But this is something you don’t need to worry about, not for a good long while. You’ve been discovered younger than most Sparks, and I have a lot of years left in me yet.”

Stiles knows people don’t usually become Emissaries until much later in life, but the world is unpredictable. He could find himself ascending to the position just a year from now, only eighteen and completely unprepared.

A hand settles on his shoulder, big and warm, pulling him back from where he’d gotten lost in his head. He follows it up to Derek’s face, his green eyes still wide with awe.

He slowly withdraws his hand. “You won’t have to go through any of this alone. You’re pack now.”

All the wolves in the room are nodding, stepping forward to touch a hand to his shoulder, one by one, and he’s so bewildered that he doesn’t even flinch at the sight of Peter’s hand reaching out. Perhaps this is supposed to be reassuring, strengthening, but all he sees is just a fraction of the people who are going to come to rely on him, who might seek him out for advice, who will look to him for protection. 

This is insane, he wants to say, but even now, the pressure of what he’s meant to become traps the words in his throat, wondering if he’s supposed to already radiate poise and calm in front of all these pack members. I’m just a kid.

“Come on, everyone. Let’s give our new arrivals some space,” Talia says, starting to herd everyone for the door.

His dad and Melissa follow to shake hands and thank them all for their help, Scott dithering between joining them or staying with Stiles who’s sinking heavily onto the couch in a daze.

Emissaries are always human, werewolf bodies for some reason never compatible with a Spark, going back as far as recorded history goes. It’s what united humans and werewolves in the first place back when they’d still lived in clans and packs, when the humans relied more on werewolves for protection. But in the present, there are over a thousand humans living in Beacon Hills. Why did it have to be him?

He blinks to find Derek kneeling in front of him, hand squeezing his knee.

“Hey. Deaton wasn’t lying when he said this is something you don’t need to worry about yet.”

“Easier said than done.”

He’s staring down at Derek’s hand, at the dusting of dark hair across his knuckles, his body screaming at him to reach out and squeeze it, accept the reassurance being offered. But he doesn’t. He’s suddenly aware that it’s because of Derek that he’s in this position in the first place. He wonders if that’s why Derek has stayed even though Talia ushered everyone else out the door. If he feels responsible.

“I’m still in high school.”

“It won’t get in the way of any plans you had for your future,” Derek assures him, and Stiles knows that’s true. Deaton might be the Hale Pack Emissary, but he still owns a successful veterinary clinic downtown. Though that doesn’t really give him any comfort right now.

This must be the reason why Derek ended up in his room last week. As a potential future Alpha, he must have just been sniffing out his pack’s future Emissary in whatever bizarre heat state he was in. Stiles had just thought it was the universe saving Scott’s life, but what if this was the real purpose of it? Without it happening like this, he would have just gone on with his life none the wiser, until the day Deaton died and his Spark came rushing into Stiles’ body. Situations like that have happened elsewhere and completely thrown off an entire pack’s stability - though that doesn’t make it any easier to view it as any sort of silver lining.

“Come on, Derek,” Talia says gently. “Let’s give him some time.”

Derek pauses with his hand on Stiles’ knee for a moment longer before rising to his feet and heading for the door, looking back at him once as Stiles watches him go. He doesn’t think any amount of time is going to help him come to terms with this.

Chapter Text

It’s tough going back to school and trying to concentrate with this new Emissary revelation hanging over his head. It doesn’t help that he’s also facing the dizzying turn of having gone from invisible to centre of attention, the news of Scott’s new werewolf status and their new home in the Hale Compound having spread like wildfire. Now, other kids who have never spoken a word to him in his life are practically hanging off his arm like they think he’s going to give them an invite into the Compound.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if Scott was here with him, but there’s talk of sending him to the school most of the other pack teenagers attend instead. With so much time away already, Melissa decided there was no point sending him back with Stiles if he was only going to be there for a few days before moving on. In the meantime, Talia has said she’ll put them in touch with a tutor who can help him catch up with everything he’s missed while he makes the transition. In the wake of this new limelight, Stiles thinks he might beg to join him. It’s not like he’ll be leaving any (real) friends behind, and he’ll be glad to be rid of Harris a year sooner than he would have been. It’s also further to travel now that they’ve moved, and his dad has already expressed displeasure about him going so far.

The problem is that he’s starting to feel like a bit of a fraud, like he soon won’t be able to recognise himself when he looks in the mirror, with a new school and new werewolf friends and new swanky apartment. Everything feels a little too good. Unearned. Dirty, even, like Stiles landed them all this luxury through blackmail. He hadn’t meant for it to be taken that way when he’d made his request of Talia, though he supposes it doesn’t matter much now that the Emissary thing has been discovered. He would have ended up living exactly where he is either way.

After one more lonely day of suffering through school with his newfound popularity, Stiles floats the idea of switching to his dad who is immediately pleased. It seems he’s been waiting for Stiles to come to that decision on his own.

“I’ll pass the request on to Talia,” his dad tells him, but they both know she’ll make it a reality. Stiles wouldn’t be surprised to learn it’s already been in motion, just waiting for the final go ahead. In fact, it seems that’s exactly what’s been going on. As soon as the question is asked, Talia assures them that she’ll see it done, and then all Stiles has to do is finish out the week.

“I’m glad you’re gonna be there,” Scott says to him one night after dinner when they’re sprawled in his room sharing a bowl of coffee nut M&Ms - well, Stiles is snatching what he can before Scott inhales the lot like a bottomless vacuum.

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, though he knows Scott doesn’t understand how much he truly means it. School has been lonely and miserable for these past few months, but he doesn’t want to mention the depth of it and have Scott feel guilty for something he had no control over.

When Thursday comes - the day of the full moon and Scott’s initiation ceremony - Stiles is internally celebrating that he only has one more day left to endure.

“Derek dropped something off for you,” his dad says when he gets home, nodding towards Stiles’ bedroom.

He goes to take a look, brow creasing with confusion at the sight of a packet waiting for him on his bed until he realises what it is: brand new Batman bedding still folded in its plastic wrapping as a replacement for the ones Derek stole.

He laughs as he picks it up, though curiosity burns inside him at the thought of what might have happened to his original one. Incinerated, hopefully, after whatever Derek might have done with it. He’s glad Scott isn’t in the room with him to hear what that thought just did to his heartbeat. He gives himself a shake. Whatever insanity had been plaguing Derek during his heat is over now. They’re acquaintances, and he's going to have to forget about it.

The initiation ceremony is due to start at eight o’clock once the moon has started to rise, and they’ve been encouraged to eat dinner beforehand; though there will be some drinks and snacks available on the roof, but not enough for a proper meal. Talia has also let them know there’s no need to dress formally, but it feels strange pulling on his hoodie just before they head out the door knowing they’re on their way to such an important event.

When they board the elevator, a handful of other pack members from the surrounding buildings are already inside, greeting them with warm smiles. Stiles has the string of his hoodie in his mouth as they start their ascent, chewing furiously even though he has no cause to be nervous. All he has to do is stand in the crowd, unlike Scott shifting from foot to foot next to him who will be up on that stage he’d seen the other day, this time with a rapt audience to watch his every move.

The lift draws to a halt on the floor labelled Laura, Jordan and Derek, and Stiles’ eyes widen.

Please be Laura, please be Laura, he thinks, but no such luck.

The door opens to reveal Derek standing there staring right back at him. The hoodie string falls out of his mouth, and a few of the people in the lift gasp. More people who know what happened last week. Stiles casts them a sideways glance to find them looking back at him, and he really hopes they didn’t hear the way his heart leapt in his chest.

He shifts over to allow Derek room to step inside to a scattered chorus of good evening, and they all stand in an eager sort of silence for the rest of the journey up. Stiles breathes slowly in an attempt to keep his heartbeat steady but not so deeply that it might sound like he’s trying to sniff Derek standing next to him - which is kind of exactly what he’s trying to do. Derek has brought in a waft of his cologne and Stiles is trying to work out if that wild scent he can catch tangled up inside it is really there or just a phantom memory from that night. He chances a glance his way but snaps his head back to forward when Derek immediately catches him looking.

The elevator opens and they head to the doors leading to the roof and outside. It’s packed with people this time, flooded by the murmur of conversation and laughter over quiet acoustic music, such a different energy to the isolated vibe when he’d been up here with Derek.

Scott is greeted with cheers when they step out onto the roof, most people holding their arms or drinks in the air as Scott quivers and shrinks under all the attention. His dad and Melissa are welcomed with handshakes and the occasional hug, but Stiles is surprised to find everyone seems just as eager to meet him too, coming forward to introduce themselves, looking between him and Derek with beaming smiles. Stiles tries not to roll his eyes skyward. That literally every person in the pack knows what happened is something he’s just going to have to get used to.

“Congratulations,” more than one person says to him - for Scott’s Bite? For the Emissary thing? - and he replies with the customary thanks, but notices no one seems to be saying the same thing to his dad or Melissa. He glances at Derek but he’s smiling next to him and doesn’t seem to notice anything strange about this.

“Want me to get you a drink?” Derek asks him when there’s a lull in the well-wishers.

“Sure. Is there soda?” he asks, looking over at the table of food and drink Derek is gesturing towards.

“Coming right up.”

Stiles watches him go, feeling suddenly exposed without him there as a buffer, but before anyone else can approach to bid him more congratulations, a serene voice comes from his right.

“Good evening, Mr. Stilinski.”

Stiles turns to find the Emissary at his side, and his first instinct is to turn tail and run. He won’t be accepting any handshakes this time.

“Hi.”

“I’ve just spoken with your father. After some consideration, I’ve decided it will be beneficial if we schedule some regular sessions to get you used to working with a bit of Spark.”

“What happened to ‘We don’t need to worry about it yet’?”

“It’s true that stepping into your destined role is a long way off, but wielding a Spark takes practice and a developed endurance. It could also have a few applications in your everyday life which I think you might find… enlightening.”

Something about the way he says that word has the hairs on Stiles’ arms standing up. He narrows his eyes, but before he can ask why, Derek appears at his elbow with his drink. His eyes are narrowed just like Stiles’ are, but he seems to be having some sort of conversation with his eyebrows, a conversation which Deaton meets with an unimpressed stare.

Derek clenches his jaw. “If you’re going to do that, I think I should be there.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“I think it will. I might be Alpha one day. If Stiles is going to be my Emissary, then maybe I should supervise. I’m sure there’s plenty I’ll be able to learn too.”

“Very well,” Deaton relents, as serene as ever. “We’ll be meeting at ten on Sunday in my office,” he informs them, and then turns without another word to head to the food table to pour himself a drink.

Derek frowns as he watches him go, and Stiles’ stomach gives a sluggish churn.

“Should I be worried?” he asks, only half-joking.

The concern drops from Derek’s face to be replaced with a reassuring smile, his eyes lightening. “You’ll do fine.”

Stiles just hopes he’ll come out of their session on Sunday with the same level of confidence.

Derek hands over his chilled can of soda and Stiles accepts it gratefully, taking a deep swig and delighting in the burn of the bubbles.

“I see you just spoke to Deaton,” his dad says, appearing at his shoulder.

“Ten o’clock, Dad? Really?”

“It’s an entirely respectable hour,” his dad says, smugly, and Stiles rolls his eyes.

“I’m getting something to eat,” he grumbles.

He heads over to the food and snags a paper plate, making sure to stay at the other end of the table to Deaton until the other man has gone. His eyes rove over the professionally catered finger foods, all arranged on fancy, tiered displays. Despite being encouraged to eat beforehand, there’s a lot here, but he supposes with the number of werewolves present, it probably won’t last another ten minutes.

He picks up a slice of garlic bread, his mouth watering at the sight of actual chunks of garlic, and is just in the middle of using tongs to pick up some juicy-looking sausages wrapped in bacon when his mind wanders over something Derek had said just now.

I might be Alpha one day.

Stiles is going to be there when that happens, and he won’t just see it on TV or on the front page of every newspaper. He’ll be at the ceremony, beamed to every television in Beacon Hills and beyond. He could even be Emissary when the time comes, he realises. The ceremony might fall to him to oversee.

He looks down at the plate of food in his hands, his stomach suddenly the size of a pea, and puts down the tongs with only one little sausage on his plate. He grabs his soda before he steps away from the table, taking a breath as he pauses to look round for a familiar face or even just an open seat, but his gaze is vacant, not really seeing anything in front of him with the word Emissary echoing inside his head.

A crash from behind snaps him out of it. He spins round to find Scott with pastry and some sort of sauce smeared all down his front.

“I’m sorry!” squeaks the girl who’s plate he just collided with, a hand over her mouth in wide-eyed horror. “I’m sorry! I wasn’t looking! I—” She cuts off as Scott makes a wounded noise, staring at the human Soulbite on her neck, fully visible with the scooped neckline of her dress. He scrabbles to undo the buttons of his shirt, just enough to tug down the collar and show off his own bite.

The girl’s quiet, surprised Oh! is the only sound in the ensuing silence, and then cheering erupts from everyone watching. Stiles stays frozen to the spot in shock, staring as Melissa hurries to Scott’s side and a couple who must be the girl’s parents pick their way through the crowd.

“I’m Kira,” the girl says brightly, and Scott just stares dumbly back, his mouth hanging open.

“This is Scott,” Melissa says, laughing as she gives Scott’s shoulder a shake. He turns to stare at her instead, like he’s at a complete loss as to what’s even happening, and Stiles can’t blame him for feeling overwhelmed.

Talia approaches through the crowd. “Come on. Let’s go somewhere a little more quiet.”

Scott’s eyes find his on his way back towards the elevators, and without a free hand to give him a thumbs up, he holds up his can of soda instead. A giant beaming smile finally breaks out on Scott’s face and Stiles laughs as he goes.

He looks around for his dad but can’t spot him anywhere, and then starts to search for any other familiar face, perhaps Laura, or maybe Erica. The only person he can see that he knows ends up being Derek at the other side of the roof, leaning on the railing overlooking the Preserve. His first step towards him falters with hesitation, but then Derek looks over his shoulder and their eyes meet, and Stiles decides there’s nothing else for it.

“I saw your brother just met his Soulmate,” he says when Stiles is close enough, greeting him with a small smile that seems almost sad.

“Yeah. Cool, huh? To witness it, I mean?” It isn’t everyday people get to see that moment. Trust Scott’s first meeting to play out like a freaking rom-com.

“Yeah,” Derek says softly, still smiling even as he drops his gaze down to his beer.

“How did you meet yours?”

Derek takes a sip of his drink and clears his throat. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He guesses it’s not really any of his business.

“They just don't know yet,” Derek explains, gazing off into the dark, swaying trees.

“Oh,” Stiles says again. His curiosity has flared up but he doesn’t want to pry. Derek’s heat might have dragged Stiles into all this, but that doesn’t mean he has any right to know any of the details pertaining to his Soulmate.

He sets his coke down on the wide railing and nibbles on his slice of garlic bread, silence stretching between them. Derek is still looking into the distance, and Stiles wonders what he might be seeing that his human eyes can’t pick up. Unlike the view during the daytime, the blackness of the Preserve surrounds Beacon Hills like a sea, the well-lit city floating in the centre. Lights line the highways to the north and southwest, their only connection to the outside world. If he tilts his head up, the night sky stretches uninterrupted overhead, filling every part of his vision with the fat moon and twinkling stars.

“I just hate waiting,” Derek murmurs.

Stiles lowers his head, surprised that Derek offered something on his own. “Yeah. Feels like wasted time, doesn’t it?”

Derek lifts his eyes to look at him, pained.

Stiles knows better than most that Soulmates don’t mean long happy lives together. Look at his father. At Melissa. He often worries about how short a time he might have with his.

“Yeah. But I wanted to let them live a normal life for just a little bit longer.”

Stiles smiles, wryly. “I guess it will be a bit of a shock when they find out.”

Derek smiles back, but he looks grim. “A bit.” He turns his head over his shoulder, eyes glazed like he’s focused on his ears. “The ceremony’s about to start.”

“Already?” He looks back at the still empty stage. Derek must be able to hear something he can’t.

“Probably because of Scott. He’ll start going into heat soon now that he’s met his Soulmate. Add to that this being his first full moon, and it’s best to get this out of the way.” Derek’s cheek lifts with another smile, amused this time. “He’s in for a wild night.”

“Gross.” Stiles wrinkles his nose, but then shakes his head. “Scott’s a romantic. He’ll want to get to know her before jumping into bed. If Kira’s his Soulmate, I’m sure she’ll feel the same.”

“You think so? And what about you? What would you do?”

“What about me?” Stiles isn’t a werewolf. He’s not going to go through heat, unless it turns out his Soulmate is one, which is a slim chance.

“What would you do if you met your Soulmate for the first time and they immediately went into heat?”

Stiles worries at his bottom lip, a little mesmerised by Derek’s eyes looking playfully, intently back. “I’m still seventeen.”

Derek averts his eyes to his hands on the railing. “Yeah. Well, Scott and Kira will be missing out. Heat sex is the best sex.” Derek’s gaze flicks back to his. “Or so they say.”

Stiles’ mouth goes dry, staring as Derek’s lips twitch with a quick smile before he turns away. He takes a slow, quiet breath through his mouth in an attempt to calm his accelerated heart rate, trying not to think about how that ‘wild night’ could have been him and Derek. Well, if Stiles were really his Soulmate and wouldn’t have completely been taking advantage of him. That thought sobers him and he fiddles with the tab on his soda can, sighs, and follows after Derek back towards the stage.

He deposits his empty plate on a pile on a nearby table and finds his dad and Melissa in the crowd, arms around each other. Melissa has her head resting on his dad’s shoulder where they stand side by side, looking the picture of content, like she’s living the happiest moment of her life. Stiles kisses her on the cheek, and she wraps her free arm around his shoulders just as Talia climbs the steps onto the stage, followed by Erica and Scott.

They stand a couple of steps behind the Alpha on either side, Erica standing proud and excited, with Scott nervously grinning like a total goofball and wearing a new shirt Melissa must have fetched after Kira’s spill.

Talia holds up her hands and the last murmurings of the crowd fall silent, ready to hear the ceremonial words.

“Tonight, the full moon welcomes Erica Reyes and Scott McCall, and we welcome them into this pack.”

The Alpha’s eyes flare red and she tilts her head back to howl. The entire pack joins in, even Scott who manages not to sound like a crying puppy, the layered voices rising into a crescendo and sending goosebumps over his skin. It’s a sound he’s heard every month of his life, carrying across the entire city, but to be amongst it is an entirely different thing. It sounds powerful, feels like there’s an energy thrumming beneath his feet, like the addition of the two new howls from Scott and Erica is weaving further strength into the fabric of the pack. He wonders if his dad and Melissa can feel it too or if this is some remnant of whatever it was Deaton awakened in him the other day.

Stiles lets out a small awhoo of his own, and the howls of the people nearest him break with scattered laughter. He turns to Derek laughing next to him, who looks back with eyes glowing gold. It makes Stiles’ stomach swoop, flashing an image through his mind of those gold eyes staring down at him that night in his bed.

Derek blinks, his eyes returning to their human green, suddenly perceptive without the glow to hide it, and Stiles doesn’t want to know what Derek might be reading on his face. His gaze flickers down to Stiles’ chest where his heart is pounding, audible to him even over the continued cheers. Stiles flashes him what he hopes is a bright, carefree smile, and then he turns to his dad and Melissa beside him.

Talia leads the way down from the stage, and Scott scampers over through a sea of back pats and shoulder claps to engulf the three of them in a bone-crushing hug. He’s bright eyed, a little hazy. Even without the approaching heat, he’d probably still be on a high, now healthy and under his first full moon, along with the discovery of his Soulmate.

“Congratulations, buddy,” Stiles says. “First full moon and Soulmate all in one,” he says, shaking his head. “Trust you.”

“I guess this was meant to be, huh?”

It keeps coming back to that, doesn’t it? Derek crawling into his bed wasn’t just coincidence, but some form of the stars aligning. Securing Scott the Bite, discovering Stiles is the future Emissary, chancing upon Scott’s Soulmate… What else is in store for them? He wonders if any of these new developments have brought him any steps closer to his own Soulmate, whether it’s set him on a branching path of fate closer or further away.

“I’ll take him to get him sorted,” Melissa says, her arm around Scott’s shoulders, and Stiles waggles his eyebrows.

His dad cuffs him gently round the head. “Kira’s only seventeen.”

“Oh, damn,” Stiles says with a grimace. Turns out it’s not a matter of if Scott would or not.

“It’s okay. I want to wait anyway,” Scott says, brightly, as Stiles had predicted he would.

He wonders if he’ll still be saying that in a couple of hours’ time.

“See you at home,” Melissa says, giving his dad a quick kiss.

They give Scott one last hug and then she steers him over to Kira and her family. Talia joins them and leads them in the direction of the elevators and out of sight.

Kira’s dad, Ken, stays behind and comes over to say hello, suggesting their two families should get together for dinner soon to get to know each other.

“See you later, Stiles!” calls a voice, and he looks over to see Laura waving from near the door.

Stiles waves back, wishing he’d gotten to see more of her than just a quick goodbye. Derek stands out amongst the rest of the crowd beside her like he’s been doing all evening. He’s looking back at Stiles over his shoulder, giving him a lingering look before he’s swept away by the tide and out of sight.

Disappointment twists in his stomach to see him go, chased by a stab of irritation. Letting himself get drawn to Derek like this isn’t going to end well. That bite on Derek’s neck has seen to that.

He almost heaves a sigh, turning to scan the table of food that has since been mostly picked clean, but he does spot a bowl with a couple of handfuls of peanuts left in it. He wanders over, away from his dad and Ken who are discussing good places to eat in the area, and glances around at the thinned-out rooftop. It doesn't look like anyone is going to miss it, so he picks up the bowl and heads down to the balcony where Derek had taken him the day he'd first visited, this time taking a seat on one of the chairs down there now lined with plush cushions.

His dad joins him eventually, scooping a handful of nuts from the bowl and setting his beer down on the table between them. It's nice to sit there with just the two of them, discussing this new development with Scott and his Soulmate, and marvelling at how much has changed. Stiles is looking forward to getting to meet Kira properly once all this craziness is out of the way, to see if she’s as perfect a match as all Soulmates are supposed to be. It's peaceful, even if the breeze has started to get a little chilly, and they sit there until the peanuts are gone and his dad’s beer is empty.

His dad gathers their finished drinks and the bowl to return to the table where some of the human pack members are already cleaning up, and Stiles pauses, taking a few steps forward to stand at the railing. He looks out into the darkness beyond the lights of the city, at the space where he knows Huntsman’s Rock to be, listening to far-off howls. He wonders if Derek could be looking back.

Chapter Text

He doesn’t see Scott for the next two days. While he soldiers through his last day at what’s now his old school and then helps with the finishing touches to the apartment, Scott stays confined to a heat room in an adjacent building of the Compound. Once his heat has run its course, he’ll find himself back there every three months like clockwork until Kira turns eighteen or they decide to spend their heats together. 

While taking out the trash after school, Stiles bumps into Erica just arriving to see Boyd.

“How was your first full moon?” Stiles asks when she stops to say hi.

“A lot of fun! I’ve never really been one for the great outdoors before, but being out there, free to run and chase… It still makes me wanna howl.” She sobers and gives him a commiserating grimace. “It’s a shame Scott had to miss it. Have you seen him at all?”

“No. His heat should be over some time Saturday night, so I probably won’t see him until the next morning. He’s probably had it pretty rough.”

“A heat falling on a full moon is supposed to be kind of great when you have your Soulmate. When you don’t...” She pulls a face that Stiles can’t help but laugh at, even as he pities Scott for his misfortune. “Are you free tomorrow?”

“I think so. We’ve still got some last little bits to do in the apartment, but that’s all.”

“D’you wanna come hang out? I can introduce you to some of the others. I heard you’re going to be starting at our school on Monday.”

“That would actually be really great, thanks.” He’s going to have Scott with him on his first day, but it will still be nice to have a bit of a head start and get to know some of his classmates beforehand.

“Sure. I’ll come get you at twelve. We’ll get lunch,” she says, opening the door to Boyd’s apartment without the need of a key. He’s heard it’s unusual for the residents to lock their doors and he supposes it makes sense. With the security at the gates keeping people out and werewolf noses that would immediately pick up on an intruder, it doesn’t seem like there’s much need for it.

“See you tomorrow,” he says, giving her a wave.

Erica doesn’t live in the Compound, but she’s still in walking distance and doesn’t mind coming up to fetch him so they can head to the coffee shop together - the same one Derek had mentioned during his tour of the building.

She tells him about how she met Boyd as they make their descent and head out onto the street. It turns out she already attended Beacon Academy and was close to a lot of the werewolves in the pack, having crossed paths with Boyd a few times when hanging out with Cora after school. They’d never interacted much beyond polite Hellos until she visited the Compound after school one day not long after Boyd’s Soulbite had manifested and found herself thrust up against a wall with Boyd’s nose buried against her throat. That was apparently the first and only time anyone had ever seen him lose control.

“It was scary living without my own Soulbite for a couple of months. I was constantly terrified the Hunters would go after me to get to him.”

The Hunters. That tactic has become more prevalent in recent years, eliminating the human half of a Soulmate pair before they can fit teeth to Soulbite and seal their bond, sending the werewolf feral. No one really knows why it’s only the death of human mates that does it despite all of the research to find a cause. The myth of Romulus and Diana speaks of a curse from the Gods, but that doesn’t carry any weight in the present day when so much else can be explained by science. So far, it’s been much like trying to prove the existence of souls.

“He’s not part of the Alpha’s bloodline so I guess that didn’t make him enough of a target, but I thought his proximity to Derek might have tempted them.”

That’s what the Argents had managed to accomplish a few years back in a neighbouring city-state, sending the Alpha’s daughter feral and throwing the pack’s succession into chaos.

“It’s a good thing that’s something none of the Hales need to worry about,” Stiles says, and he hopes he doesn’t sound bitter or wistful. Their born wolf Soulbites have seen to that.

“Yeah. I think it’s all thanks to Peter. They probably would have tried something if any of them were left alive in Beacon Hills. There’s really nothing to worry about anymore.” Her eyes are wide and imploring, like she’s trying to convince Stiles of it more than herself. He nods his understanding despite being mostly bewildered by her sudden intensity, but she smiles, looking relieved.

He asks about her Soulbite and finds out she was in a similar situation to Scott, where her bite manifesting triggered a seizure that left her hospitalised. It was lucky she and Boyd had already crossed paths because it meant he could be immediately summoned to seal their bond, ending their worry of interference.

“It really hurt,” she says quietly, hand over the bite on her neck. She sounds fearful of the pain even now.

Stiles doesn’t have his own experience to be able to compare yet, but it’s common knowledge that werewolf Soulbites hurt a whole lot more than human ones. It’s meant to feel like being bitten for real, just without all the blood. He glances at her bite when she lowers her hand and winces at the depth of the fang marks.

He absently touches his neck where his own should appear one day, maybe soon, maybe even tomorrow. The latest a Soulbite might manifest is at nineteen, giving him another two years at most to wait.

They arrive at the coffee shop to find Erica’s friends sitting in the back corner, and he wonders if it’s their usual spot. Derek’s sister, Cora, is one of them, along with two boys, Jackson and Isaac. He learns that Kira would usually be amongst their number. Instead, she’s in a second heat building away from Scott, and Stiles kind of pities her. She’s human so she’d probably never thought that heats were in her future. This definitely wasn’t how she would have been expecting to spend her weekend.

“So. You got humped awake by my brother,” Cora says, just as Stiles is taking a sip of his mocha.

He nearly chokes. “Uh. Not exactly.” He glances around the table at everyone staring avidly back and swallows. “That part happened after I woke up.”

Isaac snickers into his panini and Cora’s eyes are alight like Santa himself just sprinkled the marshmallows in her hot chocolate.

“You’re going to torture him with everything I tell you, aren’t you?”

Cora sits back, waving her hand. “I’m going to torture him with this for the rest of his life whether you tell me anything or not.”

“Derek’s cute when he’s embarrassed,” Erica says, her smile almost angelic next to Cora’s shark-like grin. “His ears go pink and he gets all scowly.”

Stiles smiles in spite of himself. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Cora gets a knowing glint in her eye and Stiles blanches, taking a huge bite of his grilled cheese sandwich to keep his mouth occupied.

Thankfully, conversation moves on to the topic of school and he eagerly eats up everything they have to tell him, from timetable layouts to anecdotes about teachers. He ends up feeling a whole lot better about the prospect of his first day when it comes to going their separate ways, especially when Erica says they’ll meet him and Scott out front in the morning. It’s already looking to be a whole lot more promising than his last school.

*

Scott stumbles into the apartment Sunday morning with Melissa in tow when Stiles is getting ready to leave for his first lesson with Deaton. He heads straight for his room with barely more than a grunt.

“He’s tired,” Melissa whispers, and Stiles and his dad take it as their cue to vacate the apartment a couple of minutes early.

His dad is coming with him, at least for this first session, just to see exactly what it is Deaton is going to have him do. Stiles is glad of the company. Dread builds in the pit of his stomach as his dad pushes the button for Deaton’s office which happens to be in the basement. It clashes with his nerves when he reminds himself Derek is going to be there.

He hasn’t seen him since the night of the full moon, but that final look Derek had given him before he’d departed has been haunting him, flipping his stomach every time he remembers it. He wonders if it makes any audible noise every time it happens or if the stutter of his heartbeat is enough of a tell.

He doesn’t know what to expect of Deaton’s ‘office’. A gloomy little lair? For some reason, he’s picturing something dark and shadowy, somewhere Deaton might sleep hanging upside down like a bat.

In reality, it’s the opposite. All white and clinically clean, Stiles guesses it’s a habit that’s bled over from his work as a veterinarian. It’s somehow filled with natural light despite being underground, and there’s something on the air that even his human nose can pick up on: herbs, something earthy and fresh, like they’ve just stepped into the centre of the preserve. It’s smaller than he was expecting, though there are two doors at the back of the room, both closed.

Leaning back against a counter beneath a row of cabinets with his arms crossed is Derek. He looks angry, but Stiles can’t tell if he actually is or if it’s just the usual set of his jaw and eyebrows.

“Good morning,” Deaton greets them, standing at a high table in the centre of the room.

“‘Morning,” Stiles answers, trying to tear his gaze away from Derek who’s looking intently back.

“Derek,” his dad greets, warmly holding out his hand.

“Mr. Stilinski,” Derek says in return, accepting the handshake.

“I told you to call me John,” his dad scolds him fondly, and Derek ducks his head with a shy smile.

Stiles feels like he’s stepped into an alternate dimension. When did this happen? When did the two of them become so chummy? Why is his dad not mentioning his gun to the guy who broke into their home and crawled into his teenage son’s bed with X-rated intentions? Stiles supposes Derek’s wolf brain deciding his bed was a nice place to end up is to thank for all this, but he still thought his dad would have relished dealing out a gun threat or two.

“These sessions won’t take long, especially in these early phases,” Deaton begins.

“And this isn’t dangerous?” his dad asks.

Stiles almost rolls his eyes.

“Not at all. The most Stiles can expect to experience is a little exhaustion, mostly mental. This will be a slow process that I’ll be spreading out over months, building his endurance like he would his physical body through exercise.” He turns to address Stiles. “Your task for today is simple. I’m going to siphon off some of my Spark into you, just like what happened the day we met, but this time I’m going to teach you to accept it,” Deaton explains, and holds out his hand.

Stiles eyes it like it’s covered in warts.

“It’s quite alright. You’re not going to get a shock this time.”

Stiles is still wary but he takes hold of his hand anyway, relieved to find Deaton was telling the truth.

“Now, I’m going to begin the transfer, just a little to start with.”

He tenses, expecting that same sudden jolt, but this time he just feels warmth seeping into his hand, up his palm, his wrist. It feels like some sort of viscous liquid spilling over into him, or like those videos he’s seen where an octopus squeezes through an impossibly small hole - but that’s not a pleasant comparison when he can feel whatever this is wriggling around under his skin as it starts to rise up his forearm.

It reaches the same point as it had that first time, like there’s a wall of resistance, and Deaton lets go. The Spark energy is still in him, trapped in his forearm just like before.

“And now you need to accept it.”

Stiles gives him a look like he’s told him to cut off his own arm, hand held out in front of him like it’s covered in radioactive goo. It’s like how he’d always imagined it would feel to be a character in some anime who can shoot balls of energy out of their palms, like he could just lift his hand and blast a hole in the wall of Deaton’s office. What the hell is he supposed to do with it?

“Take a deep breath, feel the air flooding in and expanding your chest, and imagine the energy in much the same way, spreading up your arm to your centre. Let it be your centre.”

Stiles stares down at his hand, frowning, trying to do as Deaton says. He’s expecting the energy to move up his arm like a solid lump, but it spreads instead like it’s filling him, like it would take the shape of whatever container it’s given. As it creeps towards his shoulder, he feels suddenly off-kilter, like it’s become the centre point of his being like Deaton encouraged but is completely misaligned. It zips up his arm the rest of the way then and he staggers sideways, Derek throwing out an arm to catch him.

His whole body buzzes with it, like he should be ringed by a halo of light, warmth tingling all the way down to his toes. He can feel Derek there too, like he can feel his lifeforce, or—or something , something magic, like part of the Spark already exists in him. It disappears as soon as they part, and Stiles is left breathing heavily as he finds his balance again.

He can’t say it feels unpleasant. There’s still something like a vibration that’s giving a little fuzziness, particularly to his fingertips, but it feels like even that is fading, like this is his new normal.

“Very good,” Deaton says, and he actually sounds impressed. “Once you’ve caught your breath, I’m going to take it back.”

“Already?”

“Yes. And then I’m going to give that energy back to you, along with a little more, and if I’m satisfied with the way you accept it, I’ll have you keep it with you until our next session.”

“But won’t that make you weaker?”

Deaton looks back at him, a glimmer of humour in his usually impassive eyes. “The Hale Spark is very strong.”

Over the centuries, a pack’s Spark grows with the strength of each new Emissary it inhabits, and the Spark of the Hale pack has grown to be one of the strongest in the continent, if not the strongest outright. Some Sparks end up not being strong enough to withstand the growth of a pack’s territory. If what Deaton has given him now is but a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of the power that he holds, what if Stiles isn’t enough to hold the rest of it when that time comes?

With his balance restored, Deaton makes him take his hand to begin the unsettling process of sucking the sliver of Spark back out of him. It’s like he’s unspooling, his body trying to fight it, feeling like the way juice glugs when it’s poured from a carton. He feels literally drained when it’s over, sagging against the table.

Derek grabs him by the elbow like he might hold him up if Stiles’ knees start to give out. “How are you feeling?”

There’s a trembling weakness in his joints like what might come with exhaustion, even though Deaton had only talked about a mental toll. “Like a limp noodle.”

“That’s perfectly normal,” Deaton assures him. “That’s what we’re going to aim to overcome over the coming months.”

Months.

It’s hard to comprehend, but he wants to do well at this. Despite his own misgivings, he doesn’t want to give anyone else reason to wonder if the Spark got it wrong.

They go again. It still rocks him when it reaches his centre, but though Derek puts a hand on his upper arm to steady him again, he would have been able to stay upright on his own.

“Very well done,” Deaton says, and this time he’s even smiling.

Stiles has his hand in front of him still, looking down at it as he clenches and unclenches his fist, fighting to keep a proud smile from spreading across his face and mostly failing.

His dad claps him on the shoulder, making no attempt to hide the pride in his smile, even though he can’t have any idea exactly what just happened. To him, it must just have looked like the two of them holding hands and then Stiles trying not to fall over. Derek is smiling too, and Stiles is glad he didn’t completely flub it in front of him.

“Passed with flying colours. We’ll build on the same exercise next week and see how we go from there.”

“That’s all for today?”

“Yes. You might not feel it now, but give it ten minutes and you’ll be ready for a nap. Make sure you have a big lunch.”

“We’d already planned for that when Scott wakes up,” his dad assures him.

“I actually have something for Scott that might help make him feel better,” Deaton says, retrieving a small brown paper bag from the countertop behind him and handing it to his dad. “Brew this in boiling water for four minutes, no longer. It will help with energy renewal. I gave Derek the same thing after his first heat last week.”

Derek leans back against the counter behind him once more, crossing his arms and glowering at the back of Deaton’s head.

“Thanks. I’ll pass this along.”

“I’ll see you the same time next week,” Deaton says, and Stiles has no choice but to agree. It seems this will just be an addition to the weekly schedule of his life now.

“I’ll be here,” Derek says, like a promise. He’s still glaring at Deaton’s back, but Stiles catches sight of the Emissary’s lips twitch like he’s laughing on the inside.

His dad engages Derek with another handshake. “If you’re going to be here, then I’ll trust you to keep an eye on him. I don’t think there’s a lot for me to do,” he says, echoing Stiles’ earlier thoughts.

“I will,” Derek promises, so intense it’s like he’s vowing to guard Stiles with his life.

“Next week then,” Deaton says as they say goodbye and step into the elevator. “Oh, and Stiles?” he calls just as Stiles pushes the button for their floor. “Don’t try to use the Spark. I’ll know if you do.”

“No promises,” Stiles calls out with a grin just as the doors close.

“Stiles,” his dad reprimands, exasperated as always. Stiles just turns his grin on him.

When they get back to the apartment, Scott is still asleep but Melissa says she’s going to wake him soon to try and keep his sleep schedule in check. Stiles shows her the bag Deaton gave them, finding a tea bag inside which he sets about brewing to the instructions they were given. They tell her about Deaton’s first lesson while it brews and starts to cool, his dad eventually rousing Scott from his room with the promise of something that will make him feel better.

Scott stumbles out into the kitchen wrapped in a blanket.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Stiles asks.

“Being a werewolf sucks,” he groans, and Stiles has to clamp his lips together to trap a laugh bubbling up at how wrecked his voice sounds.

“Here,” Stiles says, handing the mug of weird tea across the island. “Tea from the Emissary. Apparently Derek used it after his heat,” he adds with an eye roll.

Scott snorts. “You really can’t get away, can you?”

“It’s like everyone’s doing it because they want to poke fun at Derek, but I just get caught in the crossfire,” Stiles complains.

Scott pulls a face when he first has a taste of the tea, but he doesn’t comment and starts to sip away at it.

“Wait, you met with Deaton?”

“He came to speak with us about it on the full moon, remember?” Melissa says.

Scott looks completely bewildered. He groans, rubbing at his eyes. “I don’t even know what day it is.”

“Sunday. School tomorrow,” Melissa cheerily informs him, and Scott whips his head up to stare at her in horror.

“Hey, I’ll be right there with you,” Stiles reminds him. “And Kira will be there too.”

The mention of Kira has him perking right up and Stiles laughs.

When his tea is drained, Scott does actually seem to improve. His voice has stopped sounding so rough, but Stiles doesn’t know how much of it is to do with his new werewolf healing. He recovers enough that he heads back to his room to return the blanket and get dressed, and Stiles follows after him to ask some more personal questions that he doesn’t want the parents overhearing.

“What was it like?” he asks as soon as the door is shut.

“Dude, I’m not telling you that,” Scott says with a wrinkled nose, and Stiles rolls his eyes.

“I don’t want those details. Just—how much do you remember?”

“Everything.”

“But you weren’t in control?”

“I was totally in control. It was just that whatever wolf part is inside me now was the side I wanted to listen to. Like it was more important than anything else, and all I needed was to be with Kira.”

Stiles frowns as he drops into Scott’s desk chair. That answer doesn’t really help him much. If Derek was in control and guided by his wolf instincts, it does nothing to explain why being in Stiles’ bed was so important.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Stiles. Maybe you should ask Derek.”

That startles a laugh out of him.  “Yeah. Right.”

“How is it spending time with him? Is it awkward?”

“It is when every single person who sees us standing next to each other gets these manic grins on their faces,” he grouches.

“No, I mean is it awkward considering your all-consuming celebrity crush?”

Stiles squawks and flails to cover Scott’s mouth. “He can hear you,” he hisses.

“He’s seven floors away,” Scott says, easily pulling Stiles’ hand off his face.

“Then someone else can hear you and they’ll tell him!” He flaps his arm at the wall in the direction of Boyd’s apartment across the hall.

Scott cocks his head, listening. “He’s not home.”

“But he could have been!” Maybe Scott should have checked that before he opened his mouth? “Just—Goddammit, Scott, keep your mouth shut!” he whines and Scott, the traitor, just laughs.

He throws his head back and groans, spinning back and forth in Scott’s desk chair.

Maybe you should ask Derek.

Derek had been tight-lipped when he’d asked about his Soulmate at the full moon party, so there’s no reason why he’d want to be more forthcoming about that . But what’s he so scared of? That Derek is going to confirm with his own mouth that Stiles isn’t his Soulmate? He’s already got that confirmation bitten right into Derek’s neck.

Derek might be a kind of celebrity crush of his - just a silly infatuation - but it still feels cruel to have had him dangled in front of him the way he was, so close but so impossibly far from achieving his teenage fantasy.

Stiles shakes his head to himself.

It seems everything this week has been coming up Scott. They’re definitely not coming up Stiles.

Chapter Text

With the initiation ceremony, Scott’s heat, and Stiles’ first session with Deaton behind them, they’re finally given a couple of uneventful weeks to settle into their new lives, their new normal.

Stiles and Scott start at their new school. It’s not as nerve-racking with Scott back at his side and he’s grateful to Erica for introducing him to her friends. Along with Scott’s link to Kira, they’re folded into the group without feeling out of place, or even unwelcome.

Stiles immediately discovers Kira is just as sunny and friendly as Scott is, a little clumsier (“She’s so cute, Stiles, I think I’m gonna die!” ) and a little more naive (“I think I’m in love with her already, Stiles, help me!” ), and Stiles can’t imagine anyone more perfect for his brother.

Their teen movie romance continues, sharing an umbrella when it rains and both blushing the first time they hold hands, and it makes Stiles want to mime sticking his fingers down his throat to Isaac who looks just as nauseated as he feels.

He has his second session with Deaton on the next Sunday just as scheduled. Deaton just draws back the energy he’d given Stiles last week, and then returns it with a little extra, back and forth, getting him used to the flow of it, continuing their baby steps. He even teaches him to give the energy back without assistance, which is the hardest part of what he’s learnt so far. It just feels like it’s going against every single one of his instincts to voluntarily make himself weaker.

In all, the session barely lasts more than twenty minutes.

Derek is there as he said he would be, but how much longer will that last? He can’t be getting anything out of these meetings despite initially insisting it would help with his potential future as the Alpha. Laura doesn’t make an appearance, and Stiles wonders if Derek thinks of this as some sort of assignment, like extra credit. Is he trying to show he’s more serious about the role than she is?

Partway into their second proper week of living in the compound, he bumps into Laura for the first time since the full moon, just as they’re crossing the lobby in different directions.

“Oh, Stiles! I’m glad I caught you,” she says, eyes alight with her usual cheer. “I heard that Scott and Kira are going on their first official date this weekend.” She pauses to laugh at the expression on his face. “Word travels fast in this place.”

“I’m starting to realise that.”

“I thought maybe you’d want to come round for dinner, give your dad and Melissa some alone time.”

Stiles screws his face up at what she might be implying, and she laughs again. She’s not wrong though. Just like they couldn’t spend much time as a family when Scott was in the hospital, the two of them had no time to spend as a couple, even for a night together in front of the TV.

“They probably do need it,” he admits.

“And it will be good to get to know you better. You are our future Emissary after all.”

He pulls another face. “Please don’t remind me.” His stomach still shrinks up every time he thinks about it.

“You’re gonna be fine, Stiles. Derek says you’ve been incredible in your sessions with Deaton.”

“‘Incredible’?”

“Hey, his word, not mine.”

Stiles isn’t sure he believes that. He can’t imagine Derek gushing over anything, let alone over him.

“So are you in?” Laura asks again. “I’m making stir-fry.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll be there.”

She goes over a quick list of ingredients to make sure it’s all things he’ll eat, and then she heads on towards the elevators.

“Come up at six-thirty!” she calls back over her shoulder.

*

He doesn’t bother dressing in anything fancy. He’s sure Laura means this to just be a casual thing so he just throws on a plaid shirt and jeans, unlike Scott who’s wearing a smart button down that Melissa had bought him especially for his date. He’s standing at the living room mirror when Stiles leaves his room to put on his shoes, plucking self-consciously at the collar.

“We expect you home by ten,” Melissa is saying, something she’s already warned him about more than once over the last week, and Scott just grumbles his agreement.

“I’m just about to go, so have fun, Scotty.”

“Don’t forget to be home by ten,” Scott calls after him, sarcastically.

“Stiles doesn’t have a curfew,” Melissa says, helping him with the button on the cuffs.

“What? Why the hell not? He’s going to be with—” Scott gapes at her.

“Language. And it’s because we don’t trust you,” she teases, tweaking his ear.

“But I’m eighteen!” Scott protests and Stiles winces.

“Big mistake, buddy,” he says, clapping him on the shoulder as he passes. Scott might be eighteen, but he seems to have forgotten that Kira isn’t, as Melissa takes great pleasure in reminding him as Stiles heads for the door.

“I’ll be back later,” he calls over his shoulder.

“Have fun,” his dad says over Scott’s continued whining.

He shuts the door and leaves them to it, pushing the button for Derek’s - Laura’s floor once the elevator arrives. He knocks on Laura and Jordan’s door, double-checking the plaque beside it to make sure he’s got the right one. He spares a glance over his shoulder at Derek’s door behind him while he waits, wondering if he’s inside. Laura’s door opens almost immediately and he whips back round to come face to face—with Derek.

Stiles’ eyes go wide, his mouth freezing partway open as a reflex greeting gets trapped in his throat.

“Hi,” Derek says instead.

“Are you here for dinner?” Stiles manages to choke out.

“Yeah—”

“Yeah, I thought it would be good to even out the table,” says Laura, her head popping up from over Derek’s shoulder. “Seeing as you and Derek already know each other so well, I decided he’d be the best candidate. Come on in!”

How well he and Derek know each other is something he could do with never hearing about ever again, he thinks to himself as he steps through the door. Asking Erica or Cora - or even Deaton - would have been kinder than this. He hadn’t been nervous before, but now his palms are sweating.

“It smells great,” he says as he steps inside and follows after Derek as Laura hurries back to the kitchen, anything to cover up his heartbeat probably skipping all over the place.

“Thanks! It will be ready in about twenty minutes, so go take a seat. Jordan, get him a drink, will you?”

“What do you want?” Jordan asks as he gets up to head to the fridge. “We’ve got—”

“I’ll have what he’s having,” Stiles says, brightly, nodding to the beer Derek has just picked up from a coaster on the coffee table.

Jordan laughs at him. “Nice try. We’ve got soda, some fruit juices—”

“Soda’s fine, thanks.”

He perches on the sofa next to Derek, as far away from him as he can get until he notices how unnatural it looks and has to sprawl out a little to hide it. Derek is silent as he always seems to be whenever there’s company aside from the two of them, picking at the label on his beer bottle as Stiles busies himself with looking around.

The apartment has the same layout as theirs, though the sofa is pushed against the wall beside the door instead of with its back to the kitchen like Melissa decided on. The placement of appliances and counters in the kitchen is the same, and he watches Jordan root around in the fridge and then bump his hip against Laura’s as he fetches a glass from the cupboard beside her head.

It makes him ache to watch. Most of the few Soulmate couples he’s known throughout his life have been broken ones, and the last time he can remember witnessing any in a domestic setting was before his mom died, conjuring flashes of his parents in the kitchen on weekend mornings. He knows his dad and Melissa love each other, but he also knows it’s different between Soulmates, irreplaceable, even if he doesn’t truly know it yet.

Derek turns his head sharply to look at him, and Stiles almost winces. He doesn’t look back, just plasters on a smile and accepts the soda as Jordan hands it to him. If Jordan picks up on any sadness in his scent, he doesn’t show it.

“Derek’s responsible for the dinner choice,” Laura explains, tipping some broccoli into the pan she’s stirring. “It’s his birthday next week so I thought this could count as a present.”

“Lucky me,” Derek says, deadpan.

“Don’t listen to him, Stiles. He loves my cooking.”

“It smells great,” Stiles says again, absently, his mind caught up on the mention of Derek’s birthday. Is he supposed to get him something? What’s the etiquette when it comes to… whatever he and Derek are to each other?

He’s still wondering about it when Laura calls them to the table.

The first thing he’s struck by is the sheer amount of food. They’ve had to up Scott’s portions at mealtimes since his transformation, but that still doesn’t compare to the size of the serving bowls in front of him here. He doesn’t hold back as he serves food onto his plate with so much on offer, but he doesn’t bother trying to keep up with what the werewolves at the table dish out, trying not to stare as they heap their plates - and trying not to find it sexy that Derek has so much of an appetite.

He drools his praise as soon as he starts eating and Laura beams.

“I’m not the only one who knows their way around a kitchen. Derek makes some amazing fajitas, doesn’t he, Jordan?”

“Oh, the best! He hasn’t cooked them for ages,” Jordan complains.

Derek rolls his eyes but seems pleased by the praise regardless. “It’s just seasoning out of a packet.”

“But it never tastes right if anyone else does it.”

“How can it not taste right?” Derek laughs. “You just throw it all in a frying pan and stir!”

“You should cook it for Stiles some time,” Laura suggests.

“Yeah, and invite us along.” There’s a thud from under the table and Jordan jumps, stuttering, “O-oh, but you should definitely cook some for Stiles first. Maybe just bring us the leftovers.”

Laura smiles at him.

They continue to eat and Stiles can’t stop his eyes darting around the table, at the two Soulmates opposite him and Derek.

Double date, his mind supplies, unhelpfully.

He drags himself out of his thoughts, tuning in to the end of Laura’s sentence.

“—what with the Match Meet coming up.”

“Match Meet?” he repeats, and it’s a miracle he manages to stop his eyes flicking over to Derek. “Do you still need to go even though you’ve already found yours?”

Match Meets are held for people who’ve had the Soulbite of a born wolf manifest on their necks to meet in one location in the hopes of finding their Soulmate. With the Soulmate pairs so often being from different packs, they need the meetings to help them cross paths. It’s particularly important in the case of one half of the couple being human, what with the whole threat of going feral.

“We’re the hosts this time, so I’m still going to have to be there.”

“Waste of time,” Derek mutters.

“Hey, just be glad you don’t need to leave Beacon Hills for once.”

Derek grumbles but doesn’t argue.

It just makes Stiles even more curious. Derek has started his heats so he must know who his Soulmate is, but it sounds like he needs to attend Match Meets to go on pretending.

The only werewolves he’s seen Derek with are his family or people already in mated pairs. It must mean his Soulmate lives in a different city-state, waiting for their mark to manifest too so he can finally reveal himself. Whoever it is is going to be in for a shock.

Everything gets eaten, down to every last noodle. Stiles felt like a sorority girl nibbling on a lettuce leaf in comparison to how the three of them were putting it away, but he still feels ready to burst.

After dinner, Laura asks if he’s up for some board games, and he helps Derek look through the selection while Jordan and Laura clear up in the kitchen, pulling out some classics.

“I used to play Trouble a lot when I was younger.” He always liked pushing the dome in the centre down and watching the dice bounce around, over and over, even if he wasn’t playing. Before Scott came along, he’d play all four players by himself, all the times his dad wasn’t around to play it with him.

Laura throws him a sheepish look over her shoulder. “We always broke that one.”

“You always broke that one,” Derek corrects, and Laura punches him in the arm as she passes in a clear demonstration of how it always got broken. It reminds Stiles of Derek’s story about Laura throwing him off Huntsman’s Rock when they were kids, and he has to bite his lips to hide a smile.

“I’ll sit next to Laura,” Jordan says to Stiles as they get ready to sit in the lounge. “Get too close and we might be sending you home with some broken bones.”

Laura gasps. “I would never!”

With a last minute top-up of drinks, they’re ready to play.

Stiles is the first to knock over the Jenga tower without those pesky werewolf reflexes, but then he slaughters them at three rounds of Clue until they throw in the towel with good-natured accusations of cheating. He just reminds them that he’s not the son of a Sheriff’s Deputy for nothing. They’re partway through a game of Monopoly when his phone buzzes with a text from his dad and he realises it’s just gone eleven-thirty.

Just heading to bed. Don’t forget your session with Deaton tomorrow.

Didn’t realise the time. I’ll be home soon.

“Is that your dad?”

“Yeah, he’s just going to bed.”

“Crap, it’s gotten late. We’ll have to send you home.”

“It’s okay. We can finish the game.”

The rest ends up only taking five minutes, Jordan’s victory.

“I think he cheated when we were distracted by Stiles’ phone,” Laura accuses.

“Hey, I’m down for a rematch,” Jordan says, cockily leaning back on his hands and grinning when Laura playfully punches him in the stomach.

“Go on, Stiles,” she says, “you should head home. I don’t want to get in trouble with your dad.”

“Really, it’s fine. I’ll help clear up first—”

“Don’t worry about it. Derek, make sure he gets home okay.”

“It’s just an elevator ride,” Stiles laughs as they all get to their feet. “I think I’ll be alright.”

“I insist. I’ll sleep better for it.”

She ushers the two of them to the door and draws Stiles in for a hug. “It was really nice having you. We’ll have to do this again soon.”

“Yeah, thanks for having me. Dinner was great.”

He gives Jordan a hug goodbye, then finds himself out in the dimly lit hallway between the apartments with Derek.

“You don’t have to come with me,” Stiles says into the awkward beat of silence.

Derek laughs and shakes his head, turning toward the elevator. “She can hear you.”

Stiles rushes to follow, wincing. “I still forget about that.”

When they reach his floor, he’s expecting to say bye to Derek as soon as the elevator doors open so he can ride it straight back up, but he steps out with him to walk him the few extra steps to his door.

Stiles dithers. Should they hug like he did Laura and Jordan? Would that be weird? Or is it only weird because he’s making it weird when it really shouldn’t be weird at all?

Derek solves his inner dilemma by reaching out and tugging him into his arms. It’s a bit of a collision, Stiles not ready for it and Derek pulling him in too fast, but they manage to right themselves. Derek is radiating warmth. It makes it difficult for Stiles not to go limp against him and really snuggle in close, especially when they’re at the perfect height to hook their chins over each other’s shoulders. He’s taken aback by how strong and sturdy he is, though it really shouldn't be a surprise considering he’s already felt this before. Derek’s arms tight around him, a cage, protecting.

Derek holds him long enough that he can feel his chest expand on a deep breath, then he pulls back just far enough to be able to look Stiles in the eye, their faces way too close.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he murmurs, and Stiles’ mouth has gone so dry he can only nod, blinking owlishly.

Derek returns to the elevator and pushes the button as Stiles stares after him. The elevator hasn’t moved so the doors open immediately, and Derek steps in, turning to push for his floor. Meeting Derek’s eyes again snaps him out of his trance, and he offers a hurried good night , thrusting his key in the lock and scampering inside before the doors have a chance to close.

He doesn’t get a chance to catch his breath. His dad is just coming out of the bathroom, smiling when he catches sight of Stiles standing by the door.

“Did you have a good time?” he asks in an almost whisper.

“Yeah, it was fun. Derek ended up being there too. We just had dinner and played board games.”

“Good. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

Stiles starts to toe off his shoes, glancing slowly up when he realises his dad still hasn’t moved.

“So, what do you think of Derek?”

“He’s—” She can hear you. “—nice.” How far away is Derek right now? Is he still in the elevator? Can he hear them from there?

His dad gives him a knowing look, a kind of creepy smile with raised eyebrows that Stiles never wants to see on his face again.

“Is Scott home?” he asks before his dad can ask anything else.

“Of course. Ten pm on the dot. He was still awake when I said goodnight just now if you want to see him.”

“Okay. I’ll do that.” If it will get him away from any more questions about Derek.

“Goodnight, son. See you tomorrow.”

“Night, dad. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

He knocks on Scott’s door and opens it when he answers to find him lying on his bed on his phone.

“How was it with Kira?” he asks, closing the door behind him.

Scott opens his mouth to respond, but it seems all he can manage is a dreamy sigh.

Stiles laughs, shaking his head. “That good, huh?”

“And how are things with Derek?”

“They’re—Why is everyone being weird about this? Wait, how did you know he was there?”

Scott gives him a look like he’s an idiot. “I heard you tell your dad just now. And you’ve brought the smell of him into my room,” he adds, wrinkling his nose.

“Oh. Well, they’re still awkward, if that’s what you mean.”

Scott stares at him, and then shakes his head, going back to his phone. “Derek’s a bonehead.”

“A bonehead? Still?”

“Completely. You should have had a curfew,” he adds, giving him another look.

“I’m sure my turn will come eventually. Or maybe I’ll be old enough to live without curfews when the time for meeting my Soulmate comes.”

“Yeah, at this rate,” Scott mutters. “Still, as long you had fun.”

“Yeah.” He really had. He hadn’t even noticed how much time had passed.

He remembers his apprehension when he’d discovered Derek was there but is glad it hadn’t been as painful as he’d thought it would be. A heads up would have been nice, but then he guesses he would have just dreaded going all week.

He just needs to carry on as he had tonight, reminding himself Derek is a potential new friend and nothing else. No more thoughts of strong arms like cages.

And definitely no more thoughts of double dates.

Chapter Text

For his third session with Deaton, Stiles makes the mistake of staying up too late dicking about on his phone and forgets to set an alarm, falling straight back to sleep in the morning when his dad tries waking him. He ends up standing blankly at the kitchen island eating the last of the peanut butter out of the jar with a spoon ten minutes before he’s due to leave, not even dressed yet.

He barely registers the ring of the doorbell, or his dad getting up from the sofa where he’d been reading the newspaper, but he comes to immediate attention when his dad opens the door to reveal Derek standing on the other side of it in all his radiant perfection. Stiles has never been more aware that his hair is on end and, yep, that’s a glob of peanut butter he’s dropped on the chest of his t-shirt.

He’s tempted to crumple to the floor behind the island, but his dad is waving Derek in and he’s already been spotted, Derek smiling at him in that way he always does, like he’s genuinely happy to see him.

“‘Morning,” Derek greets him, and Stiles’ response comes out thick with peanut butter.

He wonders if Derek’s spotted the dollop on his shirt, if he’ll draw more attention to it if he lifts his collar to suck it off.

“I was just heading down to Deaton’s and thought we may as well go together,” Derek says in explanation.

“Let me just—” He hooks his thumb in the direction of his room.

Derek gives him a smile - way too sunny for this early on a Sunday which Stiles takes to mean he’s definitely spotted the peanut butter - and Stiles fumbles with screwing the lid on the jar before heading to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Once he’s sorted his hair into something vaguely more presentable, he cuts across the living area to his room to get dressed, trying to ignore the sight of Derek looking right at home on the couch beside his dad. When he reemerges, it’s just in time to catch Melissa telling Derek he’s welcome to come for dinner any time and Stiles tries not to let his eyes go too wide.

“Ready to go?” Derek asks, turning his head to look at him over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he says, discreetly checking himself over for any more stray peanut butter as he follows Derek to the door.

“Sorry if showing up unannounced made you uncomfortable,” Derek says as they wait for the elevator.

“You didn’t,” Stiles assures him. Not uncomfortable anyway. Nervous. But that’s not something he can admit.

Honestly, he’s not even sure why Derek is still bothering to come to these things. He must have better things to do than babysit Stiles every Sunday morning just because Stiles’ dad asked him to keep an eye on him.

“You don’t need to come every week, you know. You must have other things you’d rather be doing.”

“I really don’t mind. Unless you don’t want me to come, then I can—”

“It’s not that. Just thought I’d give you an out if you wanted it.”

“It’s really no problem. I want to. I like spending time with you.”

Stiles’ heart starts doing something wild in his chest at that, and knowing Derek can hear it just makes it pound all the harder with no way for him to wrangle it under control.

“Well, if you’re sure.”

“I am,” Derek says just as the doors open on Deaton’s office.

The Emissary puts him to work without delay, this week moving him onto something a little more advanced.

“Today I’m going to start teaching you to throw out your new sense to reveal energy signatures in your surroundings.”

“That sounds complicated.”

“Perhaps it will be at first, but you’ve aced everything else so far.”

Derek’s eyebrows have drawn down into a frown. “Should I wait outside?”

“That won’t be necessary. Your presence isn’t going to interfere.”

Derek’s eyebrows don’t relax at the assurance, but Deaton carries on and Stiles draws his attention back to him.

“Everything has a different signature - plants, people, enchantments - and though it will all seem the same at first, over time, you’ll be able to sense the difference in every object as easy as you recognise an object by sight. Signatures present themselves as an amalgamation of phantom senses, manifesting as a colour in your mind’s eye with a hint of distinct tastes and scents. You’ll understand when you manage to see for yourself,” Deaton says at the bewilderment that must be clear on Stiles’ face. “For beginners, it’s easiest to achieve by closing your eyes, and then like the way you open yourself up to accept the Spark, let it seep out of you into your surroundings.”

Apprehension boils in his stomach at the thought of letting the Spark spill over out of him, like it might take him with it with no way for him to get back. Deaton isn’t showing any concern though and Stiles gives in when he encourages him to close his eyes. 

He tries imagining tendrils, feelers, tentacles like that octopus he’d pictured when he’d first accepted the Spark into him, but nothing happens. Nothing happens for a long time, and the longer nothing happens, the more he starts to frown and the less ‘opened up’ he becomes.

“Relax,” Deaton reminds him, and Stiles forces himself to take a deep breath, imagining his consciousness opening up outside his head as he exhales.

Still nothing. Just the usual pulsing swirl of colours on the inside of his eyelids that’s always there when he closes his—No, there’s something different about it, changing, flickering. The colours have become finer, more of them, little blots that are even coming from behind his head, a big blob of green to his left—

He snaps back from it with a gasp, the shock of a sudden out of body sensation jolting his eyes back open.

“I think I had it.” He looks over his shoulder at the cabinets lining the wall.

“Yes, I think you did,” Deaton says, rounding the table to open two of the cabinet doors and reveal vials and vials of herbs and powders and other ingredients. The energy signatures he’d just sensed behind his head. “Plants don’t need to still be living in order to sense what they are. In time, you’ll even be able to differentiate between ones that have been dried and ones that are still growing. Did you see them as colours?”

“Yeah. Mostly green. And there was—” He lifts his hand to his left and jumps when he realises it’s where Derek is standing, right where that larger shape of green had been. He can still see an echo of it in his head, a snapshot rather than the Spark still being in action. The shade of green had been soft but bright, just a tint of yellow to it, and he’s trying to think what it reminded him of.

“Good. Again.”

Stiles is eager to close his eyes this time, but it still takes him a while to manage. Even though he knows what it feels like now, something still keeps him from forcing it. His only option is to relax and let the Spark guide him on its own, the colours behind his eyelids dividing and sharpening once more. He focuses on that blob of green again where Derek is, but trying to focus on the shape of it feels similar to working one of those Magic Eye illusions. He can just make out a flash of bright yellow near the top of it, a shifting gold, something separate from the green, growing brighter as it steals all of his focus.

The Spark reaches out like one of those tendrils he was trying to conjure earlier, like it wants to welcome it, and he realises with another jolt that that glimmer of gold he’s seeing is part of the Spark. He’s recognising the same energy that's been a part of him ever since Deaton lent it.

He wobbles, his eyes springing open, and the residual colours fade.

“I think that’s enough for one day,” Deaton says quietly, snapping Stiles’ attention away from staring at Derek. “You’re already weakened, and Derek has a Bite to go to this morning. We’ll have to delay our next session to the week after. There’s much to arrange with the upcoming Match Meet.”

With the warning that Stiles shouldn’t practice on his own, Deaton sends them on their way.

He studies Derek as he pushes for the lobby and Stiles’ floor, the doors sliding shut, and decides there’s no harm in asking.

“Has Deaton used some of his Spark on you?”

Derek stiffens. He half turns his head to look at him but relaxes his shoulders instead. “Oh. Yeah. Something to make me a bit easier to control on my heats. To stop a repeat of last time.”

“Oh. Right, we wouldn’t want that,” Stiles says, scratching at the back of his neck.

Derek doesn’t look away and Stiles wonders if he’s trying to parse whether there was any truth in what he just said, if there were any irregularities in his heartbeat that he’s trying to read - or if Stiles is just being paranoid. Thankfully, the lift doors open on the lobby and the moment is broken.

Derek pauses to look back at him as soon as he’s stepped out. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah, see ya.”

The doors start to close but Derek doesn’t turn away. Stiles holds his gaze despite his urge to duck and hide behind the closing doors, to get away from the intensity of Derek’s stare.

*

He gets back to the apartment to hear his dad and Melissa discussing Derek’s birthday.

It’s the day after the full moon so the initiation ceremony is going to double as a party, and they’re currently going back and forth on whether they should get him anything. Talia has told Melissa that they don’t really bother with presents amongst the pack unless it’s family - and Stiles can understand why considering there’s so many of them - but Melissa still feels like they should get him something as thanks for everything they’ve been given because of him.

Stiles starts to snicker as he realises it translates to Thanks for crawling into our son’s bed with a boner, and then imagines them writing that into Derek’s birthday card.

He grabs a snack and leaves them to their discussion, but his mind starts to wander over the next few days, wondering what he’d give Derek if he were to give him a gift. He doesn’t intend to actually buy him something, but an idea rears its head regardless and he’s searching the internet before he can think better of it. It’s not like there’s any guarantee he’ll be able to find exactly what he’s looking for anyway.

Except he comes across exactly what he was looking for with two keywords and a single mouse click.

He stares at the screen, wondering if this is a sign that he should go ahead. It’s not like anyone’s going to read into this. It’s just one dude buying another dude a birthday present with a totally steady heartbeat and non-sweaty palms. No big deal.

Derek had said he likes spending time with him, after all, and after spending that evening at Laura’s, it feels like they’re maybe kind of on their way to considering each other friends. Does Stiles need to take this step to show Derek he values the burgeoning friendship between them?

He’s just hovering over the add to basket button when his dad comes out of his bedroom, and he slams his laptop shut.

One eyebrow rises up his dad’s forehead. “What was that?”

Stiles’ evasive answer sticks in his throat; he knows any denial that it was anything is just going to translate in his dad’s head to Porn.

“I just had an idea of something to get Derek for his birthday, but I can’t decide if I should or not.”

“Well, if it’s something you think he’d like, I don’t see why you shouldn’t.”

“Scott isn’t.” And I know everyone will see straight through me to the reason why.

His dad’s piercing gaze feels like he hears what Stiles left unsaid. “Scott isn’t growing close to Derek like you are,” he points out.

“That’s true.”

His dad is hesitant with his next words, like he’s choosing them carefully. “I think it would make Derek happy.”

Stiles thinks it would too. He thinks it will make him laugh, and that’s something he really wants to see.

“Do you need some money to go towards it?”

“No. It’s not expensive.”

“Then my advice is to go for it. Worrying about what other people might think never gets you far. And you never know, you might regret it later if you don’t.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, though it’s laced with hesitation.

His dad leaves him to it and he logs back into his laptop, the Amazon store page still waiting for him. One more look is all it takes. Gripped by the need to see Derek’s reaction, he adds it to his basket. 

*

Dread sets up permanent residence in the pit of his gut for the rest of the week. It had flooded in as soon as he hit ‘buy’, and the potency had just increased when it arrived, when he had to wrap it, when Scott begged to know what it was. The only thing keeping him from stashing it under his bed, never to be thought about ever again is the fact that his dad knows it arrived and now there’s no backing down.

The wrapping sticks to his sweaty palms where he shifts it from one hand to the other over and over as they head up to the roof, trying to find a way to hold it that says ‘casual’ even as his heartbeat tells every werewolf present that he’s feeling anything but.

This was a stupid idea. Why didn’t anyone stop him? Derek is just going to give him a pity laugh while he’s really thinking Stiles is a freak for remembering a throwaway conversation they had over a month ago.

His stomach bungee jumps past his toes to somewhere down by Deaton’s office in the basement when he steps out onto the roof and Derek’s eyes lock with his, and he considers prying open the doors behind him to dump the present down the elevator shaft. But Derek’s gaze has dropped to the gift in his hand and he knows it’s too late. Even if he’d wanted to, the look on Derek’s face has him frozen.

He looks— floored. He approaches Stiles as if in a trance, accepting the gift like it’s made from the finest Venetian glass, like Stiles has lassoed the moon to place in his hands.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” he breathes, amazed.

Stiles shrugs, aloof, no-big-deal - except he hadn’t imagined Derek would make such a big deal about this. “I just had an idea for something.” He doesn’t look away from Derek, doesn’t want to see the expressions on the faces of the people around them. “It’s nothing serious. Don’t get too excited.”

“Can I open it now?”

Everyone is gathering round, calling out their encouragement, and Stiles thinks he’d be really grateful if he could drop through the floor right about now and reunite with his stomach. He’s helpless to refuse, can only watch as Derek slices through each strip of tape with a precise claw, drawing out the anticipation in the audience and the agony in Stiles.

The wrapping parts, revealing a square of folded black fabric and Stiles’ heart starts pounding in his throat. Derek lifts it out and the bottom of the t-shirt falls down, revealing the print in the centre of baby Simba being held up by Rafiki’s hands, and Derek’s laughter rings out in the eager silence. It’s bright and surprised - real - and Stiles’ knees go weak as relief floods through him.

When Laura catches sight of the design, she laughs so hard she cries, going bright red in the face. “You have to put it on! Put it on right now!” she gasps out, slapping at his arm.

“Okay, okay!” Derek laughs, and his Henley comes over his head. Stiles directs his eyes skyward, at the stars, the moon, anywhere but at the sudden display of abs before his eyes. He’s surrounded by werewolves. One curl of arousal and whatever dignity his sweaty palms and erratic heartbeat have left him with will be going up in smoke.

Derek pulls the t-shirt on and tugs down the hem as Talia starts explaining the joke to everyone present with a dose of good-natured parental scolding. Laura sneaks up behind Derek as soon as it’s on and lifts him up by the armpits, bellowing out the opening to Circle of Life, and Stiles rubs the back of his neck, pleased, but slightly embarrassed, by everyone’s laughter.

Derek turns to him as soon as she puts him down. “I love it, thank you.”

“Sure—” He cuts off with a small gasp when he gets tugged into Derek’s chest for a hug. “I don’t know if you really wear t-shirts, but I thought you could sleep in it or something.” Derek pulls back. “I’m glad it fits. I wasn’t sure if I should get a bigger one.” His cheeks go hot as soon as he says it for literally no reason, and he just prays that they haven’t gone pink as well.

“No, it’s perfect,” Derek assures him and Stiles nods, trying valiantly to not let his eyes linger on the snug fit of the sleeves around his biceps.

“Well. Happy Birthday for tomorrow.”

Everyone starts to disperse, off to fill up their glasses or get some food, and Stiles slips away to get a drink as Derek’s attention turns to some new arrivals giving him their birthday wishes. Erica is at the food table next to him loading up her plate from a stack of salted caramel profiteroles, encouraging him to snag a few before the whole tower gets demolished.

Talia appears at his elbow, in the process of filling her own plate.

“Profiterole?” he asks.

“Thank you,” she says, holding out her plate. “That was very thoughtful of you, Stiles.”

He shrugs awkwardly, confused by her gratitude over something so small. “I was already holding the tongs.”

She chuckles. “I meant the gift.”

“Oh.” He glances over his shoulder at Derek in spite of himself, a pulse going through his entire body at the sight of his profile, the t-shirt sleeve. Talia’s eyes are sparkling when he looks back at her and his cheeks get hot again. “I just thought it would be funny.”

“Well, I’m sure it means a lot to him.” She gives him a warm smile and moves on.

Erica is grinning at him when he turns back to her. “Come on, over here,” she says, leading him in the opposite direction before he can ask what she’s smiling at.

She takes him over to the lower level of the balcony where all the chairs have been commandeered by his friends. It seems this is where they always sit which is probably why he didn’t spot them at the last ceremony.

“That t-shirt was a really nice idea, Stiles,” Kira tells him, brightly. “He looks really pleased with it.”

Cora is standing with her back to the railing, watching her brother up the steps with narrowed eyes where he’s deep in conversation with a couple of the other pack members, beaming smile still in place. “He’s such a dweeb.”

Stiles glances back at him just as Derek’s eyes find his, and it’s like even he can hear it when his heart gives a sharp throb in his chest. Stiles flashes him a panicked smile and takes a seat next to Isaac, lowering his line of sight and blocking him from view.

The party follows the same schedule as the last one, the ceremony taking place after a bit of mingling with the couple of new pack additions up on stage and the howl at the full moon above their heads.

Derek gives him a hug again to thank him before he heads out, Stiles wondering how much he might have had to drink in celebration. He’s standing so close when he pulls back that Stiles could count every grain of stubble if given the time.

God, I want to kiss you, is what Stiles is thinking, but thankfully, that isn’t what comes out of his mouth. “Enjoy your frolicking.”

Derek smiles at him, the same one he’s worn all evening, as he raises a solitary eyebrow. “We don’t frolic.”

“I bet you do. I bet you totally do! I bet you scamper through the trees and chase after butterflies.”

Derek rolls his eyes but he’s still smiling. “There are no butterflies at night.”

“But you would if there were.” He’s picturing Derek in the daytime as a wolf - black, most likely - a butterfly landed on his nose, sunning its wings. He brings his focus back to human Derek in front of him just in time to witness something that has his breath going solid in his lungs: Derek’s gaze drops to his mouth.

It’s so fast - blink-and-you’ll-miss-it - but every muscle around Stiles’ stomach clenches tight, lips parting as Derek takes a step back, eyes returned to his.

“I’ll see you later,” he says, and Stiles is too shocked to respond. He can only watch as he turns away and melts into the crowd migrating in the direction of the elevators, feet frozen to the spot.

Chapter Text

By the morning, he’s convinced himself that it didn’t even happen. A trick of the light, or a hallucination, or Derek so intoxicated that it literally didn’t mean anything. Or maybe, in a new theory he’s just beginning to float, maybe it’s something to do with the Spark. He’d felt the way that piece of Spark attached to Derek had reacted when he’d ‘seen’ it, like it wanted to reunite with that energy inside him. Maybe that’s all it is, giving Derek a subconscious pull, and maybe the Spark Deaton has given him is affecting him in the same way.

But that idea just throws a wrench into his theory. His attraction to Derek began long before he gained that sliver of Spark. A hallucination it must have been.

Scott comes bouncing in at eleven, still full of energy even though he can’t have gotten much, if any, sleep last night.

“How was it?” Stiles asks when he comes tearing into his bedroom and leaps on the bed.

“So good,” he sighs, dreamily. “We went out to the old Hale house in the preserve and then just ran and ran. I couldn’t get tired, like I was getting endless energy from somewhere. We played an all-night game of tag, human-legs only because apparently the born wolves are impossible to keep up with when they shift, but I was one of the fastest runners, after Derek. I’ve never been better than anyone else when it comes to anything to do with sports!”

Scott’s talking so quickly he’s hard to keep up with, but of course a name jumps out at him even through the flood of words.

“Derek’s fast?”

Scott pulls a face. “Yeah. I didn’t manage to catch him even once. Cora says it takes a bit of strategy to manage it which I’m not good enough for yet. But there’s always next month!”

Stiles smiles at all of Scott’s enthusiasm. “I’m glad you had a good time. I’m glad you actually got to enjoy it this month.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Scott gets comfy on Stiles’ pillow, staring up at the ceiling, and Stiles turns back to his laptop to carry on with his work.

“Derek loved that t-shirt you got him,” Scott says after a few minutes of silence.

Just the mention of it has his fingers trembling on the keyboard. “Yeah.”

“No, he really loved it.”

“I know, I was there.”

Scott heaves a sigh and flops back on his bed.

“What’s up with you?” Stiles asks, turning to look at him.

Scott opens his mouth and then sighs again. “Nothing.”

“Is this about Kira? You’re going to see her in like, two hours.”

“It’s not about Kira. Derek’s just being a bonehead!”

“Why, because he kicked your ass at werewolf tag?” Stiles teases.

Scott rolls to his feet and stalks from the room, throwing his hands in the air. “It doesn’t matter!”

Stiles snorts, shaking his head as he goes back to his laptop.

*

At school on Monday, the upcoming Match Meet is the hot topic of conversation. The werewolves from out of town will start arriving Friday to be sequestered away from each other in their pack groups to make sure no Soulmate encounters can happen until the ‘party’, if it can really be called that.

“Maybe you’ll meet yours there, Cora,” Kira says, ever the optimist.

Cora is the only one amongst their number with a born wolf Soulbite - as expected of the Hales.

She shrugs at the idea, but despite oozing her usual shade of detachment, Stiles is sure excitement must be thrumming under her skin. “I’ve probably got years to wait. I’m just looking forward to watching Derek squirm again.”

“Derek?” Stiles asks, then internally winces. He really needs to stop perking up whenever his name gets mentioned.

“Yeah. There are only ever a couple of matches so the ones left over are stuck here with not much else to do, and they usually end up panting after him.” She shudders. “People find him attractive for some reason.”

Stiles peels his tongue from the roof of his suddenly dry mouth. “But they know he’s not their Soulmate.”

“So? People can still hook up, Soulmate or not,” she says, slyly.

Stiles’ body flushes hot and cold, stomach turning over even as he knows how ridiculous he’s being. It’s none of his business.

“I can’t imagine Derek doing that though,” Kira says, frowning, and Scott nods emphatically along, frowning even harder.

“No, he’s a total romantic. Wants his Soulmate to be his first,” Cora says, with an exaggerated flutter of her eyelashes. “Doesn’t stop them trying though.”

The conversation really shouldn’t affect him as much as it does, but it lingers in his mind for hours afterwards. He wishes he could switch it off. His own Soulmate is out there somewhere and will be so much more right for him than Derek is.

Until then, he tries to tell himself he’s allowed to feel jealous, that it’s normal, as long as he makes sure he never acts on the feeling. It doesn’t do much to help push it from his mind though, and he ends up resigning himself to this fate of pining after the one person he wants but really, really can’t have.

*

He bumps into Derek on his way out of the Compound later in the week. Scott’s gone with Kira on a date to an ice cream parlour to share ice creams and milkshakes and be generally sickening, and Stiles has been tasked with picking them up to drop them home. Hopefully not for much longer now that Scott’s soon to start driving lessons. The elevator doors open on the parking lot with Derek standing right in front of him. For just a flash, his expression is bordering on a glower, but he brightens as soon as he notices Stiles standing there.

“Hey, why the long face?”

“What? Oh.” He grimaces. “Members of other packs are starting to arrive. I just want to get out of the way.”

“Oh, right. Cora said you’re kind of popular,” he says as they switch places. He hopes he doesn’t sound bitter.

Derek whips his head round to stare at him. “She said what?”

“Just that—” He falters. “—she thinks you’re ugly. But other people don’t? She says you kind of get hounded at these things. That people are into hooking up if they have no luck on the Soulmate front and—” Stiles knows he’s rambling, but Derek’s face is getting stormier and stormier, and he’s trying to dig himself out of a hole but it clearly isn’t working.

“I’m going to kill her,” Derek growls under his breath. “What else did she tell you?”

“Nothing. She just said you’re too much of a romantic to hook up with anyone else.”

“I wouldn’t. I never would,” he says, forcefully, earnestly.

“So you are a romantic?” Stiles asks, aiming for teasing. He must hit the mark because Derek’s intensity finally softens, his ears pinking.

His voice has gone tentative when he next speaks. “Would you want your Soulmate to wait? Would that be important to you?”

“I—Yeah, I think so.” It doesn’t help that he’s applying Derek in this situation, but he supposes if his crush on Derek is making him feel this way, he’d feel the same if it were his Soulmate. Even more so.

It’s not like Stiles has ever turned any heads. He’s been awkward and gangly for as long as he can remember, his only hope that somewhere out there was his Soulmate whose preferences he’d meet completely. He’s always known he’d never get involved with anyone else, at first because it wasn’t like he’d had a choice, but then out of desire.

“Well, I’d better get going,” Stiles says, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb. “Good luck with keeping out of the way.”

“Thanks.”

Stiles hurries off to his Jeep, glancing back to find the doors still open, Derek staring after him. He forces a smile and lifts his hand to wave.

*

He’d thought his conversation with Derek had put his mind at ease, but it does nothing to help when Saturday evening comes. Only those with unmated, born wolf Soulbites are allowed to attend the Match Meet, and Stiles can’t decide if that’s for better or worse. If he was there, he’d see with his own eyes what Cora had described, but now he isn’t, his imagination has probably turned it up to eleven.

He ends up spending the whole evening worrying about what he’s missing, what might be happening, if someone might have caught Derek’s eye this time. And why shouldn’t Derek hook up with someone, someone from out of town who will go home in a few days who he won’t have to see again? It would be perfect. Blow off some steam. He’d seen a couple of the arrivals earlier in the day - a pretty little green-eyed redhead, or a dimple-cheeked guy with tan skin - and he knows it’s not like Derek is strapped for choice. 

Heat sex is the best sex, Derek had said to him once. Maybe his heat a couple of months ago was his first one, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been available to help out with someone else’s.

But what does it even matter? he keeps asking himself, trying to push the thoughts away. Derek isn’t meant for him. It’s no use getting jealous or upset or even angry that Derek could be drawn to someone else. It’s not his place.

He needs to get used to the idea that one day, Derek’s Soulmate’s bite is going to manifest, and he’s going to have to go through the torture of being introduced to them, of finally having a face to put to the person who Derek thinks is so perfect. And when that happens, will he even have time for Stiles anymore? Will this easy friendship building between them just fade away? How long will it take for him to excuse himself from their weekly session with Deaton to spend time with his Soulmate instead?

Someone is out there for him. Better for him than Derek. This is only temporary.

He rubs at his eyes with his knuckles; he needs some fresh air. And ice cream. Isn’t that supposed to make him feel better?

He heads out to the living area to grab his shoes.

“I’m just heading to the store,” he says to his dad and Melissa watching TV.

“Oh? Well, be careful. It’s getting late,” his dad warns, head twisted to look at him over the back of the sofa. “Do you want me to come?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m just going to the one just outside the Compound.”

“Okay, well if you’re not back in twenty, I’m calling it in.”

Stiles laughs out his exasperation. “See you in a bit.”

He heads into the hall and pushes for the elevator, watching the numbers as it makes its descent. He wasn’t expecting the doors to open on Derek.

Derek’s eyes go wide and he double takes at the buttons. Stiles is just as surprised.

“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this,” he jokes, weakly. He’d wanted to get some distance, not have their paths collide. “Were you heading out already?”

“Yeah. I think I’ve taken all I can handle for one day. What about you? Where were you going?”

“Just—to get ice cream.” To enact a broken heart from a rom-com.

“Let’s go,” Derek says as Stiles steps into the elevator.

“You want to come?” Stiles asks, surprised.

“Yeah. I didn’t have anywhere else in mind.” He pushes the button to close the doors and they continue the descent to the parking lot.

“I was just gonna walk to the store outside,” Stiles points out, intending to push for the lobby instead.

“Let’s go for a drive.”

He worries at his bottom lip with his teeth but accepts. He can’t decide if this has gone from bad to worse or from good to great.

“Were there any matches?” he asks.

That question actually gets a smile out of him. “Yeah, Cora.”

“What? Already?”

“Yep. Some people get lucky. It’s a girl, so Laura is going to feel the pressure now that she’s the only one who can carry on the family name,” he adds with a laugh.

It takes Stiles a second to register what Derek has just admitted: his Soulmate is a guy. He shakes off his shock; it’s still nothing to do with him.

“Yours still doesn’t have their bite, then?”

“No.”

“Are you supposed to have left the Match Meet when you’re the ones hosting it?”

“Also no. But I’ll deal with the fallout in the morning. Me being there was just a formality anyway,” he adds, mostly under his breath.

They reach the parking lot and Stiles steps out after Derek, pulling his phone from his pocket. “I better text my dad. He said he’d call out a search party if I was gone too long. He probably wasn’t joking.”

“Tell him you’ll be with me. He knows I’ll keep you safe.”

“Safe from what?” Stiles asks, a laugh bursting out of him. “Eating my weight in ice cream?”

Derek ignores him. “Get in,” he says, nodding to the passenger door of his Camaro.

“Can I drive?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Can I drive your Jeep?”

Stiles answers with a scandalised gasp, and Derek smiles at him across the roof of the car.

They climb in and Derek pulls out of the space with a purr of the engine.

“What ice cream do you want?” he asks as he takes them up the exit ramp.

“Well, if we’re driving… I want McFlurry.”

“McFlurry?” Derek repeats, incredulously. “I just gave you free rein to pick whatever, and that’s what you’re going for?”

“Hey, the heart wants what the heart wants.” And doesn’t that hit a little too close to home?

Derek doesn’t argue, and Stiles tries not to look at him too long or too often as he drives, but there’s something hypnotising about the play of light from the streetlamps across his skin, the way his hands smoothly manoeuvre on the steering wheel.

There’s only one other car in the drive thru when they get there, already moving on to the payment window, so Derek rolls up to the microphone and waits for the disembodied voice asking for their order.

“Can we get two McFlurries, please?”

“Oreo! I want Oreo!” Stiles all but shouts, tugging at his belt as he leans across the centre console to get closer to Derek’s wound-down window. He flushes when Derek turns his head and reveals how close together they are and drops back into his seat.

“Both Oreo,” Derek adds, then they’re directed to the first window where Derek starts to dig out his wallet for his card.

Stiles tries to interrupt. “Hey, I can pay. I’m the one who brought you out here—”

“Shut up,” Derek says without hesitation as he hands it over to the girl at the window who is open-mouthed to see Derek Hale in the car in front of her.

By the time they get to the next window to pick up their order, other staff members are craning their necks in the back to get a glimpse of him, and it hits Stiles like that time he was first recognised by the Spark. 

With their interactions kept inside the Compound, he’d forgotten who Derek is almost entirely. Of course, he’d never forgotten Derek Hale, Alpha’s son, but it had grown a bit fuzzy that to everyone else he’s still a celebrity. It’s a good job he chose a drive thru instead of going into an actual store.

He accepts the ice cream Derek hands him with a quiet thank you and immediately shoves a spoonful into his mouth. It’s sweet, melty goodness and, most importantly, numbing. He just wishes he could use it on his brain.

They drive in silence for a couple of minutes before he finally speaks up.

“I kind of forgot you were famous.”

“You forgot?”

“Yeah. Like, you became just Derek.”

“I am ‘just Derek’.”

“I know. But you’re also not.”

A beat of silence stretches out between them before Derek admits, quietly, “I want you to see me as ‘just Derek’.”

“Okay,” he agrees with a nod, trying not to think about a certain magazine he still has stashed somewhere in his room.

He was expecting Derek to take him back to the Compound, but he drives them to a quiet spot on the edge of the preserve instead. It’s no make out point - which is probably crowded to bursting at this time on a Saturday night - but the thought flashes through his mind anyway.

“I’ll kill you if you drip on the upholstery,” Derek tells him as he reaches for his own McFlurry.

“I’m not gonna waste a drop,” Stiles promises, making a show of licking off his spoon to prove it.

Derek pauses for a second with his spoon halfway to his mouth, staring, then shakes his head, focusing on his ice cream.

Stiles tries to tell himself that was just another hallucination.

“No one caught your eye at the Match Meet then,” he teases, keeping his gaze fixed into his half-eaten McFlurry cup.

“I told you I wouldn't do that.”

“Hey, I’m not judging. It’s not like it matters to me anyway,” he points out.

“You said you wouldn’t want yours to.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I know how yours feels about it,” he says, aiming to sound light instead of resentful. He’s not sure if he pulls it off.

Derek puts his spoon down. 

He has a pained sort of look on his face, but as he opens his mouth to say whatever he’s thinking, his phone starts to ring. He heaves a sigh of frustration and jabs the cancel button with his thumb and turns back to him, his eyes imploring. “Stiles—”

His phone starts to ring again and he snatches it back up to answer with a snarl. “What?”

Stiles can’t make out what’s being said on the other end, but Derek’s expression doesn’t change.

“Fine. On my way,” he says after only a few seconds, hanging up and staring down at the screen.

“What is it?”

He heaves a sigh. “Apparently Cora and her Soulmate have run off to spend their heat together and everyone is trying to track them down.”

“Isn’t Cora seventeen?”

“Yep,” Derek says, popping the ‘p’. “For a couple more weeks.”

“Uh oh.”

Derek laughs, then shakes his head. “They had heat rooms ready to go, but it seems they’ve given everyone the slip instead. I’ve been drafted in to help. Here,” he says, holding out his unfinished ice cream, and Stiles eyes it warily.

“If you give me that, there won’t be any left by the time we get back.”

Derek laughs again. “You can have it. I don’t mind.”

“No take-backs,” Stiles says, digging his spoon in before Derek can change his mind.

He starts the car, and sure enough, the rest of the ice cream is a puddle in Stiles’ stomach by the time they reach the Compound.

Derek has his head tilted as they climb out of the car in that way that says he’s listening. “Everyone’s up in the lobby.” He breathes a frustrated sigh. “It sounds like they’ve found them.”

They head up in the lift and the doors open on a raging argument.

“What difference does two weeks make?” Cora is fuming, eyes gold in her anger, or maybe the beginnings of heat.

Her Soulmate is standing at the front of the group of out-of-town werewolves, the pretty redhead Stiles saw earlier in the day, her head held high and gaze coolly aloof even with the tint of a blush staining her cheeks.

“It’s the law, Cora,” Talia says, calmly, unyielding.

“But it’s two weeks. Nothing’s going to change about my decision because of a few extra hours!”

“We don’t get to bend the rules,” Derek speaks up, and Cora rounds on him.

“Oh, and like you wouldn’t be rutting up all over yours if—” She pauses for a moment like she’s choking, then sputters with more indignation. “You already tried!”

“Cora!” Talia barks, her eyes flaring red. “You’re getting dangerously close.”

Stiles thinks he probably shouldn’t be here for this.

“I’m just gonna…” he jabs his thumb back towards the elevator and starts to retreat. 

“I’ll walk you up,” Derek offers, but he freezes at his mother’s imperious voice, wincing.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Talia bites out. “You’ve got some explaining to do.” She turns to Stiles, the red fading from her eyes to soothing brown, her voice kindly when she next speaks. “Goodnight, Stiles.”

“Goodnight,” he echoes, and with one last glance at Derek, he accepts the dismissal.

His dad and Melissa are still in front of the TV when he gets back up to the apartment, asking if he had a good time. He tells them what they’re expecting to hear as he dumps the ice cream tubs in the trash, when really, he has no idea if he had a good time or not.

He hadn’t wanted to bump into Derek when he left the apartment earlier. He hadn’t wanted Derek to take him for a drive, or buy him ice cream. But he’d forgotten himself while he was living it, eager for scraps, wanting to take whatever time with Derek he could get.

He would feel hollow if not for all the ice cream he’d just eaten. Instead, he just feels sick.

Chapter Text

Cora’s match is already being reported on the news when Stiles gets up in the morning, though it doesn’t seem like anyone in the media has gotten wind of her attempt to sneak off. They’re in the midst of going over her Soulmate’s profile instead, one Lydia Martin, and it seems it’s a prestigious match.

Stiles barely has one ear on it as he putters about in the kitchen making toast, until Derek’s name is mentioned, and he looks up in time to see the news anchor standing in front of one of those walls in the studio where they display facts and figures, this time beside a photo of Derek with his Soulbite showing.

She’s detailing how it’s been three years since Derek’s Soulbite manifested at the age of nineteen, and still no one has come forward as his match. She throws it over to a correspondent in a neighbouring city-state who explains the disappointment amongst the other packs that they weren’t the ones to produce his Soulmate in this latest Match Meet round, but that there’s still hope for next time.

He hates seeing Derek wheeled out like a hunk of meat for the sharks to sink their teeth into, but this kind of reporting is nothing new. It seems as more time goes by without Derek’s Soulmate surfacing, these TV hosts just get more and more frenzied. He can’t imagine how extravagant the coverage might be when his Soulmate can finally come forward.

He drops the knife he’s holding when a picture of himself comes up on the screen.

It’s from last night, snapped on a phone camera of the two of them in the McDonalds drive thru, Derek with his hands on the wheel ready to drive away and Stiles with his mouth open around a spoonful of ice cream.

“Hey, you’re famous!” Scott shouts, and Stiles flaps his arm at him to be quiet.

The scene is described as Derek losing faith in the Match Meet process as another one ends in failure, and how he’s drowning his sorrows in ice cream with a human friend of the Hale pack. It’s being spun as a pity story rather than labelling it disrespectful to their guests from out of town, but is this why Talia had been so angry last night? Had she already been informed about these photos leaking?

The coverage of Derek ends with the news anchor making a throwaway comment about Derek being Beacon Hills’ Most Eligible Bachelor, and then Stiles is forced to gulp down his toast when he spots the time. Derek will be here any minute to accompany him down to Deaton’s and he still needs to get dressed.

It’s two minutes until Derek’s knock and Stiles is just shrugging on his shirt. He rushes to the door before his dad or Melissa can think of inviting him in, jamming his feet into his shoes and heading out.

“Hey. How did it go with Cora after I left yesterday?” he asks as they make their way down to Deaton’s office.

Derek shrugs. “There was a little more raging, but my mom got her on the way to a heat room and that was that.”

“How did it go with you?”

“I just got chewed out a bit. It’s no big deal.” He throws him a wry smile. “I’ve had worse.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Stiles says with a chuckle. He can imagine that just the talk after Derek’s heat fiasco would have been just shy of nuclear.

“Sorry about that photo.”

“It’s not your fault. Well, it kind of is. But at least I can say I’ve been on TV now.”

Derek laughs, ducking his head.

This week, Deaton has him continue sending out his Spark to pick up on energy signatures. He’s already rusty on the first go, but he improves on each attempt, managing to widen his focus from just Derek’s green with gold blob into noticing Deaton as well, a deep brown. It reminds him of old wood, something shaped and polished originating from something ancient, but he can’t tell if that’s mostly to do with sensing the Spark or just a part of Deaton in general. Perhaps it’s the same thing. He still can’t pinpoint what Derek’s green reminds him of.

Though his speed increases, he can never hold it for long, always slamming back to himself with a gasp like he’d been on the verge of being permanently lost. It frustrates him and it might be that frustration that stokes his determination and leads to a sudden flood of exhaustion. He sways on his feet, enough that Derek’s arms come up to wrap around him to hold him upright and Stiles leans into him in a bout of weakness.

“Stiles?”

“I’m okay. Just dizzy,” he murmurs, keeping his eyes closed and clinging onto one of Derek’s arms.

“Hmm. Too far, too fast, I think,” comes Deaton’s voice. “We may have overworked you a bit today.”

Derek starts to let him go and Stiles nearly topples over. He renews his grip, holding him tight to his body and Stiles drops his forehead to his shoulder. He’s not sure if closing his eyes makes it better or worse; nothing seems to help.

“Some of my special tea would be good for a time like this, but I just gave away the last of my batch ready for Cora. Derek, you must have plenty left. Why don’t you take him to go make some? It will help replenish his reserves.”

“Come on,” Derek encourages, gently steering him in the direction of the elevator.

“See you next week, Doc.”

Derek doesn’t let go of him once as they make their ascent, and Stiles stays draped up against his side with no intention of peeling himself away from this golden opportunity to soak up some of Derek’s warmth.

Derek takes his wrist in one hand and Stiles cracks an eye open to see him glowering down at it.

“Are you trying to take my pain away?”

“It’s not working,” he says, frowning.

“Because I’m not hurting. Just tired, and you can’t take that away.”

Derek just scowls.

When they reach Derek’s apartment, Stiles has recovered enough that he could walk on his own, but Derek refuses to let go of him until he’s settled on one of Derek’s sofas. It’s situated in front of a big TV mounted on the wall, games consoles littered underneath. There’s a coaster on the coffee table in front featuring a child’s artwork with Derek’s name on it. “Cora made it for me when she was a kid.” Derek tells him as he heads to the kitchen to brew the tea. “Believe it or not, I used to be her favourite sibling.”

“Nice bachelor pad.”

“Bachelor?” Derek repeats, readying two mugs.

“Yeah, haven’t you heard? Beacon Hills’ Most Eligible Bachelor.”

Derek scoffs. “I’m not ‘Eligible’.”

“Until some wolf sinks his fangs into those marks on your neck, that’s exactly what you are. And you’ll probably break more than a few hearts when that happens,” he adds, airily, trying not to sound in any way like he’s including his heart amongst that number.

“‘His’?” Derek asks, sharply, and Stiles falters.

“Yeah. Yesterday, you said that Laura is the only one of you who will carry on the family name. I just thought...”

“Oh. Yeah.” He rubs at the back of his neck, half turned away. “His,” he confirms, softly.

“Are you not happy about it?”

“Of course I am,” he says without hesitation, lifting his head to look Stiles in the eye with an expression so soft, Stiles is sure his heart skips a beat. “He’s—As soon as I saw him, I just knew.” His ears go pink and he ducks his head, pouring the boiling water. “I hope when you find out who yours is, you’ll understand. I hope you’ll feel the same way.”

“And you still haven’t told him?” He shouldn’t ask these questions, not when every answer is another stab to the chest.

“No. He still doesn’t have his Soulbite and—I just want him to be able to decide how he feels about me on his own. I want to know if he could love me without a mark on his neck telling him he should.”

“I get it.” Stiles has often wondered the same thing himself: if Soulmates are just an example of one potential match when a person could really be just as happy with someone else. It’s not a comfortable path to go down now that Derek is in his life.

Derek carries the mugs over and sets them down, tea for Stiles and coffee for him. He takes a seat next to him looking hesitant, but he carries on regardless.

“And—I guess I’m just insecure.”

“Insecure?” Stiles only just manages to hold back a disbelieving guffaw. What the hell does Derek have to be insecure about?

He thought he was successful in holding back his incredulity, but Derek seems to be able to tell with one glance, his shoulders hunching like he’s drawing in on himself. Stiles had been in the middle of lifting his mug, but he hurries to put it back down, to show Derek he has his undivided attention.

“It’s just—Before my Soulbite manifested, I had a lot of people throwing themselves at me. Faking marks on their necks, using scent enhancers in the hopes it would entice me. None of them knew me. They just saw photos of me in magazines and thought I’d be the perfect mate. Just because of—how I look.”

Stiles thinks about all those people on the news over the years. He thinks about Kate Argent. Those enhancers never work. It might catch the nose of a werewolf who hasn’t experienced the scent of their own mate yet to know what it’s really like, but it can’t induce a heat. 

“My mom thought that's what you might have been doing at first.”

“What?” Stiles breathes, horrified.

“She thought you might have tempted me into your bed so you could blackmail her into bumping Scott up the list.”

Stiles splutters. “Wha—But—I would never—”

“We know, Stiles,” Derek cuts him off, his hand landing on Stiles’ on the sofa cushion between them. “We know.”

He feels sick despite Derek’s reassurance. Its uncomfortable to have even been compared to all of those people even for a moment, mostly because he’s pictured Derek’s face in place of his own blank Soulmate’s more than once. He knows the difference is he’s never tried to do anything about it, but it’s still uncomfortable all the same.

He’s touched that Derek would share something so personal. He looks at him clutching his mug in both hands, head ducked, and starts to smile in spite of himself.

“What?” Derek asks, warily.

“I’m not laughing,” Stiles hurries to assure him. “I know Cora told me already, but I really didn’t think you’d be such a romantic.”

Derek starts to frown.

“It’s not a bad thing. It’s cute.”

“Cute? I’m not cute,” he repeats, but he sounds pleased, perking up a little.

“You are. You’re totally cute. Capital ‘C’ cute.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles into his mug, but he’s smiling. It does nothing to hide that there’s even pink creeping up out of his stubble. He casts Stiles a quick glance, sitting up straighter in his seat. “Do you think I could—There’s something I want to show you. Something I thought you might like to see.”

“Okay?”

“Wait here.”

He disappears into what Stiles assumes is his bedroom, the door left ajar. He takes a few gulps of his tea, vaguely bitter but with a faint hint of vanilla. He can hear rustling from Derek’s room but not much else, until the door swings open and a black wolf comes trotting out.

Stiles gasps, sitting up in his seat and setting his mug down on the coffee table.

“Wow, Derek,” he breathes, almost reverently. “Definitely bigger than I was imagining.”

Derek huffs a breath like it might be a short laugh, and then leaps onto the sofa and plants himself in Stiles’ lap. He nudges at him with his muzzle, encouraging him to stroke, petting, and Stiles isn’t one to deny him, not when he’s as warm and fluffy as he is. Derek presses his muzzle to the hinge of his jaw and gives small licks, tongue reaching down his neck. Stiles shrieks and laughs, trying to squirm away.

“That tickles!”

Derek puts his tongue away but keeps breathing, eyes starting to close.

“Is this a territory thing?”

Derek doesn’t answer, even for a snort of breath, and Stiles is left stroking his hands down his back, mesmerised now he’s started and unable to stop.

“You’re cuddly like this. Or is that something else I’m not allowed to say? No to ‘cute’, no to ‘cuddly’? Well, that’s too bad. You can’t talk back when you’re like this so you don’t get to argue.”

That does get a snort but Derek doesn’t climb off.

“I think this has done more to boost my energy than the tea has,” he muses.

Derek stays in his lap for maybe five more minutes before climbing down with a sigh and heading back into his room to change back. He’s in the process of pulling his shirt down when he comes back in and Stiles gets another flash of abs.

It brings forth dangerous images, ones where Derek’s weight and warmth as a wolf turns human instead, his human body on top of him like he had been just now, pressing him back into his sofa cushions right here, the way his stubble might feel in place of his fur.

It sends a shiver up Stiles’ shoulders to his neck, and he watches in horror as Derek’s nostrils twitch. Maybe he’s scenting the scent of himself that he must have layered on Stiles’ skin, but that barest flush of arousal must be adding another layer to it, one that he’s never going to live down.

Time to leave.

He drains the rest of his mug and sets it back on its coaster. “Well, I should probably get going.”

“You can stay—”

“No, it’s okay. I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

“You don’t ‘take up my time’, Stiles. I already told you: I like spending time with you.”

Derek really needs to stop saying things like that, especially when Stiles is in the middle of trying to beat a hasty retreat from the feelings that sentences like that conjure up.

“Right, well, thanks for the tea and—everything else. I guess I’ll see you next week.”

“If not sooner,” Derek adds, and he sounds almost hopeful.

“Yeah, maybe,” Stiles says, glad his strength and stability has recovered enough that he doesn’t topple over on his way to the door.

Chapter Text

For once, his and Derek’s paths don’t cross until his next session with Deaton, and Stiles wonders if it might have anything to do with his crossed fingers every time he had to take the elevator coupled with a chant of please no, please no inside his head.

Cora returns to school on the Tuesday after her heat to a round of applause from the wolves in their friendship group. Stiles had thought she was in for merciless teasing for trying to sneak off, but it’s made her into some sort of hero for even trying as they lament that it hadn’t worked. At least one half of all the Soulmate pairs amongst them are still under eighteen so none of them have experienced a heat as it should be, or apparently even had sex at all. He’d gotten the impression that Erica would have as soon as she could, but it turns out Boyd wants to wait until they can spend their first heat together. The way the others talk, it seems that’s quite common with born werewolves, something to do with an inner pull that neither Erica nor Scott can feel even now they’ve been Bitten.

The way Cora talked about Derek before, Stiles guesses he comes under that same umbrella - but he hates that Derek is the first place his mind goes. Thoughts of Derek, and heat, and sex with Derek in general have absolutely no business being in his head. Though at least he can say that he was the object of his desire for one of his heats, even if it was his instincts going all screwy.

Thankfully, Derek doesn’t bring up the not seeing each other thing when he fetches him for his next Emissary lesson, and Stiles hopes it stays that way.

“I’m going to move you on to something a little more interesting today,” Deaton says when they arrive, setting a small wooden box with a drawer in the front on the high table between them. “A little exercise that can put the theory of energy signatures into practice.” He gestures to the box in front of him. “Inside is a herb you will often use in your work. I want you to use your Spark to detect its energy signature, and then go out into the preserve and bring me back a cutting.”

“That sounds advanced,” Stiles says, warily.

“Perhaps. But I think it’s about time we extended your learning beyond these four walls. It’s time for you to see how your Spark can be used when it’s put into practice.” He gestures for him to step closer. “Now, when you cast out your senses, you should see an enchantment on the box. Can you differentiate it from what’s inside?”

Stiles closes his eyes and lets the Spark seep into his surroundings like he’s been doing for the past couple of weeks, spying the box glowing gold in front of him, the same shade as the enchantment he can see on Derek even now. He tries to look beyond it, focusing in on the space he knows exists inside the box. Things start to flicker all around him, where Derek stands, where Deaton stands, all along the wall where Deaton keeps his herbs and ingredients. It’s a riot of colour, noise that he tries to cut through, narrowing the field of his senses down and down until all he feels is the existence of the box’s enchantment and whatever it is held inside it.

“Take as much time as you need. You’ve done well sensing the colours of signatures, but see if you can detect a smell or a taste as well. These additional qualities generally differ from person to person. The way I identify this plant will be very different to you. The more of these aspects you can pinpoint, the easier it will be to narrow down your search.”

The colour jumps out at him first, but even that he has trouble actually deciphering. It seems to flicker between white and pastel green, or maybe it’s both at once, he can’t tell. As for a taste and smell, it feels like it’s right there on the tip of his tongue, but where the origin of a real taste or smell might come to him eventually, this one feels like something he’s yet to learn.

The flashes he does get are of a vague bitterness, exhaustion, soft fur. He can’t begin to describe how he equates those things to scents or flavours, but that’s how they present themselves in his mind.

“I think I’ve got it.”

“Focus on it a little longer to fix it in your memory. You can leave when you’re ready.”

After another minute or two, Stiles opens his eyes and the colours fade away.

“Take Derek with you,” Deaton says, handing over a small envelope for Stiles to put the cutting into when he finds it. If he finds it. “It might lead you off the beaten path; we don’t want you getting lost.”

Deaton ushers them out and then they’re heading up to the parking lot to Stiles’ Jeep. He shoots his dad a text to let him know he’ll be out longer than normal and then starts to drive.

There are over a dozen places all around the edge of the preserve where people stop to go for walks and explore the trails, but Stiles takes them in the direction of where they ate their ice cream last week. There’s a dirt lot just a little way along from there, and that’s where he pulls in beside a couple of other cars. The only people they see are a young couple just letting their dog in the car ready to leave, and they double take at the sight of Derek. Stiles just hopes no one is going to whip out their phone to snap another photo.

Derek greets them with a nod and quiet ‘Morning, before rounding the Jeep to Stiles’ side.

“Which way?” Stiles asks and Derek shrugs. His smile tells Stiles he’s actually having fun being so unhelpful.

“I don’t know what it is he’s asking you to get, so it’s your choice.”

“You couldn’t smell it through the box?”

“No, it was cloaked.”

So that’s what the enchantment on the box had been. Something to block a sense of smell. He tries to remember the way it had felt, its particular shade of gold, commit it to memory. Deaton had said even enchantments have their own different feel depending on their function. That’s something else he’s going to have to learn.

He pauses at the edge of the path, taking a moment to send out the Spark like he does in Deaton’s office, but he’s immediately overwhelmed by a cacophony of colour as loud as maxed-out speakers and he jerks back. He catches a flash of Derek beside him as the Spark withdraws, that golden glow standing out like the pinprick of a star in the night sky.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. It’s just a lot to take in.”

It makes a bit more sense why Deaton’s office is in the basement. Whenever he sends the Spark out in there, there’s less interference from everything above ground.

He tries it again, slowly, and though he can hold it this time, he has no idea how he’s supposed to sift through this much noise. Opening his eyes, he gives an internal shrug. Deaton had said this might take them off the beaten path, so he steps away from the trail and into the trees, carving a path through the undergrowth.

Derek throws his arm out to catch him more than once when he starts walking along with his eyes closed until he’s wrestling Stiles to stand still every time he wants to try throwing his Spark out.

“It’s a good thing I did come with you,” Derek says, exasperated when Stiles nearly trips on a tree root even with his eyes open and Derek has to hold him upright.

“Hey, I would have managed!”

Derek snorts. “You don’t even know which way the Jeep is.”

“I know exactly which way the Jeep is.”

“Where?”

Stiles points behind them, and Derek reaches out to steer his hand almost ninety degrees to the right.

“But we’ve been going in a straight line!”

“We really haven’t,” Derek says, quivering with a laugh.

Stiles frowns back the way they’d come and Derek nudges him with his shoulder.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. It’s what I’m here for.”

Stiles deflates but keeps walking. “Sorry you’ve been dragged into this. I guess this isn’t how you wanted to spend your Sunday morning.”

“You know you’re talking to a werewolf, right? I’d take any excuse to be out here.”

Stiles keeps walking but doesn’t answer and Derek reaches out to catch his wrist, turning him around.

“Stop,” he says, gently. “Stop worrying about me, and about getting this done quicker. Just close your eyes.”

Stiles does as he’s told, focusing on the soothing tone of Derek’s voice and his warm fingers circled around each of his wrists.

“No one’s expecting you to get this right straight away. Stop putting so much pressure on yourself.” His voice lowers further, feeling like it’s drawing Stiles into a trance. He’s standing close, enough that he can feel his breath, can see the enchantment on his neck beyond his eyelids. His hands on his wrists are grounding, centring, just like how it first felt to accept the energy Deaton gave to him.

“Think about the signature Deaton got you to memorise.”

With the signature in mind, he lets the Spark seep into his surroundings, and this time the colours are muted. He knows they’re not what he’s searching for, discarded by the Spark for not matching what’s held in his mind. He searches for that flicker of white-pastel green, for the extra tangs wrapped up in it: bitter, weak, soft.

His eyes open. Derek is staring back, even closer than it had seemed through his eyelids. His eyes are lit by a slash of sunlight and Stiles’ knees go weak as he finally identifies Derek’s energy signature that he’s been trying so hard to place: it’s the colour of his eyes. Dappled sunlight through green leaves.

It’s the same for Deaton too, his eyes that wise shade of brown.

“Have you found it?” Derek asks, and Stiles gives himself a shake, trying to catch his breath.

He turns his head to look at a nearby tree, at a cluster of small white flowers and arrow shaped leaves curling in a ring around the base. He steps over and crouches down to pluck a stem of it, straightening up to hold it out for Derek to see.

“Seriously?” Derek asks, flatly.

“I think so,” Stiles laughs. He retrieves the envelope from his back pocket and slips it inside. “How much of this plant have we walked past?”

Derek shakes his head, matching Stiles’ smile. “It doesn’t matter. The fact that you got there in the end is incredible enough.”

Stiles goes a little bit giddy with the praise, but he shrugs it off. “We don’t know if I’m right yet.” He spins around in a circle. “Now it’s your turn, big guy,” he says, punching Derek lightly on his upper arm. “How do we get back?”

He starts to walk but Derek reaches out to hook a hand at his elbow and spin him round a hundred and eighty degrees.

“This way,” he says with a quiet, exasperated chuckle.

When they get back to the lot, most of the cars have changed and there are a few more parked than when they left, but thankfully none of the owners are in sight. They head straight down to Deaton’s office when they’re back in the Compound, and Deaton steps out of one of the usually closed doors when they arrive, blank-faced. He must already know what Stiles has brought back and if he’s right or not, but he doesn’t let anything show.

With the wooden box exactly where Deaton left it, Stiles can feel that he’s got it right, and he’s confident as he upends the envelope and tips the cutting out onto the worktop. Deaton just pushes the box across the table towards him.

“See if you can open it.”

Stiles lifts the box, and though he knows it’s not going to be this easy, he pulls on the drawer handle anyway. It doesn’t budge. He throws out his Spark, seeing the same shimmer of gold in his mind's eye as before, and he reaches out to touch. A web of interconnecting lines blooms under his fingertips, a gold so pure it almost seems white. His eyes snap open in shock, and though the gold of the energy signature fades, the web of the enchantment remains, pulsing under his fingers. It only disappears when he removes his hand, showing itself once again when his touch returns.

It branches across the front of the drawer like veins in a leaf, and when he sweeps his thumb over it, he feels something give, like it stretches and bounces back into place like a persistent cobweb. The more he looks, the more he can see that there are brighter and fainter lines, like the enchantment gets weaker the further he traces them back and forth.

Where the lines are their faintest is a single glowing point, brighter than the lines feeding into it, and it’s there that he traces his thumb. He plucks at it, and the web of lines wobbles. He does it again, harder, and this time that final point springs loose and starts recoiling, much like a tape measure when holding down on the retract button, all the way to its source where it disappears without even a sound. He looks up at Deaton in amazement.

“You’ll find that enchantments are almost always easier to undo than they are to weave in the first place, though the more purposes one enchantment serves, the more complicated it will be. It just takes one little tug at the enchantment's end point, if you can find it, and you’ll feel it unravel. If it was one of your enchantments, you’ll feel a rush of the energy you spent to weave it returning to you. Especially handy if it’s someone else undoing your work.” He gestures for Stiles to open the drawer so he does, revealing a dried-up sprig of the very same plant, it’s flowers now rustling husks.

“Meadowroot. Do you recognise it?”

“Yeah, but I can’t place it.”

“It’s one of the ingredients in the tea Derek gave you last week. I’ll put this towards making a new batch.” He deposits Stiles’ cutting into one of his cabinets. “You did very well today. You should be proud.”

Stiles glances at Derek. He is proud, but he knows that without Derek’s grounding pep talk, he’d probably still be wandering around out there, tripping over tree roots.

“As you practice more with learning these energy signatures, I’ll introduce you to more enchantments. We’ll soon develop your skill so you’ll be able to see the web of an enchantment without needing to touch, and you’ll even be able to view all the elements that make up its purpose.”

“How advanced is that?” Derek asks with a frown.

“At the speed he’s going, I’d guess it will just be a matter of months.”

“I need to talk to you.”

Deaton gives him a level look and then turns to Stiles. “That will be all for today. You did well.”

“I’ll see you later,” Derek tells him, and Stiles agrees, leaving the two of them to their conversation despite a swirl of curiosity.

Chapter Text

The third full moon since joining the Hale pack arrives in what seems like no time at all.

With the days getting slightly longer, the pack meets on the roof a little later to account for the delayed sunset, this time welcoming three more additions to the pack. They’ve already done the howl, the party starting to wind down and the food table mostly picked clean. 

Stiles is sitting with his friends on the lower balcony again, Derek standing next to his chair with Boyd. He’s nursing the end of his beer, and Stiles knows they’ll be heading out soon.

“I was wondering if maybe you wanted to come with us?” Derek says, and Stiles’ eyebrows shoot up.

“I can do that?”

“Of course. We usually congregate around the old house, and that’s where any humans who come along stay. You’re welcome to join.”

“I’m going tonight for the first time,” Kira tells him. “We can sit together!”

“I’ll go check with my dad.”

He finds him standing just beyond the top of the steps with Melissa and Kira’s parents, and pulls him aside to ask.

“Derek’s invited me to join them at the old Hale house. Is it okay if I go? Kira’s gonna be there too.”

“I don’t see why not,” his dad says, and then he looks over Stiles’ shoulder at Derek who’s followed him up. “As long as you make sure he gets at least a little bit of sleep,” he says to Derek. “He’s still got to see Deaton in the morning.

“I will,” Derek promises.

His dad smiles like he’s about to laugh at how earnest Derek always is when it comes to Stiles’ wellbeing, but then Melissa gets his attention for a question and he turns back to her, waving Stiles on his way.

“You can come out with us for a bit if you want,” Derek offers. “Run with the wolves.”

Stiles pulls a face. “I’m not very athletic. And then I get all sweaty and blotchy. No one wants that.”

“Walk with the wolves, then.”

Stiles squints at him. “Do you remember my grace in the preserve the other day when we were in broad daylight? And you think it’s a good idea for me to go stumbling around in the dark with my measly human eyesight?”

Derek laughs into his beer bottle. “Point taken.”

The first wave of people start heading for the elevators and Derek downs the last sip.

“Do you want to get some clothes to sleep in? A toothbrush?”

“You have somewhere I can sleep?”

“Well, if you do get tired, there’s always my room.”

It’s lucky Stiles wasn’t in the middle of finishing the last of his coke because he would have spat it in Derek’s face. Sleep in Derek’s bed?

But Derek is looking at him with hopeful eyes, like he’s really eager for Stiles to experience this and, really, was there any chance Stiles would turn this down?

“Yeah, okay. I’ll get my stuff. I’ll see you in the morning,” he says to his dad and Melissa as he passes.

“Sure thing, kiddo. Have fun.”

They crowd into the elevator as part of the throng, Derek calling for Cora to push for Stiles’ floor, and then they squeeze back out once the doors open to howls and laughter from those still inside. He heads to the bathroom once they’re in the apartment to bag up his toothbrush, and then to his room to grab some clothes which he shoves into his backpack. When he’s ready with everything he needs, he turns to find Derek waiting in his bedroom doorway, looking around his room with curiosity. His gaze lingers on the bed, on the Batman sheets, his face doing something funny where Stiles can’t tell if he’s amused, pleased, or embarrassed. When he spies Derek’s nostrils flaring like he’s taking in the scent of the room, Stiles shoves him out the door.

“Let’s go!” he says, raising his voice like assaulting his ears might help to confuse his nose. He doesn’t need Derek picking up the scent of any lingering Stiles time.

They have to wait for two elevator-fulls to go by before one arrives that has enough space for them to fit and then they follow the clusters of people heading to the back exit of the Compound. It leads straight out into the preserve, becoming a dirt path through the trees where some of the wolves are already howling as others zip past them to run ahead. Stiles can feel energy building like it’s crackling towards him through the air. There’s anticipation and nerves swirling in his stomach, like he’s being allowed to witness something not really meant for him.

After a five- or ten-minute walk, the old Hale house emerges between the trees, some people lingering in the clearing in front lit by spotlights. He knows it used to be the old family home generations ago, until the city expanded into what it is today.

Kira is standing with Scott, waving as they arrive like she was waiting for him.

“Here, I’ll take your stuff up,” Derek says, hand outstretched, and Stiles hands his backpack over.

He turns to look around at the clearing as Derek heads inside the house, at assorted deck chairs scattered about. There’s laughter in the air and the hum of cheerful conversation, punctuated by far-off howls of the wolves who have already dispersed amongst the trees.

Kira is just pointing them towards a couple of chairs to the right of the porch when Derek comes trotting out of the house in his wolf form, and though Stiles has seen it before, he still stops to stare. He’s so graceful as he descends the porch steps and comes to a stop in front of him, and Stiles’ fingers twitch to pet him just like he had before.

Derek leans forward to butt his muzzle against Stiles’ hand, and Stiles crouches down, letting himself be coaxed into sinking his fingers into the thick ruff of fur at his neck, carding them through, scratching gently. Derek tilts his head away to give him better access, his eyes falling closed, and even shuddering in what seems to be bliss at the feeling.

He lifts his hand to scratch at the other side of Derek’s neck, but then he’s shrieking a startled cry as he’s knocked onto his back and bombarded by a slobbery tongue. He can’t lift his hands to defend himself, trapped by Derek’s bulk, can only try to laugh with his mouth shut until the assault finally stops and he blinks dazedly up at Derek blanketing his body like a predator toying with its prey, looking unbearably smug.

Stiles gives himself a shake and jabs at Derek’s stomach with his fingers, met with yips like laughter.

“How about I lick you all over your face when you change back and see how you like it!” he threatens, but he’s grinning.

Derek cocks his head at him for a few more seconds before attacking with a final lick and then bounding off into the trees.

He levers himself upright, scrubbing at his cheeks with the sleeve of his hoodie and flushing at all the onlookers smiling and laughing at Derek’s antics. Scott is buzzing with energy beside him, and Kira gives him a nudge.

“Go on,” she encourages, and he hooks an arm around her waist, lifting her effortlessly into the air as he goes in for a kiss and spins her round, setting her back on her feet and tearing after Derek with a howl.

Stiles’ smile remains on his face as he watches him go, contentment settling into place inside him to see him so full of energy. Kira chuckles as she turns to him and holds out a hand to help him up and lead him towards the deck chairs.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Derek be so affectionate before. The two of you must have gotten really close.”

“Oh. I guess.” He casts her a sideways glance. How much does she know about how Derek came into their lives? “Have you known him long?”

“My entire life, pretty much. We’ve never been that close. He was always part of the kids one generation older than ours, so we didn’t have reason to hang out much. Not that I don’t think he’s great! We’re friends!” she assures him, panicking in that way she often does when she thinks she’s put her foot in something, the way that Scott finds so endearing.

“No, I get it,” Stiles says with a laugh, cutting her off before her rambling can pick up steam.

They get comfy on the chairs provided, Kira telling him all about how her mother met Talia over two decades ago, developing a fast friendship. They’re eventually joined by other human packmates, significant others and parents, a sibling or two like Stiles. He knows a couple of them by name and a few more by sight, but it seems Kira knows all of them well. They sit there surrounded by howls and the occasional wolf in either full- or beta-shift racing across the clearing in their game of tag, the setting somehow remaining peaceful despite the energy.

It’s nearing midnight when Stiles starts to yawn, and then it’s not long later when something cold and wet touches his ear and he jerks round with an almost shriek to find Derek nudging at him with his nose.

“Hey, Derek,” he greets with a laugh and sigh of relief, his hand half-lifted to pet him again but unsure if the permission has been rescinded.

Derek butts his head into his hand in encouragement and Stiles complies, stroking at a fluffy cheek until Derek’s headbutts get a bit more forceful, pestering at him until Stiles is forced to his feet. He almost stumbles under the onslaught as Derek starts to nudge him towards the house’s front door.

“Derek, what—?”

Derek’s teeth latch onto the bottom of his hoodie, tugging insistently, and Stiles has no choice but to follow. “Okay, okay! I’ll see you later,” he calls over his shoulder to Kira and the others, and she waves in bemusement as she watches him go.

Inside, Derek buffets him towards the stairs, following him up so Stiles has no choice to ascend and then squeezing round him on the landing to lead the way to a room down the hall. Stiles follows, cautiously poking his head inside.

It’s Derek’s bedroom. A bed takes up most of the space, headboard against the opposite wall, the only other furniture being a wardrobe and cluttered desk, an old school pennant pinned to the wall above it, Stiles’ backpack on the chair. Derek is sprawled on the bed, head raised, watching him.

“Is this bedtime? I didn’t think you slept on full moons.”

Derek rolls onto his back, squirming around on top of the sheets like he’s either showing Stiles he’s getting comfy and doesn’t intend to leave, or trying to tell him to stop talking and hurry up and get in bed.

“You’re really taking your promise to my dad seriously, huh?” he laughs as he retrieves his backpack from the chair and digs out his pyjamas and toothbrush, throwing Derek a nervous glance. He knows he has no reason not to strip off his shirt right here and change. They’re both dudes and there shouldn’t be anything weird about this, but this is Derek , and of all the times Stiles has imagined taking clothes off in his presence, the context has always been a little more indecent - and that’s something he really doesn’t need to think about right now.

“Is that a bathroom?” he asks, motioning to a closed door, and he takes Derek’s nod towards it as a yes. “I’ll just brush my teeth.”

He takes his clothes with him into the small en suite containing just a sink and a toilet, changing into his PJs, brushing his teeth and pausing to take a leak.

When he reemerges, Derek is still in the same spot on the bed, filling the width of it.

“Am I supposed to sleep on the floor?” he jokes.

Derek snorts and shifts back a little, making room on top of the covers, and understanding blooms. Is Derek planning on keeping him warm?

He tentatively sits on the edge of the bed, keeping an eye on Derek in case he’s misreading what he wants from him, when a dark shape appears in the corner of his eye. He looks up to find another black wolf in the doorway, this one a little bit bigger than Derek.

“Alpha Hale?” he asks.

She breathes a quiet breath and Stiles can’t tell if it’s amusement or displeasure, but she disappears from the doorway, heading back the way she came.

“Am I allowed to be up here?” he asks Derek.

He gets a slobbery lick to his cheek in answer and then Derek steps off the bed to close the door with his nose. He waits for Stiles to lay down and get comfortable before he climbs back on, pressing close to his side and slinging a foreleg over his body.

“You don’t need to babysit me, you know. You can go and enjoy the full moon, or play tag, or curl up with your family. Whatever it is you do.”

Derek presses his muzzle to his throat, like he’s telling him he has no intention of moving.

“Okay,” Stiles relents. “We’ll sleep.”

He squirms over onto his side so Derek is pressed up along his back, nosing at his hair, a furnace. He’s surrounded by the scent of musk - of the wolf, and the forest, but of Derek too - and it transports him back to when Derek had crawled into his bed, a ghost of that same wild smell he can remember from that night. He directs his thoughts away from it, focusing on Derek’s warmth instead, until he falls asleep to the soothing sound of far-off howls and Derek’s quiet breaths.

Chapter Text

He wakes with his head on a bare chest, and it feels so warm and safe and right that he doesn’t even register where he is or the position he’s in, just turns the curve of his nose to the person’s throat, hooking their legs more securely together. An arm is slung over his waist, the warmth of a wide palm seeping in through his sleep shirt. One of his own hands is warm, the only part of him under the covers but cupped around a bare hip. It’s only the sensation of coarse hairs brushing against the inside of his wrist with each of the steady breaths from the body underneath him that has Stiles opening his eyes.

He’d expected Derek to still be a wolf when he woke, so it takes him a moment to register how he even got here as he peels his cheek from Derek’s bare shoulder and looks down at his naked chest, his stomach, his—

He doubletakes. The corner of the bedsheets have been pulled over from the other side of the bed to barely cover Derek’s groin where they’re still lying on top of the covers. It’s under there that Stiles’ hand has somehow migrated, happy trail brushing against his arm. He stops breathing, glancing wide-eyed at Derek who mercifully still has his eyes shut, lips parted in sleep and completely unaware of the position they’re in.

He lifts his hand from Derek’s skin and eases it free, still holding his breath, but Derek doesn’t stir. He should get up, but trying to shift back has Derek's arm tightening around his waist, a quiet growl sounding in his throat.

He hesitates, reasons that it would be rude to wake Derek from what’s obviously a peaceful sleep, and lays his head back down. Didn’t want to wake you. That’s his excuse. Nothing to do with living out a fantasy miraculously being handed to him on a platter.

He can't see the Soulbite on Derek’s neck from this angle. It makes it so easy to pretend, just for a moment, that it’s his own mark there instead. That Derek is meant for him. But that thought just turns him hollow, bitter despair weighing down in his chest. He never should have agreed to follow him up here. Now he knows what it would feel like to wake up to him every day. Was it worth it?

He lifts his head, forcing himself to look at the bite on his neck, at the indent of every fang that may as well have been bitten into his flesh, and decides that no, it really wasn’t. But it was so easy not to think about it when Derek was a wolf, insistent and playful. It was easy to succumb to that disconnect. But now it’s past midnight, the spell is broken and he’s back to being a pumpkin - or however that goes.

Longing chokes up his throat so hard he’s almost sick with it, and he lifts a shaking hand to touch two fingers beneath the lower fangs of the bite—

He rips his hand away as a pulse flutters in his vision, the temporary glow of a web, veins on a leaf. Deaton’s enchantment.

A shiver ripples over his skin, not from using the Spark, but from recognition.

He sits up, staring at the Soulbite.

He’s experienced this signature before, or at least partially. He touches his fingers back to Derek’s skin, throwing out the Spark inside him to reveal the details of the web, the criss-crossing tangle of that one continuous line zigzagging back and forth like a taut, glowing thread. He can see its origin a little beneath his earlobe, the dimmest point, the brightness increasing the closer to the end it gets until it culminates in a glowing point by his collarbone.

Cloaked. Wasn’t that a word Derek used before? That time with the meadowroot in the box? This enchantment has a similar element, the signature manifesting on the tip of his tongue as a flash of sunlight and a dark room simultaneously.

Derek had said the enchantment Deaton used on him was to help control him on his heat, but that’s not what this is. It can't be. This is blocking anyone from smelling what’s underneath, or maybe blocking the scent of the enchantment in the first place. But what if that’s not the only sense it’s cloaking?

What is it really for?

He drags his thumb across Derek’s skin, the glowing lines swaying like twanging an elastic band as Derek starts to stir, his eyelids fluttering. Stiles doesn’t hesitate. He plucks at it again, this time with intent, and watches that final glowing point spring free as the enchantment unravels.

Derek’s eyes snap open. “Stiles!” He bolts upright, hand clamped over the base of his neck, but it’s pointless. Stiles has already seen what it is he’s hiding.

He climbs from the bed with his hands in his hair, his back to Derek, stepping away even as Derek reaches for him.

“Stiles—”

“Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me, or I swear to God, I will punch you in the face. I don’t care if it would hurt me more than it would hurt you.”

He takes a slow breath in through his mouth, then another, but now he’s turned his back, he’s sure what he saw must have been a trick of the eye—It has to be—It couldn’t really...

He spins round to face him, Derek’s hand still clamped over his neck.

“Show it to me.”

“Stiles—”

“Show it to me.”

After a beat of hesitation, Derek averts his eyes to his barely-covered lap and lets his hand drop, defeated.

Stiles’ stomach lurches as he stares at the newly-revealed bite there, at the shallow indents and flat incisors of human teeth. He knows that mark, has bitten it into his own arm time and time again, memorising, waiting, ready for the moment he’d see it on someone else. He feels sick, and that’s not the reaction a person is supposed to have on the day they finally see their Soulbite on their Soulmate’s neck.

Questions start to swirl, colliding so thick and fast he can’t make sense of them except for one word rising above all the rest.

“Why?”

He feels like he’s crumbling, like his head is barely above water.

Derek chances a glance up at him before dropping his gaze again. He swallows. “I told you why. You said you understood.”

Stiles stares at him, his mind zooming through everything - Derek in his bed, Derek standing with him on the empty roof, Derek walking with him through the Preserve - until he lands on that conversation they had once in Derek’s apartment, about insecurity, about needing to know his Soulmate’s love could be real.

Stiles balls his hands into fists, shaking. “That isn’t fucking fair,” he spits. “I didn’t think—I thought it was someone else! I thought you were keeping your distance from them, not inserting yourself in their everyday life and—taking them for ice cream and—sleeping with them in your bed!” He’d never seen Derek with anyone who could conceivably be his secret Soulmate. He’d just thought Derek was being careful, keeping them out of the public eye. But Stiles’ photo has already been on TV.

“I know, and I’m sorry, but I couldn’t stay away from you—”

Stiles’ mind has gone blank, unable to hear a word coming out of Derek’s mouth. He cuts across his excuses, numb. “I have to go.”

He scoops up his clothes from the back of Derek’s desk chair and stuffs them into his backpack, jamming his feet into his shoes in such a hurry he doesn’t even bother with socks.

“Stiles, wait—”

Stiles doesn’t. He rips the bedroom door open and strides out into the hall in his pyjamas and down the stairs, his vision narrowing in on the front door, wanting nothing but to get out of here, get some distance, some air to breathe to bring some clarity to his world suddenly tilted on its axis.

Scott is at the foot of the stairs, eyes wide and fingers twisting together. “Stiles—”

“Stay, Scott. Enjoy the rest of—” He doesn’t finish his sentence, just heads out the door and tries not to think about who else is in the house. They probably had the entire pack as an audience to their fight just now.

Talia’s voice cuts over Derek’s footsteps thundering down the stairs and the calls of his name behind him.

“Let him go, Derek,” she says, but then her voice sharpens. “I won’t let you set foot outside this house with that mark visible on your neck.”

Stiles doesn’t hear Derek’s reply. He keeps marching down the front driveway, the scuffle of Scott’s footsteps catching up behind him. He doesn’t say anything else the entire walk back, his breaths rasping in his ears with the fast pace he’s setting, navigating the path and passing through the Compound gate without really seeing what’s in front of him.

They pass a few people in the lobby, but he doesn’t see who they are. He can’t focus on anything except for jabbing his finger on the button to call the elevator, over and over. Scott slinks in behind him when it arrives, mercifully empty, and Stiles can see him dithering in the corner of his eye as they ascend to their floor.

His dad and Melissa are sat at the breakfast bar with plates of toast and glasses of juice when they reach the apartment. They turn towards them when they come in, his dad giving him a big smile.

“You’re home early. Did you have a good time?”

Stiles pauses to stare at them both.

They know. They’ve known all along that Derek is his—

He can’t even think the word.

Shaking his head, he cuts across the lounge to his room.

“Stiles—?”

“Don’t.”

As he’s closing his bedroom door he hears Scott murmur, “He found out.”

Found out. Found out this secret that everyone knew about but him. And that’s the truth of it, isn’t it? Everyone’s known all along. Congratulations, they’d said at that first full moon. And how Derek had smiled.

He pushes away from his door and whips his backpack down onto his bed as hard as he can muster, humiliation simmering in his belly.

Idiot. Derek broke into their house on his first ever heat, crawled into Stiles’ bed and humped him awake, and Stiles just went on with his life with a shrug like a complete fool. Has everyone just been laughing at him all this time? Has Derek? Has this just been some sort of prank to see how long it would take him to figure out?

Granting the Bite to Scott, having hospital debts wiped, moving schools, the apartment. He’d thought they were being given it all to keep them quiet. Instead, they were being taken care of, being given everything befitting the Alpha’s son’s—

He forces himself to think the word, feeling the weight of it in his mind.

The Alpha’s son’s Soulmate.

Derek’s Soulmate.

He covers his face with his hands and sits down.

He should be happy about this. Shouldn’t he?

But that’s what makes it hurt so much. All the longing and heartache of the past few months, the despair and jealousy. It was all so unnecessary. But Derek must have known how he felt. It must have been so obvious. And yet he said nothing.

Numbness is giving way to the sting of betrayal as he plays back more of his memories in his head, seeing everything from this new angle.

He can picture the way everyone had gathered round on Derek’s birthday, when he gave him that t-shirt. How excited and awed he’d been to receive Stiles’ gift, how everyone had been so eager for him to open it because they knew how important it was to him that he was receiving his first ever present from his Soulmate. And his dad had encouraged him to go ahead with it because he’d known. You might regret it later if you don’t.

A Hale with a human mate. How much of this secrecy was to do with shame?

He discards that thought as soon as it crosses his mind. Derek isn’t like that. Even with everything else he’s questioning right now, that is undeniable. Derek isn’t shallow, or elitist, no matter the way the media always glorifies the strength that comes with the Beacon Hills’ leading family all having born wolf mates.

A knock comes at his door and he’s ready to order whoever it is away when Scott’s voice bleeds through.

“Stiles?”

“Yeah, Scott,” he sighs.

The door opens a crack and Scott’s head peers round at him.

“I wanted to tell you,” he says, puppy dog eyes the picture of guilt.

“I know.” He can see all the times Scott choked on his words, tried to write it down, called Derek a bonehead.

“I tried—”

“I know. You were ordered not to, weren’t you?” Scott steps into the room and shuts the door behind him as he nods. All those times he’d seemed lost for words, it was just an order from his Alpha lodging them in his throat. And it wasn’t just him. The same thing has happened to so many members of the pack over the past few months.

“We’ve all been ordered not to. It was Derek’s request. The only humans who know are your dad and my mom and Deaton. I haven’t even been able to talk to Kira about it.”

“Then how come you’re talking about it now?”

“We can only talk about it with people who already know,” he explains, wincing.

Stiles stares down at his hands. “How did he find me?”

“He caught your scent at the hospital when Erica was scheduled to be Bitten, after you’d visited me.”

Of course. He’d seen Derek on TV that day, had lamented that he’d missed out on accosting Talia to beg for the Bite for Scott. The way Derek had looked at him in those early days flashes through his mind, remembering how he’d always rationalised his widened eyes as nerves or embarrassment.

He groans and drops his face into his hands. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Did you not think it was all a little weird?” Scott asks tentatively, and Stiles whips his head up to glare at him.

“Of course I thought it was weird,” he grouches. “But that bite mark on his neck meant I didn’t even consider—” He still can’t say it. It’s still too incredible to believe. That he and Derek could be—

“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you. With everything I was getting to experience with Kira, I didn’t think it was fair that you were missing out on that.”

The breath catches in Stiles’ throat. He’d dreamed of this moment, of seeing his bite on someone else and knowing they were his, filled with anticipation at the thought of getting to know each other, together. But it’s been stolen from him. He may have been getting to know Derek in a different way, but to have known he was his Soulmate would have brought joy with it, not despair and longing.

That his dad kept this secret from him is what hurts the most. After losing his own Soulmate long before her time, Stiles can’t believe that he withheld this. An Alpha order from Talia wouldn’t have had any effect on him. Now, Stiles is left with these precious few months wasted.

The tears well up and fall down on his cheeks as he takes a shuddering breath.

Scott’s arm wraps around his shoulders, his eyes glistening with tears even as he gives him an encouraging shake. “I told you he was a bonehead.”

Stiles chokes out a laugh through the lump in his throat, scrubbing at his eyes with his knuckles.

“The biggest,” he agrees.

He dries his eyes with his sleeve. Scott doesn’t remove his arm.

“He’s still a bonehead, but I know he just wanted you to be safe,” he says quietly, tentatively.

“Safe?”

“Yeah. You know, from any Hunters. If anyone finds out before you can bond, it’s you they’ll come after.”

“That's why he had to hide it from the rest of the world, not why he had to hide it from me. ”

“I know.” Scott pauses. “Want me to go punch him?”

That surprises a thick laugh out of him, and that must have been the desired response because Scott smiles.

“Do you want me to get you anything to eat?”

“No. I just—I think I just want to be left alone.”

“Okay. Let me know if you want anything.”

Scott shuts the door behind him, and Stiles curls up on his side on his bed. He doesn’t want to think about anything right now. There’s too much jumbled up inside him, warring emotions making his head spin.

His dad knocks on his door a little while later to let him know that Deaton has had to call off their session and Stiles bites down on his retort that he hadn’t been planning to go anyway. If he’s started his training early, it won’t make a difference if he takes this week off to mope. Though he can guess why Deaton has had to call it off. He’s probably been summoned to the Hale house to re-weave the enchantment Stiles unravelled. He would have felt that energy return to him.

But was this the whole point of all of Deaton’s lessons in the first place? Was he just leaving a trail of breadcrumbs with his teachings so Stiles would work this out himself?

Enlightening. That’s what he’d said in the very beginning, that one word jumping out at Stiles even at the time as something strange. Deaton could have saved them all this trouble by just coming out and telling him what he needed to know.

He’s expecting Derek to come racing over and start hammering on the door as soon as he’s able, but half the day goes by and he doesn’t come. But Stiles eventually finds out that isn’t strictly true.

He finally reaches the point where he needs water and pauses at his door to listen for movement in the living room. Hearing nothing, he opens his door a crack but immediately spies his dad crouched down in their apartment doorway with his arm moving back and forth in a motion that says he’s petting a wolf, murmuring.

"Sorry, son. I don't think he's ready to talk just yet. He’s not talking to me right now, either.”

Stiles closes his door and retrieves his phone, sending Scott a message asking him to fetch the water for him. He’s not leaving his room for anything.

He stays there all day, refusing to come out even for dinner. Scott brings it in to him but it’s his dad who comes to fetch it when he’s done.

He takes a seat on the bed beside him and sighs.

“I’m sorry I kept this from you.”

For some reason, that confirmation that all of this is really real hits him harder than it had from anyone else. It makes his voice wobble. “I thought you of all people would have understood.”

His dad winces, but it doesn’t make him feel any better.

“You’re right. And it did take me some convincing. But eventually, I decided if it meant you could live without fear for just a little bit longer, I’d take it. I never wanted you to be scared of setting foot outside. I reasoned you were still going to have Derek in your life so I thought it was worth it.” He puts his hand on Stiles’ back and Stiles doesn’t shrug him off. “I know I let you down.”

Their talk ends with his dad drawing him in for a long hug.

“He’s a good man,” his dad says, quietly. “He’s lucky to have you.” He pulls back to look Stiles in the eye. “I know you’re angry right now, and you have every right to be. But try not to be too hard on him.”

With one more shoulder squeeze, his dad leaves the room, closing the door softly behind him.

His dad’s words have unearthed a memory of a conversation with Derek on the night of Scott’s initiation ceremony, when he’d expressed the wish to let his Soulmate lead a normal life for a little bit longer. Stiles’ normal life ended when they were offered the apartment in the Compound, when he shook Deaton’s hand and discovered his future as Emissary.

But though Stiles doesn’t think any of the reasons are good enough, it doesn’t change the fact that those reasons were important to Derek.

That doesn’t make him any more ready to see him yet. It’s still too raw - he’s still too raw, and he needs time to come to terms with the fact that he’s been viewing Derek through the wrong lens all this time. Stiles has misread all of his actions towards him so far, mistaking them for the duties of a potential Alpha or potential friend. Never had he considered that Derek’s care and warmth could have been specific to him.

*

He doesn’t want to face school in the morning but doesn’t have much of a choice. All his friends are already waiting for him out front except for Kira, their faces turned towards him, eyes wide with pity and guilt. And it’s not just them. Other werewolves in grades below are all throwing him piteous looks. He clenches his jaw and keeps his head down as he marches over.

They apologise for not being able to tell him, commiserating. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Cora look so contrite when she apologises for the time she teased him with the idea of Derek hooking up with other people.

“I thought it might encourage him to step up and reassure you, but he’s even more useless than I thought.”

Stiles has a few choice words he’d like to say at that, ones worse than ‘useless’ and ‘bonehead’, but he holds his tongue. He doesn’t feel comfortable talking about it here, with so many werewolves around to listen in. He doesn’t even feel comfortable talking about it to the people he’d considered his friends, no matter that he knows they had no choice in staying silent.

“Hey, Stiles. How are you doing?” Kira asks, cautiously, when she arrives just before the bell.

He shrugs, hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets. “How did you find out? I thought no one could tell you.”

“I saw—in the morning.” She touches a hand to her own bite in explanation, and he remembers how Derek had followed him down the stairs. “It wasn’t hard to put two and two together. I’d already seen the way he looked at you and thought he was completely in love with you. I just thought it was despite his Soulbite.” She gives him a tentative smile. “It’s better this way, right?”

It is better, but it’s still so difficult to comprehend that he can have exactly what it is he’s been wanting all this time. Especially when their entire relationship so far has been built on the foundation of a lie. How does he take that next step now that they’re no longer the tentative friends he thought they were but so much more?

He might have scoffed at the idea that he was kept in the dark to keep him safe, but his life has already changed. It’s at the back of his mind when he leaves for school in the morning, when it comes time to head home, constantly checking his side mirrors, the rearview, locking the doors immediately. Going out for that ice cream now feels reckless and he’s aghast that Deaton sent him out for a trip to the preserve. If he’d known the danger he was in, the danger he puts Derek in just by setting foot outside, he probably would have avoided it wherever he could, and isn’t that what everyone had wanted to avoid?

He comes home from school to find Derek laying outside their door as a wolf with his head on his paws, looking like the most pitiful dog he’s ever seen. All it does is stoke the flames of his anger.

“Godammit, Derek, just let me be mad at you for a while,” he huffs, and Derek immediately makes him feel guilty for raising his voice by whimpering.

Boyd’s apartment door opens, the man planting his feet in the doorway with his arms crossed.

“Inside,” he orders, and Stiles almost bristles before he realises he’s talking to Derek.

Derek whines up at him and Boyd rolls his eyes, jabbing his finger through the door, refusing to take no for an answer.

“You’re an embarrassment,” Boyd tells him as he slinks through the doorway, but he runs an affectionate hand down his back. “Sorry about this, Stiles. I’ll keep him out of your way.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says, awkwardly, clutching at the straps of his backpack.

“I told you to give him some space—” he catches Boyd grumble as he closes the door

It feels like Derek is getting more desperate, and Stiles thinks he might have an inkling why. He knows Derek’s calendar. He knows what’s coming in a days’ time. Maybe that’s part of the reason for his distress, this rift between them wreaking havoc on his mating senses priming themselves for heat.

When he gets home from school the next day, Derek isn’t there, and though he knows it could just be Boyd staying true to his word, it’s much more likely that his heat is starting, or is perhaps already in full swing.

It’s all he can think about for the rest of the evening, trying to comprehend that he was the cause of Derek’s heats in the first place, that that one innocuous visit to Scott in the hospital had put all this into motion. He spends the evening with an expectation that something is going to happen, no matter that Derek will be in a heat room and probably double-guarded after his escapades of last time.

But he ended up in Stiles’ room once before. What’s to say he won’t do it again?

He crosses to his window and hesitates with his hand on the latch. What exactly is he expecting to happen?

Well, the nights are getting warmer, he tells himself as he twists the latch and slides the window open just a crack.

Chapter Text

Stiles stirs from his doze at a quiet, out of place click, head whipping up to stare at the window and a pair of glowing gold eyes shining at him through the darkness. One clawed hand grips the sill while the other lifts the window the rest of the way.

“Derek?”

He can tell in a faint slant of moonlight that he isn’t wearing a shirt. He answers with a quiet growl that Stiles can’t read - acknowledgement or a warning? - but it sends shivers up his arms regardless. Derek swings his legs inside with predator-like grace and then he’s on him, the hard line of his body somehow familiar despite having experienced this only once before - though in his fantasies, it’s a groove that’s well-worn.

He presses his face to Stiles’ neck just like last time, mouth and fangs roving over his skin. Searching, Stiles realises. Searching for a Soulbite. He makes a pitiful sound, and Stiles lifts his hand to the back of his neck, cradling. The same wild smell of clean sweat and cologne and something else washes over him, making him shiver.

His bedroom door bursts open.

“Get off of him!” Scott yells.

“Scott, don’t—” Stiles tries to warn, but Scott charges in.

Derek sends him flying into Stiles’ bookshelf on the opposite wall with the shove of just one flat palm against his chest, books toppling to the floor. His dad and Melissa appear in the doorway, turning on the light, and Derek’s body lowers tightly to his, blanketing and protecting him just as he had done before.

Melissa hurries over to help Scott up from the floor, looking him over for injuries, but he seems to be fine.

Derek’s knuckles are covered in blood.

“What happened?” Stiles asks him, but Derek doesn’t - or can’t - answer.

“I’ll call Talia,” his dad says, wearily, but the words haven’t even left his mouth when someone starts hammering on their apartment door.

Melissa disappears from view and she returns with Talia in tow, followed by Boyd who’s come across the hall to help. He’s the one who hauls Derek away after Talia orders him to let go, but not before Stiles puts his hand to Derek’s nape and holds him there, looking into his eyes. He doesn’t say anything, too many words clogging his throat, especially when Derek’s like this and they have an audience, but Derek’s tension eases.

Boyd tugs him back, Derek snatches out with an arm, and there goes his comforter again.

Derek is pulled from the room and out of sight, not taking his eyes off Stiles the whole way. His dad and Melissa step back into the lounge and Talia follows. Stiles can already hear them murmuring together.

He scrambles out of bed after them.

“What happened? How did he get up here?” Melissa is asking.

“I’m told he punched his way out of his heat room and scaled the building,” Talia says, her voice lowered.

“Punched?” Melissa repeats, horrified.

“You don’t need to hide this from me anymore,” Stiles says, sharper than he intended, but his irritation has flared up. He’s sick of being kept in the dark.

Talia looks immediately apologetic, and Stiles feels immediately guilty.

“You’re right. This shouldn’t have happened again, Stiles. I’m sorry.”

“Is what he did normal?”

“No. When a werewolf is in heat, there’s a pull to be with our mate, but not at the expense of causing physical pain to ourselves. Heat isn’t mindless. With everything that’s happened over the past week, I can only imagine that the wolf side of him views your refusal to see him as rejection.”

“I’m not rejecting him,” Stiles says, sullenly, and Talia’s face softens.

“I know, sweetheart. And Derek knows it too. It’s just that his base instincts are ruling him right now.”

“I’d already planned to speak to him when his heat is over.”

“Good. He does know he made a mistake.”

Stiles thinks ‘mistake’ is putting it lightly, but he doesn’t argue. She excuses herself to follow after Boyd and Derek, and they all head back to bed, nothing more to do except wait for Derek’s heat to be over.

He lies awake for a long time, surrounded by the scent of Derek which doesn’t seem to fade, thinking about him in whatever room he’s in now, sad and horny. Horny for him, he realises, though the thought doesn’t make any sense. There’s no way Derek would feel like this about him without Stiles being his Soulmate. This is Derek Hale.

But that’s no longer who he is to Stiles. He’s not the gorgeous, haughty son of the Alpha from TV and magazines with hard eyes and a grim mouth.

He’s someone who blushes with his ears and smiles as brightly as the sun to receive a gift from him, who walks him to his door to say goodnight, who buys him McFlurries, who turns into an affectionate, playful wolf to keep him warm, who’s there to support him at every Emissary lesson without fail.

I want you to see me as Just Derek.

He can still remember the way that moment felt, sitting there with him surrounded by the purr of his car, the quiet texture of Derek’s voice filling the space between them as he voiced perhaps the most honest thing he’s ever said to him.

But how is he supposed to believe that Derek would feel the way he does if Stiles weren’t his Soulmate? There’s no way he’d really be attracted to him without it. Not someone like Derek. Stiles would love to know how he’d feel if he could have gotten to know Stiles before—

His thoughts stutter to a halt, eyes opening to stare up at the dark ceiling.

It’s that same insecurity that drove Derek to do that exact thing to him. He’d wanted to know if he could feel something real without— without a mark on his neck telling him he should. He has the results of how that experiment would turn out from being the guinea pig firsthand. If his own feelings can be real, then it stands to reason the way Derek feels now would still exist even without this mystical bond between them.

His heart throbs in his chest, an ache, a sudden need to be with him.

He throws an arm over his face. He's been dreaming about this, been futilely wishing despite knowing - thinking - that it wasn't possible, and here he’s been, pushing Derek away. He’s always lamented how short a time his parents got to spend with each other, and here he is wasting his.

His legs swing over the edge of the bed like he might go to where Derek is now before he remembers the situation he’s in. He’s in heat right now, locked away who knows where. He’s not going to be in the right state of mind for a conversation.

Stiles will just have to wait another two days. But now he feels like his chance is slipping away, no matter that Derek isn’t going anywhere. No matter that he knows Derek isn’t going to change his mind.

*

With Derek still in heat, there’s nothing Stiles can do but get through school for the next couple of days. When he sees his friends, they greet him with tentative teasing like they’re not sure how he might react to it. Stiles should have known the whole pack would have found out about Derek’s second little heat adventure.

“He’ll be home by the time we finish school tomorrow,” Cora tells him, then heads off to her first class like she's leaving him to decide what to do with that information. Like there was any doubt.

He tosses his backpack in his room as soon as he gets home from school on the second day and then heads straight up to Derek’s floor. He doesn’t pause to knock, just bursts straight in to find Derek bundled up on his couch under the Batman comforter he stole during his first heat, wearing the t-shirt Stiles bought him for his birthday and leaning back against the same pillow Stiles had slept on while at the Hale house. Derek’s eyes are wide, full of fear and longing, the edge of the comforter clutched in his hands like he’s thinking of hiding it from sight even though it’s already too late. There’s a mug of tea on the coffee table in front of him, still steaming.

All the speeches Stiles had planned, all of his fury and betrayal, it all drains away at the sight of him, leaving his heart to melt into a gooey lump.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah,” Derek agrees, softly, and it’s so good to hear his voice, even if it is a reminder that the last time Stiles had heard it was when he’d been chasing after him at the Hale house.

Stiles goes to sit by his feet, and Derek’s fingers tighten on the comforter like it’s all that’s stopping him from reaching for Stiles instead.

Silence stretches between them and Stiles picks at the covers. “You owe me another one of these.”

“Yeah.”

“I can’t believe you broke out of a heat room and climbed the building.”

“I just wanted to be with you.”

Hearing Derek admit to it makes his heart skip a beat and he doesn’t miss it when Derek’s gaze flickers down to his chest.

“I can’t believe you broke out of a heat room twice.”

“Once.”

“What?”

“I didn’t break out that first time. I was never in one.” He heaves a sigh at Stiles’ open-mouthed confusion. “I only encountered your scent at the hospital. I hunted around for you, but your scent just got cut off by the elevators and eventually I had to accept that you’d already gone.” He chances a glance at Stiles’ face, then drops his gaze back down to his hands. “I didn’t tell anyone I’d found you. I’d been waiting to find you for so long, and I knew as the heat came on that I’d be more attuned to you and would be able to track you down.” He smiles. “I think the wolf was already in control at that point. I obviously wasn’t thinking clearly if I thought it was a good idea to roam the streets tracking a scent where anyone could have spotted me.”

“You’re crazy,” Stiles says, shaking his head.

Derek smiles, wryly. “‘Irresponsible’ was one of the many words my mom yelled at me at the time.”

Stiles manages to crack a smile at that. He takes one of Derek’s hands, prying it away from the comforter to take a look at his knuckles. There’s not even a blemish in place of the cuts and bruising he would have made, his skin warm like he’s not long been out of the shower.

“I’m fine,” Derek murmurs, but he makes no move to pull his hand out of Stiles’ hold.

“What the hell were you thinking?” There’s no heat behind the question, just weariness.

“I told you,” Derek begins, timidly. “I didn’t want the mark on my neck to dictate how you should feel.”

“But of course I’d have feelings for you. We’re Soulmates. But instead, I had to fall for you while knowing you had a werewolf mate out there somewhere who couldn’t possibly be me. And now I find out everyone else could tell how I felt as well and that they’ve just been laughing at me this whole time—”

“No one was laughing at you,” Derek is quick to assure him, alarmed. “If anyone was laughing, it was at me. And with what’s happened after this last heat… I’m going to be teased about this for the rest of my life.” He shakes his head and his shoulders hunch. “I didn’t realise you’d come to feel that way straight away.”

“But wasn’t how I felt obvious?”

Derek winces. “By that point, I just felt like I’d missed my chance.”

“It still would have been easier to tell me yourself instead of going through all this,” Stiles points out.

“I know.”

“Were you ever planning to tell me if Deaton hadn’t meddled and laid those breadcrumbs? Was I just supposed to find out when I got my bite?”

Derek’s sheepish glance tells him that’s exactly what he intended to happen.

“Goddammit, Derek!”

“I know! After just a week, I knew I’d made a mistake.” He twists the comforter in his hands. “I did try to tell you, once.”

“When?”

“When we got ice cream. But my phone kept ringing and—I took it as a sign that the time wasn’t right.”

Stiles drops his head into his hands.

“Did you know all this time that Scott’s been calling you a bonehead?” he asks through his fingers.

“I may have overheard him once or twice,” Derek says, wryly.

Stiles lifts his head to look at him. “He wasn’t wrong.”

“Yeah,” Derek agrees, quietly, and they both drop their gaze to their laps.

Stiles picks at the comforter again. “Does this even still smell of me?”

“Not really,” Derek says, and he sounds both miserable and scowly.

Stiles considers him for a moment, then climbs to his feet.

“I’ll be back in a second.” He heads for the door - “I’m coming back,” he says again over his shoulder when Derek makes a noise of distress - and takes the elevator down to his floor, assuring Melissa everything is fine as he makes a beeline for his room.

When he returns to Derek’s, he has his current comforter bundled up in his arms, the replacement Batman covers Derek bought him when they moved in in use. He tugs the one Derek had been snuggled under aside and drapes the new one over his lap.

“Is this better?”

He watches in amazement as Derek quivers, his eyelids fluttering on his first inhale, his fingers twisting in the fabric like he’s fighting to hold back his reaction.

“Hey,” Stiles soothes, taking his seat again and resting a hand on Derek’s ankle through the blanket, “show me.”

Derek quivers for a moment longer, and then gives in. He pulls the covers up over his head, the shape of him squirming underneath as he takes deep, hungry inhales. A pitiful, keening whine sounds from his throat as his leg appears out the side to hook around it like a body pillow he’s trying to hug, and Stiles really really wants to be where his comforter is right now.

He tries to pull it from Derek’s face, but Derek tightens his grip and tries to squirm away with a warning growl like he thinks Stiles is trying to take it from him.

“Derek,” Stiles coaxes, “how about you have the real thing?”

The comforter slips down until Derek’s glowing gold eyes are peering out, and then he hooks an arm around Stiles’ middle and manhandles him until he has him blanketed by his body, his face mashed against Stiles’ neck.

“Better?” he asks, but Derek just rumbles a pleased growl in response - a purr? - and Stiles chuckles, rubbing a hand up and down his back. “I guess you were really holding back on me, huh?”

He remembers the last time he was here when Derek first showed him his wolf form, how eager he’d been to get close and cuddle. There was no need for Derek to be so sneaky with the excuse. There was no need for a lot of this.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

Derek rubs his cheek against Stiles' neck with a small noise, not quite a whimper, but Stiles thinks it sounds like forgiveness.

“And I’m sorry it made you so agitated on your heat. I didn’t know that would happen. I just needed time to—process everything. This—with you... It’s a lot.”

Derek lifts his head and Stiles watches his eyes fade from gold to their usual clear green.

“It’s not your fault.” He studies Stiles’ face for a moment, and it’s so strange to witness now he knows the truth and can read something else in Derek’s eyes, something tender and adoring. “Are you—Are you happy?”

Stiles looks up at him, at his eyes rounded with trepidation.

“Yes.” As soon as the word leaves his mouth, there’s a tickle at the corners of his lips, and he doesn't try to fight it as they lift into a smile, the kind that can’t be stopped despite the way it aches. It’s the first time he’s let himself feel this, just the good. And it is good. It’s incredible.

A similar smile starts to spread across Derek’s face and he buries it against Stiles’ neck again. Stiles runs his hands up and down Derek’s back, loath to stop touching him like this now that he knows he can.

“I should have known something was up when Laura never came to my sessions with Deaton even though you’re both in line to be Alpha.”

“She’s not anymore,” Derek tells him, and Stiles’ lips part in shock.

“What?”

Derek lifts his head to look down at him. “After it was revealed you’re the next Emissary, she stepped down. There’s nothing stronger than an Alpha-Emissary Soulmate pair. It’s rare. Really rare.”

Stiles knows that much. He doesn’t think it’s occurred anywhere for decades.

He licks dry lips, taking a steadying breath. “Can we not talk about… all of that? It’s too much.” He’s still trying to wrap his head around Derek being his Soulmate without adding Alpha and Emissary to the equation.

“I’ll be there with you every step of the way.”

“I know.” He doesn’t doubt it for a second. Derek has been so far.

They drift into silence, Stiles’ not stopping the movement of his hands rubbing Derek’s back, listening to him give the occasional contented hum.

“This doesn’t mean I’m not still mad at you.”

Derek blankets him tighter.

“You took something away that I can’t get back.”

“‘M sorry.”

“I know.” He heaves a sigh. “But I’m happy too. That you’re mine. All this time—It’s a relief.”

He’s not sure how long they end up laying there. He’d be content to never move ever again but, surprisingly, Derek is the one who drives them to it first.

“You’re hungry,” he says against Stiles’ neck.

It’s true. His stomach is on the verge of starting to rumble; it’s no surprise that Derek was able to hear it.

“Yeah.”

“I can make fajitas?” he offers, lifting his head to look down at him, and Stiles smiles.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He stays on the sofa while Derek heads to the kitchen behind to fetch ingredients out of the fridge and cupboards, but there’s something wrong about the picture.

“Hey,” he says, climbing to his feet when he has Derek’s attention. He approaches him where he stands at the kitchen counter and tugs on the hem of his t-shirt. “Take this off.”

Derek raises an eyebrow but complies, tossing the discarded shirt over the island to land on the couch.

Stiles touches his hand to the fanged bite on Derek’s neck, the enchantment springing out at him.

“Deaton will get annoyed if you keep doing that,” Derek warns.

“I don’t care,” Stiles tells him, and plucks at the web, watching with rapt attention as the enchantment retracts and reveals the true bite underneath.

It takes his breath. He wants to fit his teeth to it, feel the confirmation that this mark is really his, but with his own Soulbite yet to manifest, it won’t have any effect. He wants the first time he does it to be when they bond.

He leans in to kiss it instead, right in the centre, and Derek makes a quiet noise.

When he pulls back, Derek reaches out to trail one finger down the space on Stiles’ neck where his mark should appear one day. Stiles tilts his head back to bare his throat even more, a reflex reaction that has a flicker of gold simmering in Derek’s eyes as he swallows hard.

His hand lifts to touch Stiles’ cheek instead, and then he draws him in for a kiss, every ounce of Stiles’ concentration drawn to the feel of the prickle of Derek’s stubble contrasting with the softness of his lips. Too soon Derek pulls away, and Stiles chases the sensation with a protesting, hungry sound, teased by the flick of Derek’s tongue against his bottom lip. Now that he can do this , he’s never going to stop.

Whatever control Derek had during that first kiss crumbles during the second, buckling under the onslaught of everything he must have been holding back these past few months. Stiles ends up pressed back against the kitchen counter, getting scooped up, having his legs hooked around Derek’s waist as he tries to get closer and closer still.

Derek is shaking when they finally manage to pull away, and Stiles lifts a hand to cup the back of his neck, to hold him there, to show him it’s okay. Derek looks into his eyes, first one, then the other, and Stiles kisses him again. He intends to take his time with this, to learn all of the different ways they best fit together.

“I thought you were hungry,” Derek murmurs against his mouth.

“I am,” Stiles whispers, and Derek’s lips twitch with a smile against his at his meaning, then he pulls himself away with a groan.

“We can’t.”

“Will a S.W.A.T. team come bursting in through the windows because I’m not eighteen yet?” he teases.

“No, but my mom will.” He glances downward and back at Stiles’ eyes. “And I’m already red raw.”

Stiles’ cheeks flame even as he bursts into a fit of giggles. “Were you thinking about me?”

“You know I was.” His voice is low, eyes dark.

Logically, Stiles knows it’s true because of his heat, but it still makes his heart skip a beat to hear Derek admit it.

“I’m turning eighteen before your next heat comes around,” Stiles reminds him, waggling his eyebrows.

Derek smiles and cups his cheek. “But I want to wait. Until you’ve got your Soulbite.”

Stiles’ mouth drops open in horror. “But that could be at least another year!”

“I know,” Derek says, laughing at his dismay. He sobers as he sweeps a thumb over Stiles’ cheek. “But it’s non-negotiable. I need your Soulbite to be there. It’s wreaking havoc on the wolf side of me. You have no idea how tempted I am to just bite you and put the mark there myself.”

Stiles screws his face up in concentration.

“Are you trying to will it into existence?” Derek laughs. “Hey. Stop trying to rush it. It will happen, and I’m happy to wait until then.”

I’m not, is the first thought to flood his mind, but he realises immediately that isn’t true. If this is that important to Derek, he’s more than happy to wait. He just hopes he’s not going to be waiting too long.

“Fine,” he grumbles instead. 

He drops down from the counter and Derek’s hands slide to his hips. Stiles soaks in the warm, steadying strength of them, like they’re anchoring him exactly where he’s supposed to be. He manages to coax out one more kiss - or three - and then Derek nudges him back so he can make a proper start on dinner.

Stiles takes a seat at the island to watch him - thankfully, still with his shirt off - and then looks around at the apartment. This is where he’s going to live in the future, maybe not that long a time from now. He already knows he’s going to spend as much time here with Derek as possible now he has this permission. When he turns eighteen, he’s going to spend every night here that he can, as long as Derek lets him.

He pauses while Derek is cooking to shoot his dad a text to let them know where he is. Having dinner at Derek’s.

Curfew at 10.

I thought you trusted him?

Stiles knows what his dad’s answer will be before it even comes through.

We don’t trust you :)

Chapter Text

Laura was right about the fajitas. They’re really, really good. So good he would have gotten on his knees if Derek had been amenable, but instead he has to make do with a thank you kiss, sucking the taste of the spices from Derek’s tongue, his stomach warm and round and pleasantly full.

His dad may have warned him about a curfew, but that doesn’t stop his family making an appearance at about eight o’clock to ‘congratulate’ them - though Stiles is sure they were hoping to interrupt something a little more compromising than cuddling on the couch with the TV turned down low. Derek still isn’t wearing a shirt which gets Stiles some waggled eyebrows from Scott, but Stiles is infinitely pleased that Derek gets to show off the true bite on his neck. They’ve only been there a few minutes when Laura and Jordan barge in from across the hall - to much eye-rolling from Derek.

“He’s slept with your comforter every night since his first heat,” Laura reveals when she spots what they’ve been snuggling under.

“Shut up,” Derek hisses, but Stiles doesn’t have much chance to gloat.

“Stiles still has a magazine with a poster spread of Derek that he bought when he was thirteen.”

“Scott!”

Derek whips round to stare at him, wide-eyed. “Can I see it?”

“No.”

“Why, are the pages stuck together?” Laura teases, slyly.

“No!” Stiles shrieks, as she and Jordan high-five.

“You’ve been attracted to me for that long?” Derek asks, amazed.

Scott doesn’t give him a chance to answer. “I think it’s because of you that he found out what his dick was for.”

“Oh, my God,” Stiles whines, burying his face in his hands to hide the sight of his dad and Melissa who look like they’re wishing they could be literally anywhere else despite the smiles on their faces.

He chances a glance at Derek through his fingers, seeing the way the tips of his ears have pinked, staring back at him in wonder.

“On that note, I’m leaving,” his dad says, climbing to his feet. “But I’ll remind you that he’s still seventeen and needs to be home by ten,” he says to Derek.

“Yes, Sir.”

Stiles stifles a smile at Derek’s sincerity.

Everyone else files out the door to leave the two of them alone, and Derek turns to him as soon as it’s shut.

“You think I’m attractive?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “You know I do.”

Derek must have known it ever since that blast of arousal that time he climbed in Stiles’ bed on his first heat. And if not, there have been countless times since where his body has betrayed him.

Derek looks pleased though, and Stiles takes great delight in kissing that little smile, feeling it straighten under his lips as Derek’s return kiss turns hungry.

Ten o’clock draws near much too soon, but they spend most of that time kissing so Stiles can’t complain too much. Derek walks him down to his door when they can’t squeeze out another second, making the most of their last spare minute until his dad opens the door and they’re forced to break apart.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Stiles promises.

“Yeah,” Derek agrees, throwing Stiles’ dad a glance before leaning in for one more quick peck and heading back to the elevator. Stiles watches until the doors have closed and hidden Derek from view, before his dad is hooking an arm around his neck and dragging him inside.

“I’m glad you only just found out, or we would have been dealing with this for months,” his dad grumbles, good-naturedly.

“You better get used to it,” Stiles quips, though he’s sure this is something he’ll never get used to himself.

*

When Stiles next sees Derek, the enchantment is back in place on his neck and an unexpected wave of possessiveness wells up inside him. He hates that he still has to hide it. He wants to see it displayed proudly, to show everyone that he’s claimed by the bite of a human and there’s nothing anyone can do to change that fact. His hand almost constantly twitches with an urge to sweep it away and he can’t wait for the day he gets his own bite so it can be announced to the world, however scary that thought really is. It’s going to be a bit of an upgrade to go from ‘human packmate nobody’ to ‘Mate of the Alpha’s Son and Future Emissary’.

Oh fuck.

Whenever that thought threatens to overwhelm him, he reminds himself that that future is still years away for both of them, and usually settles himself by pressing his face to Derek’s neck. Whenever they’re inside the Compound, they’re Just Derek and Just Stiles. That’s not going to be changing anytime soon.

He spends every spare moment with Derek that he can, making himself at home in his apartment with Derek’s encouragement. It’s a good thing Derek is so conscientious, making sure Stiles gets all his homework done so his grades won’t suffer and his dad won’t need to start putting his foot down. He starts to feel a little sorry for Scott. Though Stiles knows he’s happy for him, he can tell he’s a little miffed that Stiles is so easily able to see Derek while Kira lives a little way outside the Compound. He just hopes his dad and Melissa don’t decide to impose some rules to make things a little fairer.

When Sunday comes, he wonders if his lessons with Deaton are going to continue now he’s discovered the real reason behind them, but Derek comes to fetch him as always and they head down together.

“It would have been a whole lot easier if you’d just come out and told me instead of taking a turn as Mr. Miyagi,” Stiles says to Deaton when they arrive, but the Emissary is impassive as always.

“I don’t know what you mean. I was merely following the same course of teaching laid out by my own mentor.”

Stiles and Derek share a look, but he doesn’t bother arguing the point.

Instead, his lessons with energy signatures continue, moving him on to discerning the subtle nuances between enchantments.

His eighteenth birthday comes and goes - Derek gifting him with a t-shirt featuring Simba and Nala with their tails curled together in the shape of a heart - and still there’s no bite. He has to put up with a lot of waggling eyebrows though, hinting at what everyone knows they can do during Derek’s next heat. That is, if his bite manifests in time. Instead, he has to stamp down on the thoughts of what they’d legally be allowed to do if they were a human Soulmate couple.

He does ask his dad for permission to spend the night at Derek’s though. He might be eighteen, but he’s still under his dad’s roof and it wouldn’t feel right to start doing whatever he pleases.

“We’re not having sex,” Stiles assures him, brightly. “He wants to wait until I’ve got my Soulbite and we can share our first heat together.”

His dad looks like he’s in excruciating pain by the time he finishes his sentence, shooing Stiles away with one hand in demonstration of his agreement, like he’d say yes to anything if it would get him to shut up about his potential sex life.

When he climbs into Derek’s bed that night, Derek flips him onto his side and spoons him close with a pleased growl. He touches his nose to Stiles’ hair, breathing deeply, and it seems it’s only seconds until he’s fast asleep, blissed out to have Stiles’ scent in his bed. Stiles will have to make sure he does a bit of rolling around under the covers in the morning to make sure he embeds it good and proper. Snuggling back into Derek’s warmth, he breathes a contented sigh and closes his eyes.

*

It happens on the next full moon.

One moment he’s standing looking at Talia up on the stage next to the new packmates, and the next he’s screaming, knees buckling, dropping to the floor. He claws at his neck, trying to fight off his invisible assailant, Derek at his side, catching him before he hits the ground.

He’s on his knees, his cheek on Derek’s shoulder, the pain gone, floating away.

The upper jaw of Derek’s Soulbite in front of his eyes, and that’s when he realises what’s happening. He tilts his head down to see black veins going up Derek’s arms, the source of the sudden painlessness and floatiness. It feels pretty damn good.

Even through the haze, purpose grips him, fear, and he lifts shaky arms to hook his fingers in the collar of Derek’s Henley and pull it aside. With his other hand, he sweeps his thumb over the enchantment and watches it unravel, the true bite beneath revealing itself. There’s murmuring around them, but the sounds are far off as he wraps his arm around Derek’s back and grasps his shoulder. He leans in, opens his mouth, and fits his teeth to the Soulbite. Derek’s quiet gasp is loud in his ears as warmth floods through him, like it’s pumping into his very veins. 

But they’re not finished.

He eases back, still weakened and clutching at Derek’s shoulder. His head lolls, exposing his neck, and he watches as Derek stares down at the new mark there for the first time, taking it in. He watches his eyes light up with gold as his fangs lengthen, as he cups the back of Stiles’ head to support him in place and lean in just like he had for their first kiss, slow and reverent.

He feels every millimetre of Derek’s fangs slotting into the new notches in his skin, the very ones he’d been searching for each time Stiles woke up to find him in his bed. It soothes the lingering ache, welcoming the real teeth in place of the phantom ones that made the marks. Derek whines, but this time it’s with relief instead of misery.

That same warmth floods into him again, this time filling his chest, buoying him up, and he moves a hand to Derek’s nape to hold him there.

He feels tender and exposed, and not just at his neck. They’re not alone.

He curls into Derek, luxuriating in the way Derek’s arms circle around him even as his fangs slip from his skin, hiding away from the cheering crowd. He can hear Derek breathing, breathing him in, as he’s lifted effortlessly and carried away. Derek must still be draining his pain or it’s some sort of afterglow because he still feels like he’s floating, this time up and away, the full moon above filling his vision until Derek steps inside to the elevators. He feels warm and protected and loved, and something tells him through the haze of the pain drain that it’s not just because of Derek’s arms around him.

He settles onto something soft, cloud-like, and it takes him a moment to realise he’s in Derek’s bed. He snuggles into it, cracking his eyes open as something warm touches his forehead, and he opens his eyes to the feel of Derek sweeping his thumb over his skin.

“It’s the full moon. You should go,” Stiles slurs, trying to bat him away and urge from the room to enjoy himself, but his arms move like they’re stuck in treacle.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Derek chuckles, easily manoeuvring Stiles’ arms back to his sides as he climbs on the bed behind him and pulls him back against his chest. He settles back into the warmth, the floatiness becoming dizziness, like his brain does a three-sixty-degree spin straight into darkness.

*

He wakes in the morning to no pain and only a lingering fuzziness, though he’s sure that’s a result of sleep and not the pain drain. His neck feels tender, hot to the touch, on the left side, towards the base—

His neck.

He sits up with a gasp.

“A mirror. I need a mirror!”

Derek is bleary-eyed when he lifts his head from his pillow, but he rolls straight out of bed to do as Stiles asks. Without a hand mirror nearby, he unhooks the one he has hanging on his bedroom wall and props it up in Stiles’ lap so he can see.

No wonder it had hurt like such a fucking bitch. The fangs feel like craters in his usually unmarked skin, a little red around the edges but mostly healed. He can remember Erica telling him about the pain of it, and he’s so grateful Derek was there to drain the worst of it away. He recoils just from the memory of the burn from those first few seconds. He shivers to think about how long it might have echoed for if left to its natural course.

“Does it still hurt?”

“No. Just a little sore.”

Derek sets the mirror on the floor and Stiles trails a hand up his arm as he turns back to him.

“Do you feel less likely to maul me now?” he teases.

Derek’s lips twitch. “Only a little.” He leans in, pressing Stiles back down to his pillow and extending his fangs, slotting them into place on his neck.

Stiles gasps. “Looks like we’ll be spending your next heat together after all.”

Derek pulls back with an exasperated smile. “Is that seriously all you can think about right now?”

“I want you,” he says, simply

Derek stares down at him, eyes glowing gold, nostrils flaring with deep breaths. “Our heat,” he murmurs.

“What?”

“It’s our heat from now on. Not mine. It’s going to affect you too. You’re going to feel it,” he presses his splayed fingers to Stiles’ groin, and it’s like Stiles can already feel himself turn molten inside, a premonition of things to come. “Your body’s going to get ready for me, ready to open up.”

Stiles’ breath catches in his throat, his mouth dropping open.

Derek’s eyes snap back to green, a sly grin spreading across his face as he sits back, his gold eyes and sniffing nose and rumbly voice all for show.

Stiles gasps. “You—You evil—”

Derek’s bright laughter fills the room as he dodges out of reach, jumping to his feet.

“One month,” he reminds him.

Stiles heaves a sigh, flopping back. “Yeah, yeah.”

His phone’s message tone jingles and he finds it placed on the nightstand. He opens it up to find an unwelcome message from Scott.

Ur on the news.

“Crap.”

They head to Derek’s TV in the lounge and switch it on to be greeted by that photograph of the two of them at the drive-thru. As they watch, it changes to a new one, one snapped in that parking lot in the preserve when Deaton sent them on that assignment, probably courtesy of the dogwalker couple who must have kept this photo to themselves until now. They probably didn’t realise how monumental it was.

It’s chaos to watch, all the pundits babbling excitedly about how a Hale hasn’t had a human mate in seven generations.

Seven generations as they keep reminding everybody.

sEvEn GeNeRaTiOnS, Stiles texts Scott and he gets a LOL in response

A statement has been released saying Derek’s true bite was kept secret to protect Derek and his Soulmate, which leads them into the story of the werewolf who had their Soulmate targeted in a different city-state a few years ago. It leaves everyone wondering how many other high-profile werewolves are in a similar situation to Derek, keeping their true marks hidden.

There’s no mention yet of him being the future Emissary, and he wonders how long it will take for someone to dig that info up.

They end up turning the TV off, Stiles burying his face against Derek’s neck like it might shelter him from the world outside, but he lifts his head instead to stare at the Soulbite on proud display courtesy of Derek’s shirtlessness. He’s not going to need to cover it up ever again.

He doesn’t even want to know how the media might react when the first photo of his true bite emerges.

*

Their heat arrives exactly as scheduled.

Derek has talked him through what’s going to happen, and he already did some research of his own alongside what he already knew. He knows all about the temporary physiological changes that affect a human male when linked with a werewolf male Soulmate, though he can’t say he’s too thrilled about it. 

“Why can’t your asshole lubricate?” he whines, during the days leading up to it and Derek laughs into his hair.

“We can still use lube for that,” he whispers.

Stiles groans.

There’s no discussion or reference to what’s about to happen when he says bye to his family, his dad treating it like he’s off for a sleepover and barely looking him in the eye - though Scott can’t stop grinning.

He’s got a couple of days off school and he’s in for a marathon of sex with Derek. He’s pretty sure he’s hit the jackpot.

They’re both still an hour or two out from the heat when Stiles turns up, but it seems Derek is already a little possessive. He pulls him in as soon as he appears at the door, rubbing his face all over Stiles’ throat.

The smell of cooking is in the air, something rich and savoury.

“Smells good,” he says, but he isn’t sure Derek hears him.

“Shower,” Derek murmurs against his skin.

“Okay.”

Derek had warned him about this, about the wolf side of him wanting him scrubbed of any outside interference with his scent. He’d promised to shower thoroughly before arriving, but Derek had insisted on it taking place in his own shower, and Stiles hadn’t argued.

Derek follows close behind him to the bathroom.

“Together?” Stiles asks, hesitant. He hadn’t realised Derek had meant he wanted to see to it himself.

Derek freezes in the doorway, shoulders hunching. “Not if you don’t want to.”

It’s encouraging to see Derek just as unsure as he feels. 

He smiles, beckoning with his head. “Get in here.” His voice might have been steady, but his heartbeat isn’t.

Derek turns on the water to let it heat up, and then turns back to Stiles, taking his wrists to lift his arms and pull his t-shirt up over his head. The chill bathroom air - and maybe a little apprehension - sends goosebumps shivering over his skin.

Stiles puts his hands over Derek’s when they fall to his hips, ready to unpop the button of his jeans.

“You first,” he says, his voice catching and coming out so quietly, Derek had probably needed his werewolf hearing to hear it over the water.

Derek doesn’t hesitate. He lifts his shirt and tosses it aside, but Stiles slows him with a hand on his bicep, touching his other to his chest, sliding down, feeling his abs jump beneath his fingers. He reaches for Derek’s belt and undoes the buckle with shaking hands, struggling with the button at the awkward angle, before Derek helps him push his jeans past his hips. He steps out of them and then lets Stiles take care of his boxer briefs, their cheeks close together with their eyes tilted down.

Derek shows no embarrassment to be naked in front of him, accustomed to nudity as a wolf, or perhaps just confident in his body. And it’s not like he has anything to feel insecure about where that’s concerned.

He’s still soft but Stiles can’t say the same of himself, having Derek bared to him like this. It makes his stomach muscles clench.

Derek turns his head and trails the tip of his nose along Stiles’ cheek, breathing in whatever blend of eagerness and embarrassment and arousal he must be giving off.

“Shhh,” he soothes, pressing a kiss to his cheek, then his jaw, then his lips, as he takes care of Stiles’ jeans, then his boxers.

He almost squeezes his eyes shut, but Derek takes his hand and leads him into the shower, pressing their bodies together to stand beneath the spray. Derek looks him in the eye, smiling, happy, encouraging a smile of Stiles’ own.

Derek reaches for the soap and Stiles lets himself enjoy his roving hands, lathering him up and giving the occasional peck on the lips. There’s no intent behind what they’re doing, not yet, and Stiles is content with the pace of it.

There are two fluffy, forest green robes waiting for them when they get out, Derek taking great care to dry Stiles off before wrapping him up.

“Is this for easy access?” he teases as Derek ties the belt, and he delights at the flush that blooms in the tips of his ears and up out of his stubble.

Derek’s strong hands grip his hips, a kiss on the lips his only answer.

Out in the living area, Derek coaxes him to the couch then crosses behind the island to the stove where a big saucepan has been waiting. Steam billows out when he lifts the lid and starts ladling the contents into two bowls.

“You made this?” Stiles asks when Derek brings it over, salivating as he looks down at a hearty stew of beef and lentils and chunky carrot.

“For energy. I hear we’re gonna need it.”

“Is this you showing me you’re a big, strong wolf who can provide?” he teases.

“That’s exactly what it is.”

“You’re not going to start feeding it to me, are you?” Stiles asks, eyeing it warily.

“No. But maybe later,” he adds, quietly, and Stiles guesses that might be something to look forward to when his wolf instincts come to the fore mid-heat.

The stew is delicious, filling his belly with warmth even though Derek makes sure he doesn’t eat too much. He tries giving him puppy dog eyes when he reaches the bottom of his bowl too soon, but Derek is firm, putting their bowls aside to lay him down on the couch to put his face to Stiles’ neck.

As the minutes tick by, Derek’s breaths get deeper, becoming increasingly nonverbal.

“I think we should go to your bedroom,” Stiles murmurs. He’s plenty comfy on the sofa, but it’s not really the setting he’d imagined for their first time.

Derek answers by scooping him up and carrying him through to the bed, setting him gently down. He barely has time to get situated before Derek has shrugged his own robe off and is setting to work undoing his.

Stiles squeaks but doesn’t fight him, breathing a small gasp as Derek settles over him, pressing their bodies together.

Derek kisses him then, and it’s so different to the innocent pecks from in the shower. His hand is cupped under Stiles’ head, holding him in place as he licks into his mouth like he’s declaring ownership, and Stiles is only too happy to let him. His legs have parted, welcoming Derek between them, the rocking of their hips coaxing him to full hardness.

There’s the sudden sensation of something hot and wet, but he’s still hard, he didn’t—

“Derek,” he gasps, not with lust, but an edge of panic.

“Shhhh,” Derek tells him. His eyelids are fluttering, flickers of gold in the depths of his irises as his nostrils flare and he takes in the new scent emanating from him.

Derek trails kisses to his neck and then he’s sitting back to trail his fingers down to where he’s gone hot inside, watching Stiles’ face for any discomfort or hesitation. But Stiles feels only eagerness. Derek reaches his destination with his middle finger, the tip slipping through the new wetness, circling. A pulse of warmth spreads outwards from the core of him where he’s suddenly wound tight, his cock jumping against his belly.

“Oh fuck,” he whispers breathlessly, head dropping back against the pillow.

Derek takes that as encouragement to slip his finger inside in one smooth motion, and Stiles’ mouth drops open at how easily he opens for him. That should have taken so much more prep, but instead, Derek is sliding in another and Stiles welcomes him without resistance. It takes a bit more with the third finger, Derek twisting and tugging on his rim with every withdrawal, tearing startled, choked off cries out of Stiles’ throat. He’s spreading his legs wider and wider like it might get Derek filling him deeper and deeper, but it’s not his fingers that he really wants.

He must look obscene, he realises, distantly, with his legs spread the way they are and his back arching up off the bed. He needs something more, somewhere for that building, tingling heat to go, and he tries tweaking at his nipples, moaning in surprise at how sensitive they’ve become. They’ve never felt like this before.

Derek sees his reaction and leans down to flick first one, then the other with his tongue, and a pulse of precome trickles down the shaft of Stiles’ cock as his whole body shudders, ready to vibrate off the bed with it.

“Derek,” he groans. “Derek, please.”

He keeps flicking at Stiles’ nipples, and then envelops one in the heat of his mouth to suck, a growl rumbling in his chest and vibrating up through his tongue. Stiles writhes, clutching at Derek’s head like he’s got his mouth on his cock instead, the pleasure that’s shooting through him so powerful. He switches to his other nipple as he twists his fingers inside him and tears prick at Stiles’ eyes as he cries out. But it’s not enough.

“Please,” he begs again, and this time Derek does.

He withdraws his fingers and lines himself up, pausing to kiss Stiles on the lips before he starts to sink steadily inside.

If Stiles had thought he was experiencing heat before, it's nothing compared to the inferno that boils up inside him as Derek fills him completely. It's like fire spreading outwards, licking all the way to every fingertip, and he scrabbles at Derek’s back as he comes.

Derek makes a wounded noise, his hips jolting, and Stiles can feel that the bulb at the base of his cock is already thickening, tugging at his rim.

“Derek,” he sighs out, hands playing over Derek’s shoulder blades as Derek starts to thrust.

His cock is still hard, the head rubbing against the ridges of Derek’s abs with every bounce of his hips, moans building as Derek’s knot catches on his rim. They turn urgent as his hips start to stutter, and then Stiles is crying out his name as Derek's knot swells the rest of the way and locks him inside. He comes between them once again untouched, shuddering at the sensation of Derek’s cock pulsing inside him.

Stiles has to keep his legs locked around him as Derek collapses on top of him, a moan slipping out as it shifts the angle of the hips. 

“Heat sex is the best sex,” he slurs.

“You don’t know any other sex,” Derek points out, tiredly, and Stiles tries to wrap his head around the fact that Derek is currently having a conversation with him while he’s still coming inside him.

“All sex is the best sex,” he decides, rubbing a hand up and down Derek’s back and listening to him hum at the sensation.

Sleep must creep up on him because he opens his eyes sometime later to find Derek’s knot has gone down but his moving hips say he’s in the middle of coaxing it back to full size. Stiles isn’t complaining. He’s quite content to lie there and let Derek do as he pleases, mewling out his appreciation when Derek’s hand wraps around his cock and starts pumping him to completion.

His new load of come paints his stomach that must have been wiped clean of their first round, and Derek licks a streak from his fingers, gasping as his eyes flare gold and his hips jolt forwards, knot swelling and locking into place.

Stiles stays awake this time, gasping when Derek’s knot deflates enough that he can pull free and his come and Stiles’ own slick leak out onto the sheets. He makes a noise of protest when Derek gets up to leave the room, but he soothes him with a kiss to his lips.

“I’m coming right back.”

It still feels like he’s gone too long.

He returns with an apple and some strawberries, cutting off slices to feed him, punctuated with the occasional berry.

As the waves go on and Stiles dozes between, Derek always brings food to feed him, from fruit that he slices up in front of him or more stew or soups that Stiles is pretty sure are also homemade. He’d never expected to feel pampered during their heat. Deliciously debauched perhaps, but not this. He thinks he could get used to it.

The heat hits him with a particularly sharp wave on the second day, jolting him awake with it.

But Derek isn’t there.

“Derek…” he groans, rolling onto his back and starfishing out on top of the sheets. His skin feels too small. Too hot.

“Coming,” comes Derek’s voice from much too far away, and Stiles drags himself out of bed, stumbling to the kitchen doorway to find Derek stirring something in a pan on the stove.

“Again already?” Derek asks, surprised and Stiles whines.

“I’ve been asleep hours.”

“You’ve been asleep ten minutes,” Derek corrects, but Stiles doesn’t stop advancing.

“Want your knot. Want your cock inside me, your knot. Want you in my mouth. Not enough. Just want you. Want you.” He paws at Derek’s arms, his chest, draping himself up against his side until Derek is growling and setting the pan aside, flipping him around and scooping him up to crowd him up against the island.

“Yes yes yes,” Stiles chants.

Three of Derek’s fingers slip straight inside, and Stiles didn’t know he could make a whine sound so delighted. They don’t go deep enough, but the stretch feels so fucking good. Derek drops to his knees, soothing around his fingers with his tongue, and Stiles keens, clutching at the counter edge in front.

When Derek finally straightens and lines himself up, a satisfied sigh falls from Stiles’ lips, resting his cheek against the cool tabletop as he’s rocked with every jolt of Derek’s thrusts, lets himself be used. The pleasure is fuzzy and warm instead of sharp and molten, like his body is content just to have Derek where he belongs. He comes with a feeling like he’s turned to liquid, his orgasm shivering through him. It doesn’t stop, just keeps pulsing until Derek’s knot slots into place and starts to fill him up with come.

It takes a few slow blinks before he starts coming back to himself, Derek gently lifting him so he can take a seat at the island and arrange Stiles in his lap.

“What the hell was that?” he asks.

“You got a bit heat drunk for a minute. I think it can happen towards the end of a heat,” he presses his mouth to Stiles’ ear, teasing, “when you get more desperate to be bred.”

Stiles whimpers, the words feeling so much dirtier when he can still feel Derek coming inside him. It turns into a groan. “You're a menace.”

“Me? Did you even hear what you said to me just now?”

Stiles giggles. “Turns out I have a filthy mouth.”

“I thought you would,” Derek murmurs, and Stiles shivers around him.

He grabs the saucepan and a spoon and starts feeding Stiles directly from it, a leek, bacon and potato soup he must have made in advance of the heat. It has Stiles moaning with every mouthful.

Once they’ve eaten and Derek’s knot has gone down, he carries Stiles to the shower to get them both cleaned up. He wraps him up in a robe again after and sits him on the couch while he goes to run them a bath.

The inferno that had been coiled tight inside him has unwound and simmered down, leaving him a little chilly in its wake, though his mind is quiet. He can’t do much more than smile tiredly when Derek comes to fetch him.

They climb in together, Stiles settling back against Derek’s chest, every muscle limp and exhausted in the best way.

“So, it’s over?”

“I think so.”

Stiles hums, swirling his fingers in the water. “I might fall asleep, so don’t let me drown.”

Derek laughs, quietly. “Never,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to his temple.

It doesn’t take long for him to start to drift, safe between Derek’s bent knees and lulled by the quiet lap of water.

The world outside is far away, along with all the people in it and whatever might be required of them one day. In this moment, Derek’s arms around him are all that matters, secure in the knowledge that, whichever way their duties might pull them in the future, they’ll always have this.

Just Stiles. Just Derek.