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When Stiles first started working with magic, he was reminded of movies he grew up with — the Santa Clause movies specifically — and what could be snuck into contracts.
He saved the pack from a lot of unfortunate incidents with his distrust and revealing spells.
He did not, however, save himself from becoming a time-traveling toy for a tiny magical sapling. The new nemeton had backed him into a corner and started flinging Stiles through time without any negotiation.
It started when he was given acorns from the old nemeton. Deaton found them tucked in the back of the storage room in the clinic. Deaton spent their college years training Stiles and Lydia to take over. Stiles as the pack's Mage and Lydia as the Emissary.
The acorns were in a corked glass jar, neatly wrapped in an old handkerchief on the top of the last box Deaton dropped off.
Stiles brought them to the old nemeton clearing to plant. They shot up quickly, overnight, going from acorns to knee high.
He spent time with the little saplings and helped bond them to the land. The books were never really clear on how it worked. He gathered bones of animals from the forest and put them around one sapling, then plants around another. Stiles tried to ignore the one with vials all around it.
That was a night he did not want to relive, ever.
It was difficult to really know what was working; the little saplings were all thriving. He knew eventually one would take over the magical bond to the land, but most books made it sound like it would've already happened, so Stiles was lost.
The first time the nemeton decided Stiles was a little toy to fling through time, he puked. The landing sucked, and the sensation of travel made him feel like all his organs were twisted up. The trip was excruciating, leaving him feeling like a gutted fish; he had wanted to never experience it again.
He never did figure out why he was sent back to watch himself meeting Scott in kindergarten, either.
Maybe it was the moment in time that sealed his fate, the choice where his life was permanently altered to be inextricably melded with the Supernatural.
Maybe that was the last chance he ever had to truly avoid this life of danger.
Or maybe it was just a gift, a memory of a simpler time before anyone he loved died. Before his world crumbled and his father nearly drank himself to death. A time when the world was full of love, and he didn't know the monsters.
When he returned from the memory, Stiles screamed himself hoarse and cried himself to sleep, hollowed out. Mourning the losses once more, both the people he cared for and the life that could have been. Not that he truly wished to be rid of the pack, but life really was so much simpler back then, before he learned about any of the horrors of the world, both supernatural and mundane.
After that day, only one sapling remained, and it seemed to have bits from all the different plantings. The soil was littered with all the suggested offerings, and the sapling seemed to dance in place, reaching out to Stiles.
When he touched its branch, the sapling sank into his skin without pain.
He carefully moved, observing the connection as a tingle built in his body. He could feel the tug on his magic as the sapling swayed in the breeze. After a minute, the branch withdrew and left Stiles without a wound.
He waited a few hours to see what would happen, but the sapling just swayed in place, like it wasn't a magical nexus.
Stiles was sparring with the pack the next time the nemeton tossed him through time. Peter had just tackled Stiles, but when he landed, he was alone.
Well.
Mostly alone.
If you ignored the snarling black wolf, which Stiles was very much trying to do. Very few werewolves had a full shift, and honestly, Stiles was too sore, nauseous, and confused to deal with this. Having no idea what was even happening with these trips made the travel sickness worse.
But the Alpha didn't seem to care. It just kept growling.
Stiles shifted enough to tilt his neck. “Hey there, can you shift back?”
He watched as the wolf grew into a woman he vaguely remembered from when he was growing up, stunning and intimidating in equal measure, the power she possessed easy to see even outside of her full shift.
“Alpha Hale,” he greeted. “Well met and apologies.”
“Who are you?”
“Mieczysław Stilinski. You can call me Stiles, though.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Your heart says you aren't lying. But Stiles is only twelve right now. My daughter's age.”
Stiles nodded. “Yeah, that tracks.” He rubs his hair. “I don't really know how to deal with this all yet. Last time I didn't have to talk to anyone… So I don't know where to start.”
“You stink of my brother. Start there.”
“I was sparring with Peter.”
She snarled. “Peter wouldn't spar with a human child.”
“I'm twenty-three. And not human. Maybe. I don't actually know where I fall on the human spectrum, to be honest.” Stiles huffed. “But he trains the whole pack.”
“I would never allow that!”
Stiles snorts. “There is a lot that you don't allow that happens anyway, Talia. You are the Alpha, not the puppet master. Your pack will always find a way to break your rules.”
Her eyes flash red. “Don't speak like you know my pack.”
“Apologies, Alpha Hale,” Stiles holds up his hands. “I didn't mean to insult you. I simply mean that it is human nature to rebel. And your pack is not just wolves. Werewolves are both human and wolf.”
“You — ”
“Sorry,” Stiles cut her off, feeling the pull of magic. “I'm gonna disappear soon. But just remember what I said.”
She lunged forward to stop him and scratched Stiles on the arm.
He landed on his back, Peter frozen as the scent of blood and his sister hit him. “What is this spell?” he snarled.
“Ow,” Stiles groaned. “I didn't do it.”
“You, you teleported! And now you reek of my sister.” Peter howled, broken and sorrowful.
“Uh,” Stiles looked around, “This is weird. Why is Peter all sad about Talia? They never got along.”
Derek gave him a weird look.
“Oh. Right. Sorry, I must have hit hard.” Stiles excused his confusion. "I'm gonna head home, I think.”
Derek nodded. “Don't use that spell again with Peter. It'll be amazing in battle. Do you need help patching that scratch up?”
Stiles hid the scratch. “It's nothing, but thanks, Alpha.”
Derek gave him another weird look. “Have Isaac go with you, you're not making any sense.”
“Yeah, sure. See you tomorrow, Derek.”
Derek grabbed him and pulled him into a quick kiss. “Be safe, love.”
Stiles stumbled over his feet as he walked away. He was still reeling from the weird interaction. He still wasn't sure what exactly his little trips were. Isaac was quiet the whole walk home, and that just added to Stiles’ confusion.
Normally, Isaac was the first to jump on teasing Stiles over stumbles and mistakes.
He got home and dressed the wound on his arm, mentally eliminating hallucinations from the list of possibilities.
He took out a notebook and started to write things down.
- Watched my first meeting with Scott.
- Talia discussion. Came back to Peter being emotional, Derek kissing me, and Isaac being nice. Also had an injury from Talia.
He tapped his pen on the page and thought it through.
A tree branch in my skin. Still have no proof I didn't hallucinate that, though.
He took the books he was studying out and started making notes. He took all night cross-referencing and marking up his pages over and over. There were lines and highlights and scribbles spanning five pages because the only thing that made sense was physically impossible.
Time travel.
Even in the forbidden books that Deaton kept hidden, time travel was never mentioned. No attempted spells, no rituals, no possibilities of theoretical runes. It was fully dismissed.
But it was the only thing that made sense.
He stuffed the journal into his bag and lay on his bed. He heard his window opening a little after, Derek slipping in and crawling into his bed.
“Are you okay?” Derek quietly asked as he pulled Stiles into his arms,
Stiles was confused by the action but didn't want to sort out what was happening.
“Babe?” Derek prompted, looking down at him.
“I'll be fine,” Sales dismissed the worry. “Something weird happened, and I still haven't figured it out.”
“The spell today? With the scent?”
Stiles nodded, not wanting to argue that it wasn't a spell.
“It was really good, I hope you can sort it out. It would be powerful in battle.” Derek kissed his forehead. “I believe in you, babe. You'll figure it out.”
Stiles called Deaton the next morning, wondering if maybe the emissary had some knowledge of the situation.
Derek had snuck out before Stiles woke up, and something in him felt the loss deeply, as if he was used to waking up in the werewolf's arms, or anyone's arms for that matter.
Which, depressingly, was not the case the past few years.
But something was nagging at him, almost like a memory of a life Stiles never lived. Days spent at the pack house, talks with a less creepy Peter who was alpha now, nights curled on Derek's chest. Weeks and months of peace and happiness that Stiles never had in high school.
He shook off the feeling and packed his bag for his daily trek to the ever-growing new nemeton. The bag was heavy with all his stuff, and it was starting to be just a bit too full.
First aid kit, herbs and stones for spells, bones, snacks, a spare shirt, extra socks, his favorite knife… Everything was necessary. And he hadn't even started with things like breath mints or chapstick.
When he finally got to the new nemeton, he was in no mood for what he saw.
Himself, a little translucent, floating above the sapling and dancing with it.
“What is with the clone?”
“I needed a way to talk to you,” the clone said. “You were too silly to understand your task.”
“Task?” Stiles asked, concerned.
“We fix things now.”
Stiles looked at his floating clone, smiling like the Cheshire cat perched on top of the sapling.
“I use the ley lines, and you go and fix things.” He floated down and circled around Stiles, practically vibrating with excitement.
“Go where?”
The clone poked him in the forehead, and Stiles felt the tugging inside him, like rearranging his entire body and shoving too much of it back into his stomach. He fell to his knees and tried to avoid puking.
He looked up and saw the high school in front of him, but no ghostly clone of Stiles anymore. He checked his bag and saw it still fully packed, which was a relief. He grabbed his water and took a few sips, calming his stomach.
The words of his ghostly clone stuck in his head. Stiles was not sure how to figure out what he was meant to fix, much less how to fix things once he knew.
He wished the clone had been a bit more informative.
He stood up and made his way off the field toward the preserve, quickly realizing that his compass was all but useless after whatever the new nemeton was doing to him. He was convinced it was either time travel or alternate dimensions.
Stiles saw his Jeep sitting outside the preserve, but it was in better shape than he ever remembered it being. The paint was still glossy, and the seats lacked the layers of stains he and the pack had added. Roscoe looked almost new.
Stiles opened the door and was hit with a wave of bittersweet nostalgia. He looked at the locket he kept.
The smell he was experiencing was one he hadn’t smelled in over two decades. His mother’s perfume. Something he hadn’t even known he remembered, nor just how fiercely he had missed it all these years.
He opened up the glove box and saw a handkerchief. He took it and shoved it into his bag, and left a roll of duct tape in its place. He hoped his mom would forgive the theft. He closed the door behind him and kept walking towards where he knew the Hale house was, hoping that a friendly face would be there.
“This is private property,” a voice greeted him.
Stiles snorted a bit at the irony. “Yeah, I know. I’m looking for the owners.”
A mountain of a man emerged from the trees and crossed his arms. Stiles recognized him as Derek’s Father. “We have up signs about solicitors.”
“Well,” Stiles rubbed the back of his neck, “I’m not selling anything.”
“We don’t need your religion either.”
Stiles looked down at himself, then back up. “Do I look like a missionary?”
“No. You look like a bum.”
Stiles gasped dramatically. “Rude!”
“Don’t deflect. Why are you here?”
“I told you… to see the owners. Which, I’m pretty sure you’re one of them.”
He growls a bit. “What do you want?”
“I don’t actually know.” Stiles groans, “But judging by how I got here… I’m assuming the Hales are the thing I’m supposed to fix.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s always the Hales.” Stiles leans against a tree. “From the time I turned sixteen, it’s always been the Hales.”
“Then why do I not know you?”
“If I could explain that, I would… But I haven’t figured that out for myself yet. I was trying to talk to the weird floating me to get answers, but he just made no sense. I think he needs to get his language worked out a bit, kinda of like a baby learning English, you know? But he couldn’t tell me much as he floated above the not-so-mighty-oak that I planted that made him.”
“Are you on drugs?” he asked, looking concerned. He gently scented the air, and if Stiles hadn’t spent a decade around wolves, he might have missed the motion.
“Nothing recreational. You’re smelling my adderall. Possibly Tylenol. They were never exactly clear on whether they could scent exactly what I took or not. Peter is a dick like that. Can you? Like, differentiate what I took? That would be useful for like an ER tech — ”
“Stop!” he cut in. “Stop. Talking.”
Stiles mimed zipping his mouth, used to the way his rambling could be when he was nervous.
“I will call my wife. You and I will go back to the edge of the property and wait.”
Stiles gave a thumbs up and started walking to the edge of the preserve, slightly off the path he took before, not wanting to run into his mother. Easily navigating his way to the property line after so long spent pacing it while laying down the wards, no doubt as to where it lands.
“You know this land well.”
“Thank you.”
“ That wasn't a compliment. It was an accusation.”
“I know.” Stiles grinned. “But I took it as one.”
“You are a strange man, aren’t you?”
“Very.” Stiles sat against a tree and took out some of his trail mix and offered a pack to Joseph.
He looked at it in distrust.
“It’s factory sealed.”
Joseph grabbed the package and opened it up, sniffing it. “Thanks.”
Stiles nodded and started snacking on his, waiting for Talia to show up. Of all the times he had been taken hostage by werewolves, this was the nicest. He wasn’t injured, he wasn't restrained, and he wasn’t dealing with bad breath in his face… nine out of ten, would be a hostage for him again.
“Joseph?” Talia called.
He held out his arm for her, and she tucked into his side, gently scent-marking him as she did. “And who do we have here?”
“I’m Stiles… Well, that’s what I go by at least.”
“And why are you here?” She hummed.
“Good luck with that,” Joseph muttered. “The kid refused to explain in any way that made sense.”
“I’m not a kid, I’m 23!” Stiles argued. “And I tried explaining. But I don’t really even know what is going on, so it's a bit difficult to explain to others.”
“Try,” Talia ordered.
“So I replanted the nemeton and now it's bouncing me around places.”
“Impossible. They burned all the acorns from the old one. You can’t just use any old tree for it.”
Stiles shrugged. “I have the right magical beans, I guess.”
“Did you get it from another nemeton? I didn’t think any of the other trees were able to thrive in our climate.” Talia frowned. “In fact, I was specifically told that it was pointless to even try by our emissary. He said that in time the solution would arise.”
“Well, I guess I’m the solution.” Stiles grinned and made jazz hands. It was totally worth the red bleeding into her irises after.
“I think you’re more of a problem,” Joseph mumbled.
“Who says I can’t be both?”
“So, say I believe this… the nemeton sent you to fix things. What is there to fix?”
“Don’t know.”
“How long do you have to fix it?”
Stiles made a face. “Don’t know.”
“You are useless then.”
“What is it with you two being rude?” Stiles groaned. “And I’m trying my best, okay? The stupid ghost-clone spirit thing it made just told me it sends me, I fix things, then flicked my forehead and boom, I’m standing in front of the high school.”
Talia’s gaze flicked down to his chest, then back up.
“Yeah. I know. My heart is fucking annoying to try to monitor for lies. Cause I’m like a bunny rabbit.”
“No, it's steady enough to monitor, just distracting.” She dismissed. “But you weren’t lying, so you truly believe what you just said.”
“Yup. Because that’s my current life. The first few times, I thought it was just the nemeton forcing me to take a trip down memory lane. But then one time I got injured, and it stuck when I came back.”
“So this… ghost thing… it has not told you what it wants?”
“It tried, I think it was pretty sure that it was being clear. But it didn't even tell me what it meant by sending me.” Stiles groaned a bit.
Talia considered briefly, then nodded. “I suppose magic is a fickle thing.”
Stiles nodded and stood up, slinging the pack over his back. “I landed at the school, so can you come to check the vault?”
Talia narrowed her eyes. “No one knows of that vault.”
“I do, obviously.” Stile rolled his eyes. “Now come on, before I get yanked back. This is already my longest trip.”
He was in the middle of the gymnasium when he felt the tug coming from his chest, and he landed in a heap in front of the clone.
“I hate you.” Stiles groaned.
“That seems rude.” The clone responds. “I’m trying to help.”
“Help??”
“Yes. Fixing your time. By sending you back!”
Stiles sat up. “So you just started sending me through time and not explaining anything. That does not make any sense!”
“I thought that you would figure it out!”
Stiles looked at the clone and noticed a few leaves in his hair. “How the fuck would I have figured it out? I didn’t even know I was time traveling! I thought it was a hallucination at first.”
“Hallucination?” the clone shrieks. “I bend the fabric of time, and you think it's a hallucination?”
“Whoa, wait —”
“Do you have any idea how difficult this is to do? There is so much that goes into time travel! And you think I just twisted your mind? How insulting.”
“I didn’t mean — ”
“To think, I used the blessings of a new nemeton to alter the pain of this land, and you just —”
Stiles cut him off with a hand over the clone’s mouth. “Everything in the magical world insists that time travel is impossible! How was I supposed to know? And what is this nemeton blessing? And do you speak for the nemeton?”
The clone smiled. “Yes, I speak for the nemeton because I am the nemeton. Part nemeton, part guardian.”
“Wait, guardian?”
“Yes, you are my guardian,” he responded.
Stiles nodded, accepting that he had planted the thing so he would be the guardian by default. “And what is a nemeton blessing? None of the literature mentioned that.”
The clone shrugged. “What humans know is nothing compared to what nature knows. Why would humans know of what humans can’t observe?”
“Just explain it.” Stiles groaned.
“It’s in the name. A blessing… from a new nemeton,” the clone motioned. “The magic left over from the creation could cause issues to an area, bringing in evil. So we use it.”
“This area draws in enough evil as it is.”
“That was from the death of the old nemeton. It could not protect the land anymore, but the magic was not burned out. Normally, it is not done that way.”
Stiles groaned and looked up at the sky, not wanting to get into a discussion with a tree over how trees usually die and human intervention.
“Once I am fully grown, there will be no more gifts to give to this land.”
“Okay. And how long will that be?”
“No more than two full moons and you’ve already wasted half of one.” He scowled at Stiles.
Stiles quickly realized why the pack laughed when he scowled. “So can I pick what to fix?”
“Some things can never be changed.”
Stiles deflated. “Okay.” He considered. “Can you at least tell me when I am going and what to do?”
He shook his head. “I do not control what the ley lines feel is most important to repair this town.”
“Fucking awesome,” Stiles groaned. “And I have to go alone?”
“Yes. Only my guardian can go.” He hums. “I am only able to offer such a large blessing because my land contains those ley lines. It is a convergence of power that has never existed before and may never exist again.”
“Okay, okay, I get it. Mystical unicorn powers.”
“Unicorns are not real,” the nemeton spirit tilted his head. “You should know that.”
“I — ” Stiles cut himself off. “Never mind. Just. Can we come up with a system so I can at least have a warning?”
The nemeton spirit crossed his arms.
“Okay. Fine. I’ll keep my bag near me.” Stiles huffed. “I get it… I need to quit picking apart the blessing.”
“Finally!” He huffed. “It’s not that hard.”
“Says you,” Stiles mumbled.
Still being annoyed with the nemeton made the next trip through time harder for him, but it’s also the first time that he genuinely understood what he needed to do.
Landing on the outskirts of the preserve, near where he knows that the Raeken’s once lived, tells him almost all that he needs to know about his next steps.
Following stealthily behind the young Theo, he bides his time, watching the Dread Doctors’ hideaway come into view.
Memories of all the damage those bastards caused spur him on. Stiles carefully hid himself from detection as best he could, and he searched out a way inside without anyone noticing him. Slipping inside, he hunted for the container with the Nazi that the Dread Doctors were using to keep themselves alive.
Hidden from view behind his target, he waited for Theo to leave. While he was there, Stiles couldn’t resist collecting anything and everything from them that he felt could be useful for him. Even going as far as to collect some of the blood and embalming fluid of the lion Nazi guy, never knowing what could become useful when it comes to magic.
He has found spells calling for the strangest things sometimes, really strange.
Sometimes awkward.
He shook off the memories of trying to harvest drool from a fully shifted Derek.
It only makes sense for him to take advantage of the opportunity to get all kinds of things that he likely could never find anywhere else.
Stiles stuffed his bag with all kinds of new ingredients. He began setting up the main thing he was here for, stopping the Dread Doctors before they could bring back La Bête again, not wanting to put the territory through that chaos again.
Thankful once more for the magic he had spent years cultivating, he began setting up charges both inside the tank housing the source of their continued vitality and around the entirety of the hideaway.
Stiles was willing to spend any amount of energy just to make sure that none of them survive this, coating every inch of the building in charges ready to go off when he and Theo make it outside.
Weaving a boundary into the spell charges was the only thing that made sense. Both to keep him and the young Theo safe when they’re outside, and to make sure that the fire doesn’t spread to the surrounding preserve, damaging the territory he’s trying so hard to protect.
Focused on the Dread Doctors, he nearly panicked when he felt the pull of the nemeton’s magics once more, but he kept calm enough to slowly set off the charges. Much like dominoes tipping each other over, the charges pass the flames between them, only fully beginning to go off once Theo is outside of the line he contained the blast to.
The heat of the blast reached him just as he was pulled away back to the present, where he landed back in his room. Standing in the center of his room, he stared at his wall, trying to remember if he had succeeded in stopping that threat from ever wreaking havoc on those he loved or the land that had become his to protect.
But he was too worn out to try for long, flopping onto his bed before passing out after spending so much of his magic exploding the hideaway.
The preserve was dark and lonely, and Stiles was wandering around trying to figure out what had called him. It was difficult sometimes when magic led him.
The confusion and powerlessness of it all wore on Stiles, a small part of him helplessly comparing it to the Nogitsune, the loss of control of himself, and the way he was so sure that he was falling to the same fate that his mother had.
Some days, he wanted to just block it all off and not respond to the grasp it had on him, but magic is not so forgiving, a lesson he has learned over time, something he will never allow himself to forget again.
The preserve was foggy and humid and not at all fucking eerie. Nope. Not ominous and foreboding. Everything feels totally great and not at all concerning.
He walks up to the nemeton and sits on it.
“What, this time?” He calls out, not expecting an answer from the spirit. “Why am I here in some scary post-apocalyptic nightmare looking weather?”
The spirit, as expected, has no answer.
“Seriously, come on!”
“Ughhhhh,” the spirit groaned. “It’s like two am.”
Stiles crossed his arms. “I am aware.”
“Then why are you even here?”
“You tell me!”
The spirit floated over. “What?”
Stiles sighed. “The magic was all tuggy and insistent. So you should know.”
“Not all magic is my — ” The spirit paused. “Oh. Oh. OH! You’re about to meet the old me!”
“What?!?!?”
“You get to meet the original nemeton!”
“That is not possible, it was cut down way too long ago…”
The spirit smiled. “You get to meet the original nemeton, be happy!”
“NO!” Stiles gestured. “Because meeting you has ruined the last six weeks of my fucking life. I am not happy about this!”
“Rude.”
“Accurate.” Stiles countered. “It’s an accurate statement. I’ve had my life drastically inverted several times thanks to these stupid little trips. And the trips themselves have been a special kind of fucked.”
“Wow. Way to talk about the gift you’ve been given.”
“The Trojan horse was also a gift,” Stiles mumbled as the feeling of time travel tugged him backwards.
Stiles stumbled as he landed at the base of the nemeton. It towered over him in a way he had never experienced. It was taller than the rest of the trees in the clearing, and gently swayed in the breeze. The peace he felt standing under it was like nothing else Stiles had ever felt. All at once, he understood why having a healthy nemeton was so important for a territory, the safety it emanates.
He gently touched the nemeton, the magic swirling within him.
“Greetings.” A strange-looking woman floated up to him.
“I’m guessing you are the nemeton? You have that semi-see-through thing going on.”
“Very good observation.”
“I would say that’s a pretty low bar. You’re partially see-through.”
She gave him an unimpressed look.
“I’m just saying.” Stiles shrugged. “If someone misses that, they’re not paying attention.”
“The future is dire if you feel free to speak to me in such a tone.”
Stiles snorted. “Oh, dire is an understatement.”
“Very well.” She nods.
“Ma’am?” Stiles added to try to be more formal.
She raised an eyebrow.
“Sorry.”
“Do not apologize for being a product of trauma, Spark. We can not change the circumstances of our upbringing.”
Stiles made a face. “That makes me sound like some charity case.”
The spirit floated up to the branches and grabbed a few acorns, handing them to Stiles. “Here. I would recommend finding a safe place for them to wait for the proper time. Traveling with them would be inadvisable.”
“I already know the perfect place,” Stiles responded. “I got them from the man who trained me to be an emissary.”
“Very well. You have a small time left before you are returned to your time.” The nemeton hummed. “I can anchor you for longer, but do not push it too much.”
“I won’t,” Stiles assured, then ran off to leave the note. He carefully wrapped the acorns in the handkerchief he stole from his mother, scribbling what he remembered of the note.
Stiles left the acorns, letter, and handkerchief in a bag addressed to the current Hale Alpha. A package for the future emissary, since he knew that it would eventually get to Deaton, because that had been true in every timeline.
The nemeton was gone by the time he got back to the clearing, and Stiles wondered why that trip back to his time went so smoothly. Curious if it was because the old, settled nemeton was there to balance out the childlike qualities of the new, still growing nemeton.
Stiles sat reading while the pack trained the next time he felt the pull. He quickly grabbed his bag and put it on, not standing up. He closed his eyes and braced for his landing, hoping the error would be easy to fix like last time.
“Stiles! Why are you here?” Derek snarled.
“Uhhhhhh.” Stiles stalled, looking around the loft, trying to figure out the timing, any hint to tell him what to expect from this trip.
Derek walked over and dragged him up by the shirt. “You’re supposed to be with Scott. None of the pack is allowed to be alone right now, you know that.”
“Oh!” Stiles tried to remember when the pack was on buddy-lockdown. “Because of theeeee — ”
“Kanima!” Derek snapped. “Do you ever fucking listen?”
“No, I mean yeah. I know. Sorry. Forgot my meds today, so my brain is just” he motions a zig-zag with his hand.
“Go take the spare you keep here,” Derek shoved him towards the kitchen.
Stiles pretended to take the pill, not wanting to steal it from now-him, wondering exactly how he got close enough to Derek to stash meds here. Especially since things were strenuous at best between all of them during the kanima timeframe, but clearly there was a closeness there despite that in this timeline.
“Where is Scott?”
“With Deaton,” Stiles guessed. “Have you ever seen a cat give birth?”
“No.” Derek gave him an odd look.
“Well, I have and never again. So I’m here!”
Derek’s eyebrows got closer together as he stared at Stiles’ chest.
“Deaton can protect Scott, Der.”
“I thought you didn’t trust him.”
Stiles rolled his eyes. “I don’t trust him to give us all the information… but he’s not gonna let us die, Derek. He just makes us work for the details, and I don’t know why, so I don’t trust him.”
Derek snorts. “Teenagers. Always avoiding work.”
“Who is with Jackson again?”
Derek pinched his nose. “Not this again. We tested Jackson. He got paralyzed. Lydia didn’t.”
“Okay, no to the killing of the strawberry blonde goddess. But yes to the temporary killing of the lizard boy.”
“What are you talking about.” Derek glared.
“I do not miss the lack of inflection,” Stiles mumbled, continuing in a more understandable tone. “The poison doesn’t affect banshees. It also doesn’t affect the human form of the kanima.”
“How do you — ” Derek starts, but then sighs. “You’re not gonna explain, are you?”
“Nope!” Stiles grins. “When’s the full moon again?”
Derek narrows his eyes.
“What?”
“You always know when it is.”
Stiles groans. “Just fucking tell me.”
“Yesterday.”
Stiles closes his eyes and curses the nemeton. “Peter. come out.”
Derek’s eyes flash red. “How do you know that?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try.” Derek snarls.
“Time travel.” Stiles sighs.
Derek’s eyes flick down to Stiles’ chest and back up.
“No skip, huh?”
“That’s not possible.”
“I know.” Stiles nods. “But the same can be said about resurrection.”
Peter sauntered down the stairs. “And yet…”
“You’re so predictable.” Stiles huffs.
“Nephew… perhaps we should accept that he’s being honest.”
Derek looked over incredulously at Peter in response, unable to even consider the impossible being the answer.
“That’s not how our Stiles would greet me.” Peter gestured. “Last time I saw him, he set me on fire.”
“And I do realize now how terrible that was. I do kind of regret that.”
“Only kind of?” Peter snarks.
“You suck enough that part of me doesn’t regret it.”
Peter shrugged. “I suppose that’s fair.”
“You really think he time-traveled?” Derek looks back.
“Look at him. He’s definitely older and, well, I would say wiser, but he appears to trust me, and I am sure that would be classified as the opposite of wiser at this point. Despite my stellar knowledge of everything.”
“I wouldn’t say everything.” Stiles grumbles.
“Enough to come back to life.” Peter gestures widely, then bows.
“I still hate you,” Stiles warned.
“Hear that, nephew? Our dearest pet human doesn’t hate me!” Peter smiles.
“I said the exact opposite, zombiewolf!”
“And your heart skipped when you said it.” Derek pointed out. “Which is even more frightening than imagining time travel as a thing you were chosen to do.”
“Is it better to explain that I stumbled into being selected?”
Derek’s eyebrows rose, showing just how much that doesn’t help matters.
“No, then.”
“How does one stumble into time travel?”
Stiles considered it. “I’m only going to tell you because you could never manage it.”
“Rude.”
Derek put up his hand. “No, no. Kanima first.”
“Right. Jackson is the kanima. And you gotta — ”
“Temporarily kill him.” Peter cuts in. “Pierced through the heart and revived with love.”
Derek looked over. “When were you going to tell me you knew that?”
“When you needed to know.”
Stiles thought it over. “So if you already knew…” He tried to remember what else was happening when Peter was resurrected. “ So there was Lydia’s party with the drugged punch, the resurrection no one wanted, the lacrosse game — oh my god. Fuck.”
“Human hearts should not do that.” Peter pointed out, “That’s unsettling.”
Stiles tried to calm down, but the panic attack was setting in, memories flashing before his eyes, drowning him in those horrid moments. Knowing what is coming, what happened, and what he has to allow to happen again, nearly sent him to the ground. Unable to erase the sight of Erica and Boyd strung up in the basement, or their dead bodies after the alpha pack stole them away.
“Peter,” Derek looked worried. “Is he dying?”
“No, I believe it is just a panic attack. He’s prone to those.”
“How do you even know that?” Stiles bit out, genuinely unsure how Peter could have that information at this point in time.
Peter smiled. “When my darling nephew started talking about this Stiles person, I had my nurse look at your files.”
Derek glared at the blatant breach of privacy, like that isn’t Peter’s specialty.
“What? I also looked into Scott. He was far less interesting. A sad first beta of mine. Does he ever improve?”
Stiles looks up, outraged at this entire conversation, not having known that Peter had done any of this while still somewhat in his coma.
“And look at that… no more panic attack.” Peter grins, incredibly self-satisfied at annoying the Spark enough to halt the panic attack.
“I hate you.”
“Lie.”
Derek flashed his eyes at Peter, warning him to stop. “You were listing events. What were you about to say that caused a panic attack?”
“So, Erica and Boyd took off already, correct?”
Derek snarled, angry and hurt by the abandonment, taking it personally.
“Whoa. Okay. They did not get far.” Stiles took a breath. “I don’t know if they’re already captured, but I’m going to get tossed into the Argent basement after the lacrosse game tonight, and they will already be in there.”
“WHAT?” Derek roared.
Stiles decided to hold back the rest of the story with the alpha pack and the deaths for now, well aware that it would get them nowhere at this point. Derek is not in a place to handle that, and it is very easy to see. Soon he will be called back, so he can’t waste any more time on this..
“We have to go — ”
“Whoa, no. Not right now. Wait till dark. Chris comes in a bit after Gerard… had a few words with me and sets us all free. That would be a good time to swoop in and apologize for your mistakes as an alpha and promise to learn from the Hale vault.”
“What?” Derek snarled.
“Listen, I know it's not what you want to hear, but Derek, you suck as an alpha right now.”
Peter caught Derek as he lunged forward, surprising Stiles, but at the same time, he should have expected both Derek’s reaction to that and Peter stepping in to stop anything from going too far. The alpha-ness is still too new for Derek, and it shows in almost everything he did at this time; he did not have the knowledge or experience to settle it correctly, and none of them knew how to help, not at this time, at least.
“I know. I get it. You weren’t trained for this. You were supposed to be Laura’s second forever… But that passed. You have to step up and learn, or — ” Stiles groaned as the feeling tugged on him again. “Just go to them and learn how to be a better alpha. Promise me.”
“What — ”
Stiles grabbed his bag as the nemeton yanked him back into his own time, and he crashed into the forest floor right as he snagged his bag.
“Which time was that?” Peter stood over him, inspecting his claws. “I’m assuming it was your little magic trick.” Peter’s tone was dismissive.
“You’re mad I didn’t explain how I time traveled, aren’t you?”
“Don’t be silly, I figured it out long ago.”
Stiles rolled onto his back, using the bag as a pillow. “Go on then, explain it, oh wise one.”
“Discuss it where people can overhear?” Peter scoffed. “I would never risk such a secret.”
“You have no fucking clue,” Stiles laughed. “Oh my God, I love this.”
Before Peter could respond, Stiles spotted Erica and jumped up, ignoring the lingering nausea to go hug her, unable to be the least bit rational upon seeing her alive once more, needing to feel the fact that she is alive and breathing despite all the things that tried to snuff out her life.
Peter slowly followed behind. “I see. It was the visit right after my resurrection, then.”
Stiles nodded, still clinging to Erica, refusing to allow himself to feel the least bit embarrassed about latching onto her this way, just needing to reassure himself that he did save her, that these hellish trips are making a difference.
“What are you doing?” Erica asked.
“Catwoman,” Stiles smiled. “I missed you so much.”
“You just saw me this morning, Batman.” She laughed.
Peter gently scent-marked them both. “Sometimes a day can feel like nearly a decade.”
Stiles grinned as he started to remember moments with Erica and Boyd. Things they never got to experience in life. Erica driving, Boyd going to prom, their engagement, the full moon runs as a functional pack.
It took everything in Stiles to not cry, overwhelmed with the fact that the two finally got the life that they deserved, that this time their lights weren’t snuffed out far before their time should have been.
Derek walked up and scowled at them. “Erica is supposed to be tracking a squirrel. Don’t distract her.”
Stiles let go and leaned into Derek’s space, a habit he’d formed since his last trip.
Derek pulled back and gave him a weird look. “Stiles?”
Stiles pulled back and saw that Derek lacked the soft love that was there before the trip. Derek no longer loved Stiles.
And really, considering that for most of Stiles’ life, Derek decidedly did not love Stiles, it should not hurt so much.
But it did. It was absolutely crushing in a way that even Erica and Boyd being alive did nothing to numb. The loss he feels at such a minor thing in the grand scheme of things should not be affecting him this way, but he can’t handle it.
Stiles found himself quickly heading home, Peter and Derek confused at the abrupt departure, but he couldn’t stop himself from fleeing from it all if he tried; it was too much for him.
It doesn’t surprise Stiles when his window slides open a bit later, though the person who appears is slightly more surprising than it should be.
“Hello, Stiles.” Peter purred.
“Fuck off, zombie wolf.”
Peter gasps dramatically, “You wound me!”
“I can.” Stiles threatened.
“Yes, yes.” Peter sighed, “So dramatic.”
“If that ain’t the werewolf calling sasquatch hairy.”
Peter tilted his head. “Good deflection, but I’m not going to be distracted. You ran off in the middle of training.”
“I thought I was distracting Erica.”
“Another nice deflection,” Peter noted. “But I’ve spent too long with you to fall for it.”
Stiles groaned.
“I could always,” Peter flicked out his claws, “find out for myself.”
“Nope!” Stiles jumped out of his seat and put the desk between them. “Absolutely no memory diving for you!”
“Then tell me what happened today.”
“Just shit from the time traveling. Nothing for you to worry about.”
“I see,” Peter hummed. “And that shit… it involves my nephew and your… dreadful emotions for him?”
Stiles’ mouth dropped open, probably foolishly shocked at the direct way that Peter was talking about this.
“You should give it a try, Stiles. My nephew will never make the first move.”
Before Stiles can come up with a response, Peter is gone, the drapes still rustling from his exit. Leaving him torn between curious, embarrassed, and heartbroken. Wallowing in his mourning of something that he never truly had.
The pack was incredible. Stiles basically lived at the pack house that Derek rebuilt, spending hours each day at the nemeton, talking with the strange spirit of the nemeton, a version of him that was slowly growing branches that matched the tree.
The conversations never made much sense, and Stiles was pretty sure the spirit was purposely being an asshole. It was a clone of him mixed with the murder-stump’s babies, after all. It was bound to be a bit of an asshole.
The only thing missing was the affection of one sour wolf.
He had spent such a short time being loved by Derek, but the impact in his life was undeniable.
What should have passed easily felt like it had changed a core part of his being.
He had adjusted to having two entire people return from the dead quicker than he adjusted to a boyfriend he didn’t even remember fucking. And that felt like an insult.
The pack noticed something was off, and more annoyingly, Peter noticed something was off. Ever since the weird evening visit, Peter had been watching, staring, and giving pointed looks.
And Stiles?
He couldn’t see what Peter was talking about.
None of the moments felt special to Stiles.
Derek scent-marked the whole pack, and he protected everyone.
Stiles was pretty sure by the end of the week that Peter was just completely full of shit, or messing with him. And honestly, with Peter, it could be either. Peter loved stirring up trouble whenever he got bored, and with the lacking undercurrent of death and dismemberment, Peter seemed to be very bored.
He had completely reworked the training schedule, and Stiles was stuck with Derek slamming him into every available surface with the purpose of training.
Stiles was tired of being hard.
There should be a way that you could just stop yourself from getting hard when someone didn’t like you back. A humiliation deterrent.
Especially around werewolves.
He was mid-argument with Erica when the feeling hit again. He barely had time to react before he was stumbling in the abandoned building, and he watched Scott become a true alpha in years ago. Though this time there wasn’t a lunar eclipse.
No. There were two groups of men facing off with one another.
On one side, Deucalion was standing, looking more sane than Stiles had ever experienced. finally he understood what Talia could have seen in the man, the reason she respected him.
And across from him stood a man who looked just as angry and unhinged as Stiles remembered, sending an unpleasant shiver down his spine in a way that would be embarrassing if he didn’t know what was coming next.
He couldn’t stop Gerard from taking the first swing with the specially made bat, the stolen werewolf claws ripping into his own men while wolfsbane-laced smoke poured from spouts.
Stiles did his best to turn off the smoke, unable to stop the attack fully but giving the wolves a bit of a chance to fight back as the hunters tried to slaughter them all. Hoping that it will be enough to turn the tide of this fight, not wanting this to end the same way it had the first time around.
He watched as Duecalion crawled away from the bloody scene, trying to get to fresh air, to escape the wolfsbane still swirling around them, to breathe uncontaminated air, to get his wits back to figure out a way to still bring about peace between them.
“NO!” He screamed out, rushing into the crisp air after Gerard.
He saw the arrows lifted up and just ran at the man, one thought on his mind — Gerard needed to die for good this time. There was no room for hesitation or doubt this time; the man needed to die, that much was clear.
Every bad thing that ever happened to this god-forsaken town was because one bitter old man decided to turn away from any sense of morality. One single man and his vendetta destroyed this town, and Stiles was going to fix it, no matter the cost.
He stood between Gerard and Deucalion, ready to attack, unwilling to allow this to end the way it had, willing to do what it takes to wipe Gerard from existence once and for all.
“Get out of the way, boy.” Gerard snarled. “You don’t understand what you are interrupting.”
“No, I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“That is not a man, that is a disgusting monster!”
Stiles snorts. “Says the man who just murdered his own men, framing the werewolves. But not this time.”
“You can’t prove anything!” Gerard sneered. “No one will believe some child over me.”
“You’ll be dead.” Stiles grinned.
“No! We can have peace,” Deucalion tried to reason. “Please, I know we can.”
Stiles glanced back and shook his head. “Not as long as this asshole lives. Not as long as Kate lives. And I can’t kill her right now… but I can kill him and end this plague.”
Deucalion tried to stand. “Please, we can — ”
Gerard rushed forward, and Stiles caught him, twisting the arrow into Gerard’s chest, letting the explosion end the decades of suffering this town would have suffered without him doing what needed to be done.
Pain flashed through his arm as the explosion burned him too, but Stiles held it still with a snarl. “This ends now.”
Gerard gurgled as the life drained from his eyes.
Stiles dropped to his knees under Gerard’s dead weight, breath shaky, and tears falling both from relief and from the memories entwined with that vile man.
“Why? We could have — ”
“No,” Stiles cut him off, shoving Gerard away. “There is no reasoning with the level of hatred he had. And it only gets worse.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I can,” Stiles said, and looked away from the mess. “I do know that there was no hope for Gerard. But his son Christopher. He can be reasoned with. Call him here. Show him the bat.”
“But…” Deucalion looks over the scene. “He will not listen when he sees his father.”
“So now you think peace isn’t worth the effort?” Stiles snapped.
“I didn’t say that.” Deucalion sighed. “But this death, it will not be taken well.”
“Then fucking figure it out. Because what's done is done, and I swear that man better not come back to life again because I cannot deal with him.”
“Again?”
“Not important,” Stiles dismissed, “just… remember what I said. Call Christopher, not Kate.”
“You won’t be joining me?”
“I won’t still be here.” Stiles grabbed his bag and tossed the werewolf-clawed bat on the ground near Gerard’s body. “I will be a confusing memory for you in a few minutes.”
“Who are you?”
Stiles looked at Gerard’s body and then at Deucalion. “I am the blessing of a new nemeton, desperately grasping at magic to fix a town that turned its back on her.”
Stiles landed back in his own time, Erica helped stabilize him, and didn’t bother continuing their argument. The pack learned over the past six weeks that when Stiles disappeared, he would be too disoriented to continue whatever was happening.
He hugged her, then turned and walked through the preserve, drawn to the clearing with a peaceful insistence, a sweet, soft calling that Stiles wasn’t used to.
Derek followed behind him, footsteps loud enough that Stiles knew Derek wasn’t trying to hide.
Stiles stopped and looked back. “Might as well walk with me.”
“Didn’t want to intrude too much.” Derek shrugged. “But normally you don’t have two trips so fast.”
“This doesn’t feel like a pull for time travel.” Stiles hummed. “It feels more like the tug I felt when I couldn’t ignore the urge to plant the acorns.”
“That is… concerning.”
Stiles shrugged. “Magic is always concerning, Derek.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“But it's all better, all this stress, all the struggle. Things are better.”
“I know.”
Stiles stopped dead in his tracks. “What do you mean you know?”
“I remember the original timeline,” Derek admitted. “And I have some awareness of the others.”
“Der — ” Stiles blushed.
“Yeah, that one too.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Stiles said, walking forward again, his back to Derek. “I didn’t know anyone else would remember.”
“I think it's an alpha thing. Mom remembered, too. Before she died.”
“I tried to stop that,” Stiles turned, “But I wasn’t allowed to pick what got changed.”
Derek clenched his jaw and stayed quiet.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Derek steered Stiles away from a tree. “Mom told me right before the fire about you. In one of the timelines, at least.”
“She didn’t like me much.” Stiles joked.
Derek shook his head, “Actually, she did. She died with a pack that had better dynamics than she ever experienced, and she knew it was because of your visit.”
“Really?” Stiles
Derek nodded, not letting go of Stiles as they finally reached the nemeton’s clearing.
“That’s… unique.” Stiles walked up to the place where the stump used to be.
“Is that supposed to happen?”
Stiles picked up a handful of dust and let it spill from his palm, gently blowing in the breeze. “It isn’t something that has happened before.”
“Right.” Derek joined him and hesitantly touched the dust.
Stiles scooped up a jar of the dust and pushed it into his bag.
“Is that a Tic-Tac container with wolfsbane in it?” Derek pulled the plastic out of his bag. “And what is that?”
“Glass is heavy, Der. And that is a mushroom that I found that I had never seen before.”
Derek started to pick through the bag.
“Magic doesn’t need to be all bespoke boxes and fancy bottles.”
“Apparently,” Derek held up a repurposed pill bottle with a raised eyebrow.
“Magic is about intention, not perfection.” Stiles groaned. "And come on, stop picking on my supplies.”
Derek held up a bottle of lube.
“Okay, that’s actually lube.”
“Of course it is.”
Stiles shrugged and sealed off the container of dust, grabbing a sharpie and marking it with a leaf.
“Hello, Alpha Hale,” a soft voice greeted.
“Ah,” Stiles smiled, “My least evil clone.”
Derek looked between them.
“Derek, meet the spirit of the nemeton.”
Derek reached out and touched one of the branches tangled in the spirit’s hair, his fingers falling through.
“Can’t touch a spirit, Der.” Stiles laughed.
“Right.”
“So,” the spirit floated past and hovered over the dusty pile, sitting like he would on the old stump. “I’m officially all grown up.”
“So, no more time travel?”
“Exactly.” The spirit smiled.
“You’re positive?” Derek asked.
“Yup!” He cheerfully exclaimed.
Derek walked over to Stiles, “No more changes now.”
Stiles smiled, “I guess not. I hope this timeline is better than when I started.”
Derek grinned, bunny teeth showing. “I think I can make it better.”
“Oh?” Stiles looked at him, curious.
Derek gently cupped Stiles’ cheek and pulled him closer. “Yeah, I have a few ideas.”
“Derek?” Stiles whispered. “What?”
“I didn’t want to try until you were done fucking up the timelines. But now.” Derek gently kissed Stiles. “Now I can do this without worrying I’ll have to wake up alone again, the ghost of your love feeling like an open wound.”
Stiles groaned.
Derek kissed him again, deeper, more urgently.
“Der.” Stiles gripped Derek’s waist, “Fuck. That was the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Derek laughed, holding Stiles against him.
Stiles hugged him back. “I have missed this every single day since that one stupid timeline. But you never — so I thought you were not interested.”
Derek pressed him against a tree, rocking his hips forward. “Oh, I’m very interested.”
“Fuuuuuuck, you can’t just say that.”
“And yet I did,” Derek laughed and kissed along Stiles’ neck, still grinding against Stiles.
“Der, out here? Really?”
Derek held up the lube from Stiles’ bag. “Well, we have the supplies.”
Stiles groaned. “Fuck, okay.”
“Yup, that’s the plan. I have wanted you in me since I woke up, feeling you hard against me.”
“Me… in you?”
“This time, yeah.”
“In the middle of the preserve?”
“Yup.”
“In front of the nemeton?”
Derek paused and stepped back. “Maybe not… floating you is a little creepy.”
Stiles laughed and grabbed his bag, leading Derek to a different clearing. “How about here?”
“This works,” Derek wrapped Stiles in his arms and nibbled along Stiles’ neck. “Been waiting for this.”
“Me too,” Stiles spun in his hold. “Fuck, yeah, keep, that, perfect.”
Derek laughed against his throat, marking Stiles’ neck with bites and sucking dark spots into it.
Stiles tugged at Derek’s shirt, pausing the kiss to toss the shirt off to the side. “So fucking hot.”
Derek’s eyes flashed red, “Your turn.”
Stiles slowly lifted his shirt, teasing Derek. “Guess it is.”
Derek quickly pulled Stiles against him again, backing up to a tree while they kissed. “So good for me, can’t wait to,” He flicked his fly open.
Stiles nodded, mirroring the action. “Come on, Der. Show me how bad you want it.”
Derek shoved down his pants and boxers, stroking himself a few times.
Stiles dropped to his knees, taking Derek into his mouth and gripping himself through his jeans.
He took his time, teasing Derek with barely-there pressure and licking.
“Stiles, I swear — ”
Stiles hummed, keeping Derek in his mouth.
“Fuck.”
Stiles stroked the base, continuing the hum. He increased the pressure and worked on Derek’s cock like he actually wanted to get Derek off now. He could feel Derek trembling under his touch and pulled back.
“No, don’t stop,” Derek groaned.
“Turn around,” Stiles motioned, his cock now hanging out of his pants. “Gotta get you stretched out for me.”
Derek turned, bracing on the tree with one hand and stroking himself with the other. “Get to it then.”
“Impatient.” Stiles chuckled, “But I like it.”
Stiles grabbed the lube and stood up, one arm across Derek’s lower back as he started to finger Derek. He kept Derek grounded as he teased Derek’s rim, flicking, rubbing, pressing in, and stretching.
“You doing okay?”
“I’d be better if you would stop teasing me!” Derek snapped.
“Nope. I’m enjoying this too much.” Stiles gently pressed into Derek’s prostate, circling it and playing with it just enough to feel Derek’s reactions.
“Stiles,” Derek warned.
“Oh come on, Der, cum for me. Wanna hear you cum.”
Derek grunted and picked up his pace on his stroking, tipping over the edge quickly. Stiles worked him through it, then slicked himself up, pulling Derek’s hips back and positioning himself at Derek’s rim.
“Come on.” Derek looked back over his shoulder, eyes red and fangs peaking out.
Stiles could see Derek’s claws digging into the bark of the tree as he pressed in, the sight of the shift making the moment feel even better. He caused Derek to lose his normally tightly held control, and Derek begged Stiles to do it.
He had to pause once he was fully seated, the years of daydreams and wet dreams finally catching up to the moment, and surpassing every fantasy he ever had.
Stiles rested his head on Derek’s back, taking a slow breath. “Fuck, Der.”
“Not yet, you aren’t,” Derek joked, “But close.”
“Haha, Alpha’s got jokes.” Stiles started to move, standing up.
Derek moaned at the movement, digging his other hand into the tree as well.
Stiles gripped Derek with one hand, reaching around with the other to feel every muscle on Derek’s torso before finally wrapping around Derek’s cock and starting to stroke in time with his thrusts.
Derek dragged his claws down the trunk of the tree, moaning as Stiles tugged him back and the change in angle started to hit his prostate.
“Fuck,” Stiles groaned, “You feel so perfect.”
“Yeah,” Derek agreed. “Better than I imagined.”
“So you thought I’d be a bad lay?” Stiles paused. “That’s rude.”
“Stiles, I swear I will kill you if you don’t keep going.”
“Uh huh.” Stiles slowly pulled out almost all the way. “You realize I stopped believing that, like the third time you said it to me, right?”
“Stiles!”
“Fine, bossy little alpha, oh my god,” Stiles started thrusting again.
Derek dropped his head, watching Stiles’ hand on his cock.
“You like that, huh?” Stiles kept his pace slow and deliberate, dragging out the pleasure.
Derek nodded.
“I’m close, Der, so close.” Stiles' pace picked up, chasing that last bit of pleasure to tip him over the edge.
Derek gripped Stiles’ hand, increasing the pressure on his cock. Derek’s orgasm hit with a long broken moan. The feeling of Derek clenching on his cock had Stiles cumming hard inside Derek.
“Fuck.” Stiles sighed, forehead dropping to Derek’s back. “I wanna do that, like, every day.”
“Sounds like fun,” Derek straightened up and started to dress again. “But next time I’m torturing you instead.” Derek turned and kissed Stiles, slowly exploring his mouth.