Chapter Text
Sunday 31st April
Stiles is pretty sure he should be doing something important right about now, and that something shouldn't be sleeping. But at the moment he's led down, face smushed into some cushions, eyes closed, and he is sure that he's missing something ...
Ah yes. Stiles just saved Beacon Hills.
Derek had driven them back to his apartment in silence, hand resting on Stiles' leg whenever he could spare it. The Alpha had pushed Stiles down onto the sofa the minute they'd stepped into the Derek's loft, and just as Stiles thought things were going to get interested, he'd fallen asleep.
He hoped he hadn't drooled onto Derek's cushions.
Suddenly, Stiles is aware that a conversation is taking place. He begins to concentrate, the words coming into focus after a while. The young man's head is pounding, but he's too nosy to try and go back to sleep.
"... it before." Derek is saying, as Stiles tries to keep his breathing even, and fool the werewolf into thinking he's still sleeping. "This kind of thing drains them."
"Them?" Stiles' father asks, and the young man is so surprised by the voice he nearly forgets he's pretending to be asleep.
"I don't know what to even call Stiles at this point." Derek continues. "Deaton seems to know more than he's telling us."
The Sheriff sighs. "Derek, I've known that man for years. He always knows more than everyone else. And he acts like it too. The man could use a lesson in subtly. Although, I don't think he'd be able to get that living in Beacon Hills. This place is the opposite of subtle."
Derek huffs, and Stiles thinks it's supposed to be a laugh, but even face down in upholstery, Stiles can hear the tension in it.
"You don't have to look so worried, son. I'm not going to shoot you."
Stiles swears his father was about to add the word 'yet' to that sentence, but stopped himself. The young man is grateful for it. Less drama means more sleep for Stiles. Well, fake sleep. Relaxing? Holy shit, could Stiles relax now? He hadn't been able to do that in a while ...
"Honestly sir, I wouldn't have been surprised if you had. Shoot me, I mean. After everything that's happened..." The Alpha trails off, but Stiles understands what the man was probably going to say.
Getting shot would kinda just be another thing to add to the long list of bullshit that just happened in Beacon Hills this month.
"Huh." Derek must give his father a questioning look, as Stiles hears the Sheriff huff out a laugh. "I'm just wondering whether getting shot is a normal -"
"Yes." Derek answers immediately, and if Stiles had been looking at the Alpha, he wouldn't have been able to hold back a sympathetic look. The guy never seemed to be able to catch a break.
"Really?"
Stiles hears Derek sigh, before he answers. "Hunters and guns come with the territory of being a werewolf, sir. I've had to get used to it."
"Derek, don't you think, considering everything, that calling me sir is a little ..."
"Stupid?"
"I was going to say redundant."
"Sorry."
Stiles tries to fit the urge to smile. He tries to picture something unfunny, but for some reason he can't imagine anything but Jackson getting hit in the face with a lacrosse ball.
"Don't apologise. I appreciate the thought, but it's making me feel a little old."
Now it's Derek that huffs out a laugh, and Stiles has to stop himself from letting out a relieved breath. It had been getting a little too tense, and the conversation was drifting somewhere a little too personal for Stiles' liking.
"So, you and Stiles?"
Oh. God.
Stiles nearly shoots up from where he was led on Derek's sofa. Part of him wants to exclaim 'I'm awake!' and flail his arms, anything too stop the conversation, but something else keeps him from moving. It could be the exhaustion, the painkillers Derek had silently passed to him in the car, or the fact that he was kinda curious as to what Derek was going to say next.
Actually, it was probably just Stiles being nosy again.
"Is it a problem?"
"Well, that depends."
"Sheriff -"
"Derek, please call me John."
"John," Derek corrects, and Stiles doesn't need to see his fathers face to know that the man is probably smiling, pleased to have gotten his way. "I'm sorry if you think -"
"It's not about what I think, son. It's about the law. Despite what Stiles thinks, or how he acts, he is still only 16. At least for another few days."
"It's his birthday?"
"He didn't tell you?"
Oh, shit. Stiles had actually forgotten it was his birthday. How could he have forgotten about his birthday?! A small part of him is pleased that he's not even going to have to lie to Derek about forgetting to mention it. He had actually forgotten, after all.
"We haven't -" Derek cuts himself off, and Stiles has to bite his lip to stop himself from sniggering. "Can I just say, you have no reason to arrest me? Or shoot me."
The Sheriff laughs. "That's fine for me. But I was actually a little curious about how this all happened."
"Stiles." Derek says immediately as an answer.
"Well, I gathered that it would be something to do with Stiles sticking his noise somewhere he shouldn't."
Derek huffs, and Stiles can hear the amusement in the man's response. "He'd make a good werewolf." The Alpha drawls sarcastically, and Stiles screams internally.
Derek Hale just made a frigging dog, or more accurately, wolf joke, and he had to pretend to be asleep.
"Is that something else we need to talk about?"
Crickets.
Stiles had never heard silence like it in his life. To stop the painful lull in conversation, the young man makes a point to stretch loudly, and roll over, throwing his arms into the air. He notes with a small amount of worry that Derek is looking a little pale.
"Morning."
The Sheriff smiles, but it looks more pained that his usual expression. "Morning, son. Sleep well?"
Stiles stretches again, just to really emphasise that he was sleeping a really deep sleep, and could not have possibly heard anything that had just been said.
"You bet. I slept like the dead."
"Not funny." "Shut up." The Sheriff and Derek speak in unison, and Stiles huffs out a laugh, still led on the sofa.
"Have you guys not heard about dark humour? Doctors use it when -"
"Thirsty?" Derek asks, but before the young man can answer, the man is moving over to the kitchen, and swings open the fridge.
Stiles and his father share a look when the Alpha's back is turn. The young man smiles, and his father sighs. Stiles sits up, his feet resting on the floor of the loft, and pats the sofa next to him.
"Want to sit? You look kinda tired."
The Sheriff rolls his eyes, but makes his way over towards his son. "That's probably because I haven't slept."
"What?"
"Your father has been helping Deaton and Peter with ..." Derek trails off with a frown, making his way back over to the Stilinski's.
"Everything." The Sheriff supplies. "The Beacon Hills fire and police department have been dealing with an accidental fire, and a certain professor who has had a mental breakdown."
Stiles nods, accepting the bottle of water from Derek. "What about -"
"Stiles, don't worry." Derek injects, although not harshly. "Everything has been taken care of. You don't have to overthink this."
"Too late, son. I know that look. He's already thinking about police reports and trying to listen in to my radio."
"That's not true!" Stiles protests, opening his bottle of cold, clear water. "I was actually wondering about Marin. Is she okay?"
"She's fine. Deaton is with her." Derek replies, his face grave.
The Alpha and Sheriff share a look, and Stiles takes the moment to observe, and take a long drink from his water. Something was going on, and he wasn't being told ...
"I'm gonna head home. Have a shower." The Sheriff says suddenly, standing from the sofa. "I'll see you home in a few hours." He leans down, and gives Stiles a quick pat on the shoulder. Stiles can't help but roll his eyes.
"Dad, I'm not going to break." Stiles stands, and stumbles slightly. Derek reaches out, but his father gets there first.
The Sheriff shakes his head, unamused. "You might not break, son. But you still need your rest." The two men embrace, and Stiles takes a moment to appreciate his fathers warmth and strength.
He could have died. It's only just hitting him ...
"I'll drive him home in a few hours, after he's had some food." Derek says to the Sheriff, as the two men pull away.
Stiles falls back down onto the sofa, his heart beat beginning to rise. Derek walks his father to the lift, and waits until he hears the man enter his car, before turning back to the young pale man, sat on his sofa.
"How're you feeling?"
"Tired."
"Deaton said that's normal." The Alpha continues, walking back to where Stiles was sitting.
He sits down carefully and cautiously. Stiles, once again, wants to argue that he's not going to break, but right now, he doesn't believe it.
"Deaton seems to have all the answers ..." Is all the young man says, his voice quiet.
He leans back into the sofa, and Derek shifts, sitting even closer. He rests a large hand on the mans knee, and begins to move his thumb, rubbing Stiles' leg in a soothing notion,
"Breathe." Is all Derek says, and Stiles does. "He spoke to your father earlier, while you were asleep. He's offered to tutor you."
"Tutor me? About what?" Stiles knows that Derek is trying to distract him, and it's working. Sourwolf must have been reading up on anxiety attacks.
"He didn't mention any specifics to your father. It seems like he wants to go over everything. Well, everything relating to being an emissary, and someone with certain abilities. Abilities that you seem to have."
"I thought ..." Stiles frowns, turning to look at Derek in the eye. "I thought you weren't okay with the emissary thing?"
Derek moves his hand from Stiles' knee, and the young man misses the contact. He leans back on the sofa, running a hand over his face. Stiles notes that he looks tired, and wonders whether the Alpha had slept at all. He doubts it. If he hadn't been drained from painkillers and magic, Stiles imagines that he would have been a little bit too preoccupied with his own thoughts to sleep either.
"It's not about you being the Pack emissary."
"Then, what is it?"
Derek sighs, looking up at the lofts ceiling. "Stiles, you've been with me in Beacon Hills for a few months. And yet, in that time -"
"Please don't start blaming yourself for things happening to me, that have nothing to do with you." Stiles interjects, annoyed.
Derek was starting to sound worryingly like Scott in his 'I don't want anything bad to happen to you because of me' phase.
"Stiles ..."
"I'm serious Derek, don't beat yourself up about this."
"It's not just this is it." Derek retorts, his voice raising, and his eyes meeting Stiles' own. "Everyone around the Pack, and around me, they get hurt. Or worse." Stiles opens his mouth, but Derek cuts in before the young man can reply. "This life is dangerous."
"Then I guess it's lucky that my Dad is the Sheriff, and I have a tutor who's a druid, and a boyfriend who's an Alpha."
Derek smiles, and Stiles nearly pounces on him. Then he remembers the situation, and thinks better of it. Not the time, not the time ...
"What about your best friend, who is also a werewolf?"
Stiles' eyes bulge from his head, and his mouth drops open in shock. Derek just watches, amused. "Oh shit ... I forgot."
"You forgot about Scott?"
"No, I forgot about the Pack!" Stiles smiles, and swings around excitedly to look over at a very confused Alpha. Clearly he was having some trouble keeping up with Stiles' train of thought. "Am I going to be Jackson's boss now? Do I get to tell the Beta's what to do?"
Derek rolls his eyes, although he is smiling now, clearly amused. "It doesn't really work like that."
"Then how does it work?"
"I guess that's something that Deaton will teach you." Derek retorts, before standing from the sofa.
"So ..." Stiles starts, watching Derek as he paces in front of the sofa, stretching his arms out behind his back. "If I'm emissary, then I'm Pack. And that would make my Dad Pack. But it would also mean that Deaton is kinda Pack, and then Marin ..." Stiles trails off, thinking about this revelation. "It'll be like a weird multicultural family. A giant one, with werewolves."
Everyone would be united, under one Alpha, and one Emissary. Stiles desperately tries not to think about all the responsibilities he'd just signed up for. After all, he and Isaac still had that group work to finish. Or maybe not, now that their teacher turned out to be a homicidal maniac...
"Yeah. I guess that's true." Derek replies, smiling. "We'll be more than a family though. We'll be a Pack."
"That sounds good to me, Sourwolf."
"Please don't call me that."
"Dear?" Stiles questions in a sing song voice, standing from the sofa.
Derek scowls, and Stiles can't help but smirk. "No."
"Darling? Sweetheart? Lover?"
"How about Derek?"
"Nah, too boring."
"Alpha." The man replies, his eyes burning a deep red. Stiles is already nodding, even though Derek had not phrased the word like a request. This clearly wasn't up for debate.
"Yep." Stiles replies, although it sounds more like a squeak. "Alpha works for me."
Derek's eyes fade into their normal hue, and he moves forward, standing only a hairsbreadth away from the young emissary.
"Are you sure about this?" The Alpha questions, his eyes burning with sincerity. "Are you sure about me?"
"Derek, I've been sure about all this the day I found out Scott was a werewolf. I was sure then, and I'm sure now." Stiles answers, with conviction, before smirking. "You're not getting rid of me."
"Good. Because wolves are notoriously loyal. So, you're not getting rid of me either." Derek replies, just as sincere, with a smile of his own.
Stiles sighs, stepping into Derek's embrace. "Maybe we could try and have a real date soon." The young man suggests, his voice muffled by Derek's chest. "One without any weapons or running."
"So, training in the woods is out of the question?"
"Well, that depends ..."
"On what?" Derek questions, stepping back slightly so he can see Stiles' face.
"Whether you have your shirt off."
"I guess I can fulfil that request." The Alpha responds, with a smile.
Stiles steps back, and takes in Derek's form.
His. He was all his.
"So," Stiles questions, crossing his arms over his chest. "when do we start?"