Chapter Text
Deaton teaches him how to master his powers and keep them under control, you know, in case he rips a house from its bearings again. It’d been a lapse in judgement, a tiny road bump fuelled by panic and exhaustion, causing him to drain his magic battery all the way to zero. It took days to regain his strength, and he’s keen not to relive it. So, before he goes to university, Deaton gives him some pointers.
The key to staying in control, maintaining the balance between helpful magic and almost-killing-himself magic, is obviously his anchor, apparently. Deaton tells him to attach himself to Derek, mentally, and use him to stay in control. Which is the worst idea he’s ever heard, since whenever Derek is in danger – which happens a lot, Deaton – Stiles is pretty much reduced to a ball of anxiety, unsure if he’s coming or going.
It works well enough to help Stiles with distance between them. Usually when Derek isn’t around, Stiles starts feeling peaky, pale, like the life is being sucked right out of him by some drastic force of nature. Now he can go a few days without incident – only a few days, since after that a wave of nausea hits him like a freight train and he ends up stumbling into the loft and almost collapsing into Derek’s arms.
It’s not exactly an easy talent to master, but he’s getting there. Taking baby steps. And it’s not like he has to stay apart from Derek a lot, just, when he goes to university it might come in handy. He’ll have to study, have to take a break from saving Beacon Hills from time to time, and he’d prefer to do it without feeling like he’s a few fries short of a happy meal.
Another thing Deaton teaches him is how to contact his pack if there’s no phones available (which likely wouldn’t happen, considering he keeps his phone on him 24/7). And without having to astral project, subsequently erasing the danger of becoming lost between astral planes. Again. It’s something Stiles is totally on board with.
He tests it with Scott, ends up accidentally electrocuting him from four miles away, sends him swirling into the air, levitating, cursing Stiles out relentlessly. Stiles has to sprint to the McCall house just to get him down. After some coaxing, Scott lets him try again. It works.
It’s like a bad quality video call, but it works. Scott can see him, like he’s on video, like he’s some kind of super cool augmented reality. It’s kind of awesome. Except when Scott takes advantage of it, late at night when Stiles is about to turn in, and uses their connection to go on and on about his recent romantic times with Allison.
And, just no. On so many levels.
Allison is the same as she always is. Still a dark horse in the pack, still as sweet as ever, still as sickeningly in love with Scott like she always is. She’s dealt with a lot, with losing her mother and aunt, having her grandpa turn demented, and dealing with her hunter dad. Stiles has to hand it to her for her bravery, but sometimes questions her mental state. And hey, she’s basically part of the pack, so he can sense these things.
He doesn’t press her about it though, since Lydia gives him the stink eye every time he tries. Those two, Lydia and Allison, are pretty much inseparable now. And girls are pretty terrifying when they put their heads together, form an alliance, and declare themselves the female alpha’s of the pack in terms of intelligence. Stiles doesn’t argue, wouldn’t even dream of it. Derek, surprisingly, doesn’t argue either, like he doesn’t want to step on any more toes than he already has.
It’s a smart move. A move he probably learned from Stiles, respectively.
And the others…well, Isaac is still living with Stiles. Erica and Boyd are like ghosts in the wind, minding their own business and staying out of the drama. Well, mostly that’s Boyd, since Erica needs to butt her nose into everything. Cora and Peter keep to themselves too, but Stiles sees Cora a lot more than he does Peter. She’s adorable, really, but when he tells her he immediately gets trapped in a headlock. So, like, adorable but not a lot. She’s definitely a Hale.
So when the day comes, and he goes to university, Scott helps him get registered and tags along to the campus tour, just for kicks. Stiles suspects he’s a little jealous, really, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Being an FBI agent, albeit in training, is a huge deal. And Scott is probably feeling a little deflated.
“Stop pouting.” Stiles groans, had enough, halting in his tracks just outside the main building. “We’re still gonna see each other, Scotty. I’m not dying.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Scott says, and wow, Stiles is never gonna live that one down, is he? “You’ll be so busy with your new ‘FBI friends’,” Scott uses air quotations, “you won’t have time to hang out with me.”
Seriously. Scott is the best. “Never gonna happen. It’s practically impossible, actually. You’ll never get rid of me.”
Scott doesn’t look convinced, intent on pouting his life away.
“Dude, I’ll still be here.” Stiles presses, holding out his pinkie to his friend. “Promise. No funny business.”
Scott shakes his pinkie, then gives it a squeeze. “I’ll hold you to that. I don’t wanna lose my best friend to a bunch of uptight federal agents.”
Stiles smacks him, just for the hell of it. Life just goes on, and on, a little boringly. He goes to university, as do the others, and Derek is always around, already graduated years ago. They’re a little domestic now, staying at each other’s houses, talking about the weather, but it’s nice. It’s nice without the threat of death looming over them. Well, it’s still there, just not as imminent as it used to be, and that’s something. Stiles will take what he can get.
Chris gives him his word he’ll let Stiles know when he hears something through his channels. It’s just a waiting game until they’re back in the thick of it now. Stiles makes sure he savours his free, uninjured time whilst he still can.
THREE MONTHS LATER
“Stop calling it D-Day, Stiles. That’s not what it is. Do you even know what D-Day was?”
“Look, I know it was bad. And for all intents and purposes, it serves my analogy.” Stiles huffs, leaning back in his chair and squinting over at Parrish, untrusting. “Because this? Really bad. Pushing disastrous territory, I mean. You know I’m right.”
“It’s what people call the Normandy landings in World War II.” Parrish tells him like a know-it-all, a little stern and fresh out of patience. “Have some respect.”
Stiles crosses his arms over his chest, determined and unmoving. “I have plenty of respect, believe me. I respect you, don’t I?”
Parrish’s mouth twitches like he’s about to smile. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“Not the point.” Stiles waves his hand dismissively, his loose sleeve falling further down his forearm and revealing his tattoo. He taps his finger on the file he’d graciously tossed onto the deputy’s desk. “This is the point. A valid point, one which I’d argue is a little more important than the history lesson you’re grilling me with right now.”
“Stiles.” His dad scolds, half-hearted, because he’s still a sheriff, after all. He has to defend his men, just like Stiles has to defend his own.
Parrish looks like he’s had enough of a twenty year old telling him what to do, but opens the file anyway, so Stiles has to fight the urge to fist bump over his victory. His celebration is short-lived, however, since Parrish closes the file pretty much two seconds after he opens it.
“I can’t do anything with this.” Parrish complains, looking up at the sheriff for support. “There’s nothing here that would justify getting a warrant.”
“Let me see it.” His dad orders, taking the file from Parrish and flicking through the pages.
Stiles, meanwhile, feels like having a meltdown. “What’d you mean ‘not enough’? Parrish, dude -”
“It’s Deputy Parrish.” Parrish corrects him sternly, but ends up faltering anyway, like he knows he can’t argue. “Why’d you come to me, anyway? Can’t you, like, sense when danger is coming?”
Stiles’ eyes become saucers, panic-looking over at his dad, who spares him a glance. “You told him?”
“It came up.” His dad shrugs like revealing Stiles’ emissaryism (it’s a word) is nothing to be worried about. Stiles, meanwhile, is very, very worried.
“Relax, Stilinksi. Your secret is safe with me.” Parrish promises, not even bothered, making Stiles wonder if he’s aware that werewolves and kanimas and just about everything else under the sun also exist. “Besides, do you know how many times I got reports of wild, rabid dogs running in the woods near Scott McCall’s house? Come on.”
Well, that answers that.
“And you’re,” Stiles manages, “cool with it?”
“If it keeps the town safe, I’m cool with it.” Parrish says, nonchalant, just as the sheriff closes the file and hands it back to Stiles.
“Sorry, son. He’s right. There’s not enough here.”
“Are you kidding?” Stiles clutches the file to his chest, gaping. “There’s enough here to rouse suspicion, at least.”
“Suspicion isn’t the same as hard evidence.”
“Which I already told you.” Parrish adds confidently, a glint in his eye, then goes back to his paperwork and pretending Stiles doesn’t exist.
“Go home.” His dad orders, making a break for his office. He looks over his shoulder to make sure Stiles is leaving. “Don’t you have that paper to finish?”
“Oh, yeah!” Stiles rolls his eyes, knowing he’s toast. “Totally more important than saving lives.”
His dad’s glare is worth it.
So, Stiles scurries outside, tail between his legs, clutching the file to his chest. There’s a familiar car in the parking lot, one he’d recognise anywhere, since it’s totally obnoxious and arousing, considering who it belongs to. He hops into the Camaro and tosses the file into the back seat like an afterthought, getting his seatbelt on.
“So?” Derek asks, already taking off down the street.
“Definitely.” Stiles nods firmly, looking at Derek carefully. “They totally fell for it. No suspicion whatsoever. Well, aside from the usual amount when I’m around, but hey, what can you do?”
Derek side eyes him, hands tight around the steering wheel. “Stiles. Focus.”
“You’re no fun.” Stiles groans. “Something’s definitely up with Parrish, no doubt about it. I don’t know what it is yet, but he’s just, different. I dunno how to describe it. I sensed it. He’s not human.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.” Derek says grimly. “Why couldn’t I sense it before?”
Stiles shrugs, looking out the window. “Deaton’s been teaching me, not you. Maybe I can sense when there’s a potential threat anywhere now. Who knows?”
“You mean you can sense a threat to people who aren’t me?” Derek asks, and…is that jealousy?
“Not what I meant.” Stiles rushes, feeling a little light headed as Derek speeds up the car, obviously taking him home. “I dunno. The air around him is different, unnatural. Like smoke fumes or something, like I’m suffocating.”
“That’s comforting.” Derek says, not sounding comforted in the slightest. They pull up to Stiles’ house in record time, and Stiles is just impressed Derek managed to speed his way here without getting a ticket.
“Did you talk to Lydia?” Stiles asks, distracted, not really ready to go back to his mundane student life just yet.
“Scott did.” Derek shakes his head, cutting the engine. “She and Parrish are…involved.”
“Romantically?”
“No. I don’t think so.” Derek shrugs. “It’s something more than that.”
“Like,” Stiles struggles to find his words without embarrassing himself, “you and me, involved?”
“Maybe.” Derek actually smiles, giving Stiles goosebumps. And, seriously, what’s with that? The honeymoon faze should be over by this point, but Stiles still gets goosebumps, still gets stomach backflips when Derek meets his eye. Maybe it’s a mate thing. Maybe it’s a Derek thing.
And maybe he doesn’t really care. Because he’s totally punching above his weight here, and he’s not about to argue.
“You coming in?” Stiles asks, brave for once. Derek’s smile fades, answering his question. “What is it?”
“Scott’s here.” Derek tells him, gesturing with his head up to Stiles’ roof, where, of course, Scott is perched like an owl, just waiting to be let inside despite already possessing a key. Old habits and all that.
“Ah, well. What can you do?” Stiles grins, one hand on the door handle, then looks over at Derek. “I’ll see you tonight?”
Derek nods, leans in and kisses him. As far as goodbyes go, this is pretty great. And Derek is pretty much all heat and hard edges, rough stubble and smooth lips, making Stiles melt into it. He’ll never get used to the reality of kissing Derek, among other things, since it feels so intimate. Like it’s something sacred, something for only them.
The sound of feet landing on the grass outside the car is distracting, though. “Dude, you can suck face later. Stop before the car starts levitating.”
Designated moment ruiner and Stiles’ life ruiner Scott McCall, ladies and gentleman.
Derek isn’t listening, possibly out of spite, since he smirks and kisses Stiles again, savouring it, biting into his mouth and sliding their tongues together. Stiles’ knuckles turn white against the car doorhandle, a glow appearing around them and encompassing the car. Scott starts yelping, then collides with the car, floating loosely in mid-air and shouting curse words until Stiles puts him down.
“You did that on purpose.” Stiles muses against Derek’s lips, watching as Derek pulls away with a grin.
“Never gets old.”
Scott drops to the ground, managing to land on his feet, scowling at his Alpha through the windscreen. “Not funny.”
Derek looks like he disagrees. He also looks like he’s reluctant to let Stiles go, but he does, letting him climb out the car and close the door. Then he’s speeding away down the street.
“Dude.” Scott punches him in the shoulder. “Not cool.”
“Can’t control it.” Stiles offers, sashaying inside the house with his friend in tow. “Do I detect a little jealousy?”
“No.” Scott wrinkles his nose. “Definitely not. Allison would kill me if I made her float upside down.”
“No, she wouldn’t.” Stiles promises, knowing there’s no way in hell Allison would ever hurt Scott, even as a joke. Scott shrugs, knowing he’s right, and parades up to Stiles’ bedroom without another word, probably about to get sucked into a video game any second now.
But, hell no. They’ve got a lot of stuff to talk about first. And snatching the controller away from Scott is like trying to take a pacifier from a toddler – borderline impossible.
“Dude,” Stiles swats his friend’s hands away, “we’ve got business to discuss first.”
“Business that’s more important than gaining xp?” Scott asks, like genuinely asks.
“Lydia-related business.” Stiles states, plopping onto his bed with a face made of stone.
Scott hesitates. “Oh, that.”
“Yeah, that. Dude, why didn’t you say anything?”
“I guess I figured Derek would tell you.” Scott shrugs, then takes a seat next to Stiles, his weight forcing them both to shift. “I don’t know. After Jackson left, she’s been a little, I dunno, weird.”
Stiles raises an eyebrow, curious. “Good weird? Or bad, totally a liability, weird?”
“Neither.” Scott shrugs, as informative as always. “She led me to a dead body last week. Knew where it was and everything, like she just sensed it, bro. Totally freaked me out.”
“A dead body? What happened?”
Scott shrugs again, seriously. “Suicide, I think. Did you miss the part where I said Lydia led me there?”
“So,” Stiles ponders, only a little freaked out, “she’s psychic? What’s that got to do with Parrish?”
“I don’t know. That’s why Derek called you in. None of us could catch a decent scent from him.” Scott narrows his eyes. “Not even a human one. I mean, there’s blood and a heartbeat but then there’s just…nothing.”
“It’s like burning.” Stiles tries to explain, waving his hands in the air emphatically. “Like a furnace. Like he’s about to catch on fire. I sensed it today, Derek was right. He’s not human, at least, not entirely.”
“Do you think he did something to Lydia?” Scott asks.
Stiles narrows his eyes. “Maybe. Why else would she be following him around all the time? This is bad, dude. Real bad.”
Almost as bad as getting his ass kicked yet again playing video games. Scott has advanced reflexes, enhanced hearing, all the good stuff that Stiles lacks in, making him a worthy opponent. So, he does what any good best friend would do, and makes him float in the air until he’s dropping the controller and cursing him out for being a cheater.
Can’t please everyone.
“Sorry,” Stiles shakes his head frantically, totally not panicking, totally not panicking, “but it sounded like you just told me you’re leaving.”
“He did say that.” Cora huffs, a little deflated, looking like she’s torn about her own decision. Stiles? Stiles is very, very torn.
“It’s not forever.” Derek says, sounding like he’s making a promise, watching Stiles’ reaction carefully. Peter is behind them, looking off into the distance, probably spacing out into some werewolf paradise where he isn’t in the middle of this mess.
“It’s only for summer.” Cora smacks Stiles on the back, making him stumble forwards, forcing her to steady him. “Jeez, Stiles, it’s okay. There’s a summer school opportunity down there for me. And I like South America, come on."
“I thought you hated it.” Peter says in monotone.
“Hate the heat. Love the country.” Cora spits. “Get the facts straight.”
Yikes, some bad blood here. Stiles doesn’t understand why. He’s beginning to think the last six months have been more eventful that he’s been told, since he’s pretty much been living at the university library, head buried in copious amounts of books and highlighters until the early hours of the morning.
It’s a necessity, or at least he thought it was. Now he’s not so sure.
“Why do you have to go?” Stiles asks, pleads, looking at Derek with worry. Derek falters, looking over at Cora.
“I can’t lose her again.”
Well, that’s fair.
“It’s only for a couple of months.” Cora promises this time, putting a gentle hand on Stiles’ shoulder in an attempt to soothe him. “We’ll be back, and you can pester Derek’s cell phone every day. Every minute, actually.”
Derek huffs out a laugh, but it’s not pleasant.
“I’ll be back.” Derek promises by the time Cora and Peter have disappeared upstairs, letting them have a moment of themselves. And apparently it’s borrowed time. “Deaton taught you how to control your power without me.”
“That’s not the point, dude.” Stiles shakes his head, totally unsure of himself, totally unsure where to go from here. “I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”
“It’s only for summer.” Derek reminds him, something like concern on his face, adoration in his eyes. Stiles will never get used to this look, not now and not ever. “This is my home.”
“Yeah.” Stiles waves a hand dismissively, miffed. “But you’re leaving me.”
Derek turns serious. “I’d never leave you behind.”
It’s enough to make Stiles falter, enough to make his anger fizzle away into nothing but self-pity. “Feels like it.”
Derek grabs a hold of his arm with a little more force than necessary, tightening his fingers around the tattoo on Stiles’ skin. “I’d never leave you behind.”
It’s enough to make Stiles believe him, at least. His tattoo starts pulsating, like there’s a threat in the air, but there isn’t really. Just a sense of impending loneliness, and that shit sucks. Hard.
“What about Lydia?” Stiles asks. “What about Parrish? You’re just gonna leave with all this going on?”
“Nothing’s going on yet.” Derek says stiffly. “And if it does, we’ll come back early. I’m not going to leave you to fight alone.”
It says a lot about Derek’s progress over the last three months. Considering when they first met, Derek was totally the type of guy to take off and let the others fend for themselves. Not now, though, and Stiles takes full credit. He just hopes Derek doesn’t retreat back to his caveman ways whilst he’s gone.
“Everyone will be here waiting for you when you come back.” Stiles says, promises, hopes, all of it. “Myself included. But if you even think about leaving me to deal with your deranged pack of dogs on my own, I will hunt you down.”
Derek laughs, letting his arm go. “They’re your pack too. You don’t really mean that.”
“I kind of do.” Stiles offers a lopsided smile. “Especially the hunting you down part. Don’t think you can hide from me. And I mean that in the least creepy stalker, overly-possessive way possible.”
Derek smiles, shakes his head, and leans in and presses his nose to Stiles’ neck and inhales. Like he’s savouring the scent, savouring the sense of ownership, one that he’s not going to have for a while. And it’s enough, for now, to let Stiles watch him go.
What’s the worst that could happen?
Tbc?