Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Are you freaking kidding me, Derek? That's not how you cook a steak."

Derek turns to Stiles with an unhappy expression while holding the plastic plate with Mrs. Jenkins' supposedly medium-well steak sitting on it. It's ready -- supposed to be ready -- to give to her so she can make her way down the tables and get herself some corn on the cob or potato salad or whatever her heart contents that the lacrosse team was able to get together that day for their Barbeque For BowFlex Fundraiser.

"It's still bloody," Stiles says, taking the plate from him. He checks Derek's hip with his own, dumps the steak back on the grill, and tosses the bloody plate into the trashcan.

"That's how steaks are supposed to be," Derek says, frowning at the grill like the piece of meat cooking mortally offends him or something.

"Not medium-well," Stiles says. He glances over his shoulder. "Sorry, Mrs. Jenkins, just a moment more." Behind her, in the middle of the lacrosse field, her two rug rats are running around in circles, playing tag or maybe 'punch that other kid' or something. That would be so like them.

She smiles kindly. "Not a problem, Stiles. It's a great to see your team putting on this fundraiser. Even if you can't all cook a medium steak." Her eyes are crinkled in the corner as she looks at Derek, amused, and Stiles swears that Derek is trying to hold back a growl. Stiles has to hide his grin.

"Well, Derek's not on the team, so I suppose we can forgive him this once," he says happily. After turning the steak over one more time, he takes it off the grill and puts it on a new plate, handing it to Derek, who in turns gives it to their customer.

"No, he's not, is he?" Mrs. Jenkins says. "But I've seen him around the block recently, yes?"

Derek huffs light enough that only Stiles can hear it; he's already made a complaint or two about Stiles' nosey neighbours, but that's what happens when you don't live in the middle of the woods. Stiles would've thought he'd be used to it, living at the Lahey place for a while now, but apparently he's not a fan of the way people look at him when he stops by the Stilinski house or something. It just makes Stiles laugh, because he knows it doesn't mean anything bad. They're just curious.

"Yes, you have," Stiles answers her. "He'll probably be around for a while."

"Here's hoping, right?" Mrs. Jenkins says, winking at him. Stiles startles out a laugh, and even Derek grins a little. But that drops suddenly in surprise when Mrs. Jenkins lightly places a hand on Derek's forearm. "You look so much like your mother. She was such a sweet lady."

Derek blinks at her, shocked. "I -- yes," he says. "She was." Then he glances at Stiles for a brief moment.

Stiles' heart wants to break right in that second by the look on Derek's face -- still hurt and sad, but proud of his mother, to be her son. All Stiles can think, feel, is that he knows exactly what that's like. He realises they haven't had that talk yet -- serious talks about family that's gone -- but it hits him like a ton of bricks that he thinks for the first time he could be ready to share that with someone who isn't his dad or Scott. And he thinks -- well, Stiles thinks maybe Derek would be okay with that, that maybe he'd share too.

Mrs. Jenkins is completely unaware of the entire moment that's passed between them, but she's smiling and patting Derek's arm. "Thank you for the steak, dears." She turns away from them and calls out at the top of her lungs, "Boys! Come on! Hot dogs!" Her two children run from their game towards the line where the hotdogs are being barbequed, yelling excitedly.

Stiles turns from watching them with a grin on his face, but it falters just a little when he meets Derek's eyes. Derek's watching him intently, and opens his mouth as if to speak, but then he snaps it shut and frowns.

"Derek," Stiles says, but then reaches for the front of Derek's grey t-shirt and pulls him closer. He presses a firm kiss to Derek's lips, keeping his eyes open to watch. Derek does the same. It's just brief, but Stiles can feel Derek's lips start to curve under his, and that's just freaking awesome. Mission accomplished. "Later?" Stiles says, lips still brushing Derek's. Derek nods, and when they pull apart, Derek looks a little more at peace.

"Stilinski!"

Stiles spins around, the coach appearing right next to his and Derek's barbeque with a stern look on his face. "What the hell are you doing?" Coach asks. "This isn't dinner and a show, for crap's sake."

"Well, there is a band setting up," Stiles says, pointing to one end of the lacrosse field, where there's a temporary stage with a band setting up.

"Ugh, Greenburg and the Griefers, who the hell let them be the entertainment?" Coach says, shaking his head.

"You?" Stiles asks.

"Shut your trap, I did not," Coach says. He points a finger at Stiles, then one at Derek. "Get cooking and stop doing ... what you're doing. Other than cooking."

"Right, Coach. We'll get right on that," Stiles agrees.

Coach starts to walk past them, but stops at Derek's shoulder. "Still not much of a talker, huh?"

Derek shrugs. "Not really."

"Well I don't want it to be because your tongue is down Stilinski's throat. Cook!"

Derek blinks at him. "Yes, sir."

"Sir. I like that," Coach says, nodding approvingly. Then he shudders, opens his mouth to say something else but shakes his head as if trying to forget it, and walks away.

Derek turns to Stiles. "Your coach is weird."

"Would you -- don't say that too loud!" Stiles exaggeratedly whispers, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Coach didn't overhear, but he's already stalking towards Greenburg while yelling at him, so they're good there. Stiles nods. "Okay, yeah, he totally is."

Derek turns to look at the other lines at barbeques, to call out if someone needs to a steak to come on over, but then Stiles grabs his arms and squeezes, stopping him. Stiles glares at one of the lines. "Don't you dare, Scott McCall!"

Scott looks at him, startled, but when he looks at who's in his line and who he's about to cook for, he looks abashed.

So does that person.

"Dad!" Stiles calls out. He places one hand on his hip and shakes his finger at his father. "What do you think you're doing?"

Scott and Stiles' dad exchange a look, and Scott says something that appears to be an apology, and then Stiles' dad comes over to his and Derek's barbeque line.

"Okay, first. Scott's line? Really? Are you avoiding me and Derek?" Stiles asks, but he knows that's not true. Not exactly. He rips the voucher out of his father's hands and looks at it. "Just what I thought," he says, waving it around accusingly. "You bought a veggie dog one from me. This says steak. You're not supposed to be eating red meat!"

Stiles' dad gives him a disbelieving look. "Really, Stiles?"

"A veggie dog!" Stiles says. "Where'd you get this?"

"I don't know," his dad deadpans.

Stiles whips his head around to glare at Scott. For his part, Scott is looking everywhere but at Stiles, whistling a little jaunty tune while cooking a steak for someone. For her part, Allison is ducked behind the barbeque laughing.

Stiles calls out, "You're not to aid and abet him! He knows better!"

Allison's laughter rings through the air, and Scott's tune falters a little.

Stiles clutches the voucher to his chest. "Sorry, this is invalid. Wrong line. Please go pick up your perfectly delicious and healthy veggie dog from Jackson and Lydia over there." Stiles points.

Derek asks, "So how do you like your steak, Sheriff?"

"Rare," Stiles' dad answers.

Stiles' jaw drops, and points his fingers between the two of them, landing it on Derek. "Are you trying to earn brownie points with my dad?"

"Yep." Derek puts a steak on the grill.

"That's not going to work!" Stiles says.

"Yes, it will," his dad says. "I have absolutely no interest in arresting him right now."

"Excellent," Derek says.

"No. No, not excellent. This is ... this is ... oh my god," Stiles says. "This is a disastrous alliance."

Derek holds a plate out to Stiles, one of those big, beautiful and incredibly rare smiles of his gracing his face.

"You're a jackass," Stiles says flatly, even if his heart is thudding hard enough to thump through his chest.

Derek just keeps smiling.

Stiles' dad laughs at them.

"Ugh," Stiles says, throwing up a hand in the air and pokes at the steak with the tongs. He flips it over for a moment, and when it's done just how he knows his dad likes it, dishes it on the plate. Derek hands it over to Stiles' dad.

"Looks delicious," his dad says.

"Go," Stiles says, waving a hand dismissively. "Go enjoy your arteries being clogged."

"Thanks, boys. Come find me after."

"We will," Derek says, giving the Sheriff a grin.

When his dad is gone, Stiles pokes Derek in the ribs with an elbow. "You need to side with me. I'm the boyfriend."

"Nothing wrong with trying to get brownie points. I need them," Derek says. He takes the tongs back from Stiles. "You should've let me cook the steak."

Stiles snorts. "Yeah right. What's rare to you? Ripping it right off the cow?"

"Well now you're just making me hungry," Derek says.

Stiles laughs, pecks a kiss to his cheek, and goes to take the next voucher. He keeps an eye on Derek's barbequing, but really, it's not that bad. Not at all.

Stiles concludes that this has been a pretty good day.

His friends and him are lounging on the stands beside the lacrosse field. The crowd's died down a little, all the parents and younger children gone home for the evening. Greenburg and the Griefers -- who actually weren't that bad, given what kind of music they play -- had gave it their all and had a crowd of people dancing around their little stage. They're on a break, but there's still speakers playing Top 40s songs, and there are still a bunch of kids from the school loitering around. Somewhere, Coach is counting the money earned and gleefully ordering a new BowFlex, Stiles imagines.

It's a little weird, the way they're all gathered. Not bad, really, but not usual for them either. Not until lately, anyway. Derek's sitting near the top riser leaned back on his elbows, and Isaac's at his side with Erica sitting snugly between Isaac's legs. Stiles is a seat down, his shoulder brushing against Derek's knee every so often. Scott's sitting next to Stiles, and Boyd's on the other side of Scott, and the two of them are in a deep and meaningful conversation about Maroon 5, older music versus new, or something like that. Allison and Lydia are sitting together, bent over Lydia's phone and laughing about something. Danny's there because Jackson's there because Lydia is there, but Danny and Erica are talking about the latest episode of some reality show it turns out they both watch, Isaac occasionally throwing in a comment or two. Jackson's limbs are sprawled out over a couple benches, and he's not participating in any conversation, but he's not scowling or complaining or anything. He looks relaxed for once, and not in a cocky I'm-better-than-you way, either.

Stiles can't help but grin, a good feeling spreading through him. Given that he started his high school career with basically only Scott for a friend, he finds himself a senior and surrounded by a group of pretty cool people -- albeit, mostly unusual and not exactly normal friends, but who would want that anyway?

Derek's toe pushes at Stiles' hip. Stiles turns up at him, and Derek's got a quizzical look on his face. "What?"

Stiles' shrugs one shoulder and grins. "What what?"

"What're you thinking?"

"I don't know, nothing much," Stiles says. He slips a hand around one of Derek's calves, squeezes, and then lets it fall down to circle Derek's ankle. "Kind of a good day, huh?"

One side of Derek's mouth quirks up. "Yeah," he says. He pushes up off his elbows and sits forward, placing one hand between Stiles' shoulder blades.

"Even if you don't know how to grill steak," Stiles says, grinning.

Derek scowls at him, but leans forward. Stiles totally sees the move coming, so he tilts his head so that Derek can kiss him.

Stiles is kissing his boyfriend. At school. In front of people. And that's awesome. This year is surprisingly going according to his plans. You know, minus that whole faerie thing, and that Derek hadn't even been close to the list of People to Kiss and Date originally, but now that he's top of the list, there's nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all.

Stiles presses closer, his tongue swiping at the bottom of Derek's. He wants more. He wants all of it--

"Oh my god, stop!"

Stiles pulls away and rolls his eyes as he glances over at Scott. Scott looks distinctly horrified.

Derek doesn't move away. He actually seems to press closer to Stiles, so Stiles very visibly wraps his whole arm around Derek's leg, gripping at the knee, and possessively pulling it closer to him. Stiles decides now is a very appropriate time to imitate Derek, and scowls. "What, Scott?"

"Don't -- that -- not where I can see it."

"Then don't look! Talk to Boyd. Their old stuff is way better, by the way, Scott."

"What? That's -- I don't care about that right now," Scott says. He glares up at Derek. "Could you not?"

"What?" Derek says. He does lean back onto his elbows again, but he's smirking. "It's not like I'm doing anything more than I've had to see you do with Allison."

Stiles cannot even help it -- he bursts out laughing. Scott's offended face right now is probably the funniest Stiles has ever seen it, and looking up at Derek, he can see Derek is entirely too amused with himself right then. He exchanges a look with Stiles and winks, and Stiles chuckles some more.

"I don't approve of this," Scott says flatly, pointing a finger between Stiles and Derek. "The making inside jokes thing, and the kissing, and the--"

"Oh come on, Scott," Allison says as she moves up and slips her arms around Scott's neck. Scott stops his rant long enough to press his temple against Allison's lips as she gives him a kiss. "Be happy for them. They're cute."

"Cute? Cute? Have you seen him?" Stiles asks, pointing a finger over his shoulder at Derek, and then waving it over himself too. "And, also, me. I think hot and godly is the wording you're looking for."

Jackson snorts, and Lydia lightly slaps him on the knee.

Danny nods seriously. "I'll give him that one, actually."

Stiles throws up his hands in the air. "Oh my god, Danny, I knew it. Sorry, missed your chance at my hot, hot self."

"Darn," Danny says mildly. "How ever will I go on?"

Scott shakes his head. "Just -- stop with the--" He waves his hand around. "Mashing of faces thing."

"I will if you do," Stiles says, and Scott's arms squeezes tight around Allison's waist. "Plus, you haven't yelled at Erica and Isaac yet. Have you seen them?"

Erica smirks and raises her hand in the air. Isaac high-fives her.

"Also aesthetically pleasing, even if it's not your thing," Danny comments, and Erica laughs and high-fives him too.

"I'm not talking about them," Scott says. "I'm talking about you. And Derek. And--"

"Deal with it, Scott," Derek says, putting an end to Scott's complaining. Derek and Scott glare at each other.

There's a moment of awkward silence, and then Boyd says, "Totally their old stuff."

"I know, right!" Stiles says, waving a hand around. That's enough to get Scott to snap out of it, and he turns big eyes back to Boyd to further argue his point that the new stuff is much better and why, Boyd, why would you say that? Everyone else decides their opinions need to be heard on this too, even Jackson's, and the air is filled with their chatter again. Allison settles at Scott's feet to lean against his legs, and he absently puts a hand on her shoulder while waving his other one around. Allison and Stiles exchange a soft look and Allison reaches out to lightly push at Stiles' leg, while Derek's foot presses into his hip again on the other side, and things have gone right back to being awesome. Scott will deal with it, for Stiles' sake. Stiles knows he will.

Stiles is about to make a really, really good point when something across the lacrosse field catches his eye. His father is standing there and talking rather animatedly -- to Ms. Morrell.

Stiles abruptly stands up. "I gotta go."

"Stiles?" Scott says, frowning. "What's up?"

"Oh, no worries. Just -- my dad's over there. I should go see him. And load our barbeque into the jeep, and --"

"I'll come with," Derek says, starting to make a move to get up.

"No, that's okay," Stiles says, which stops Derek in his tracks with raised eyebrows. "I'll just -- go talk to my dad. Um. But, okay," he adds when Derek finishes standing up and starts down the bleachers, "so can you get the barbeque?"

"Sure," Derek says.

"Talk to you guys later," Stiles says, giving everyone else a little wave. It's a little creepy how the supernatural ones have all gone completely still, heads tilted a little to the side as if trying to pick up on a signal or hear something or whatever. The humans either look mildly confused or aren't paying much attention at all.

"Tomorrow?" Allison says as Stiles hops off the last bench.

He turns around and walks backwards as he nods at her, Derek walking forward beside him. "Yeah, for sure. We're on. Right, Scott?"

Scott slips his arms around Allison's shoulders, resting his chin on top of her head. "We're on." He looks significantly at Derek's back, and Stiles rolls his eyes. Yes, yes, just his own pack. He gets it.

"Later, all." Stiles gives one final wave before he turns around, and the rest of their friends all say their own goodbye, sliding back into conversation with each other. It helps that a new Maroon 5 song starts playing on the speakers, and they all make a cheer and start arguing with each other again.

Lowly so that only Stiles could hear, Derek says, "I'm coming with you."

Stiles shakes his head. "No, no. It's okay. She's not going to try anything in the open. I'll meet you at the jeep, okay? I'm just going to go break up this little party." His dad and Ms. Morrell seem deep in conversation. His dad must be telling one of his ridiculous cop stories from the days he was a young deputy, because his arms are waving and Ms. Morrell is attentively listening, grinning and eyes wide while waiting for the punch line.

"Okay," Derek says, taking the keys Stiles hands him. His hand brushes slightly at the small of Stiles' back, but then he's taking off to the line of barbeques. Stiles isn't worried he won't be right there, because the moment Stiles calls out or is in distress, he trusts that Derek (and probably Scott and the rest of the packs) will be at his side in a second. And that's just not really the sort of scene they should try to set up while in the middle of a school fundraiser.

As Stiles approaches, Ms. Morrell's laugh rings out through the air, and Stiles' dad look amused with himself.

"You're telling the story of IHOP, aren't you?" Stiles says as he approaches. He tries very hard to keep it light, to not worry or panic that the faerie that's gunning after his dad is trapped in the body he's standing right next too. It's disconcerting, but Stiles has experience with covering up supernatural stuff from his dad.

"Easy to tell, huh?" his dad says, smiling.

Stiles grins. "It's an old favourite of yours. Hi, Ms. Morrell."

"Hi, Stiles," she says, smiling. She waves her hand around. "You all did a great job here."

"Thanks. And, you know, thanks for your help with it too," Stiles says, nodding. "Posters and donations and stuff."

She holds up her hands. "All you. I just had some information."

"Yeah. Well, thanks for that."

She smiles. "No problem, I'm happy to have helped."

It's so weird, the way she looks normal and appears like this regular teacher of his. But he remembers the freaky eyes, the unearthly voice. Her words indicating that she wants his father.

Stiles takes a protective step closer to his dad, and all but ignores her when he says, "Derek and I are loading the barbeque. Need a lift home?"

His dad quirks an eyebrow. "No, I came here in my car."

"Oh, right," Stiles says, nodding. "But, right, did you want to hang out tonight or whatever? You and me?"

"I thought you might be busy with your friends. Or Derek."

"Right but, like, I see them all the time and so I was thinking--"

"I should leave you two alone," Ms. Morrell interrupts them, smiling. "But I'll talk to you later?"

Stiles opens his mouth, but it's his dad who gets out an answer first. "For sure. Sunday?"

"Sunday," she says happily. She nods to Stiles. "I'll see you later."

"Right, later," he says distractedly, but watching her turn her back and leaves. When she's far enough away, he says in an urgent whisper. "What's Sunday?"

"I was going to talk to you about that," his dad says, putting a hand on Stiles' shoulder.

Stiles tries to stop the thumping of his heart. "What? Talk to me about what?"

"Sunday," his dad says. "And brunch. At that new vegetarian place. It's actually quite good, we went there before--"

"We?" Stiles asks, incredulous. He thinks he knows the answer to this, but he'd love to be wrong. He'd love it. "We've never been there."

"No, no, I meant Ms. Morrell and I--"

"Your business lunch," Stiles says flatly. The one the very same day that the faerie attacked Derek in the hardware store right beside the restaurant. "Not so businessy?"

"It was completely not serious, just -- you know, you snuck around with Derek--"

"Oh my god, Dad. Are you seeing her?" Stiles exclaims. It's like his worst nightmare, and that it isn't just platonic and the faerie really was picking up on something. This isn't good, this is not good.

"Casually," his dad says quickly. "It's just very -- I know that maybe -- it's casual. Nothing serious. It's not like -- it's been a while, you know?"

Stiles feels like a shit son. His dad is clearly worried about how Stiles is going to react to knowing his dad is dating again. And, under normal circumstances, Stiles would do his best to support his dad, as much as it might hurt to know his dad has to move on from his mom. But it makes sense, it's healthy, and all Stiles wants is for his dad to be happy.

But.

Faerie.

Oh god.

"I'm sorry, Dad, I didn't mean -- it's -- yeah." He has no idea what to say; throwing a fit will be counterproductive in every way possible, but he also doesn't want his dad around her until Stiles knows the faerie is taken care of.

"It's pretty new, and we're going very slow, just in case -- I want you to be good with it. I'm an adult and can make my own choices, Stiles, but I need to make sure you're okay about it too."

"Dad," Stiles manages to choke out. He decides to go with the truth. "I just want you happy."

"I know, son," his dad says, and squeezes Stiles' shoulder. It makes Stiles feel even worse. "Let's see how a Sunday brunch with the three of us goes, okay?"

Stiles forces a smile. "Sure. Don't worry, Dad, I'll deal with it my own way."

If his dad wants to date a student councilor that is a million times younger than him -- though Stiles sure isn't going to be bringing up the age thing at any time to avoid having it thrown back in his face -- well, then, Stiles will just have to deal with that, but he'll be damn sure to eliminate the supernatural aspect of it, and as soon as possible too.

"Good," his dad says. "Now, if you're really raring to hang out with your old man, how about a movie or something?"

"Sure," Stiles says immediately, not wanting to let his dad out of his sight until the faerie is gone. "Yeah, let's go home and do that."

His dad pauses for a moment. "You can invite Derek, if you want," he says slowly.

Stiles raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yes." His dad nods determinedly. "If you're going to come to brunch, the least I can do is watch a movie with you and Derek."

Stiles sort of feels like he's going to throw up -- it's a weird mix of emotions he's going through at the moment; panic, gratefulness, fear, admiration, worry. Having Derek around might be comforting, in a way. Especially if some faerie decided to show up, but also to just help Stiles keep sane.

"I'll ask him," Stiles says, throwing a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the parking lot, where Derek has disappeared too.

"Okay." His dad pauses for a moment. "Look, I know I've had my -- misgivings -- about this whole thing with you and Derek. And for good reasons."

"I know, Dad," Stiles says quickly, "and I appreciate you not making too big a deal out of it, I swear I do."

His dad nods. "I'm trying. But, after today …" He trails off, seeming as if he's trying to find the right words.

Stiles fidgets. "What about today?"

His dad quirks a small, somewhat hesitant smile. "You looked really happy."

Stiles goes still, and blinks. "Um. Yeah, it was a good day."

"I mean, with him. The two of you did." His dad slowly shakes his head, as if having difficulty believing his own words. "You seemed -- to fit together."

Stiles stares at him, unsure what to say. Is thanks appropriate? Whooping and throwing hands in the air because this means his dad won't arrest his boyfriend? Mostly, he's just stunned to get some approval, even if it was a little lukewarm -- which, hey, given Stiles' less than enthusiastic response to hearing about his dad's own dating life, seems fair.

"Okay," his dad says quickly, trying to elevate an awkward moment, "I'll meet you at home then. Come on, let's go."

With that, the two Stilinski men walk toward the parking lot. They pass by the bleachers on the way, where all of Stiles' friends are still sitting. They all call out goodbyes, and Stiles calls back the same. His dad waves, and then looks proudly at Stiles, as if happy that his son has a huge group of friends now. Stiles, despite the unease in his stomach, is pretty happy about that too.

At the parking lot, his dad nods in Derek's direction, who's waiting by the jeep, and then goes to his own car. Stiles approaches Derek, not saying a word, and thumps his head against Derek's shoulder.

"Okay?" Derek says.

"Didn't you hear? The world's a mess," Stiles mumbles, and then stands up straight to pout at Derek.

"Music and crowd was too loud," Derek says, "so I couldn't hear anything."

"It's only slightly creepy that you'd be willing to eavesdrop on a private conversation."

Derek shrugs. "Sometimes I can't help it. But," he says, looking at the bleachers, "it means no one else was either."

"I still don't know if that's a good or bad thing," Stiles says. "Although, if they saw my flailing, they'd probably guess that I'm freaking out that my father is casually dating the school's councilor."

Derek winces. "Crap."

"Yeah. Crap. Even if no one else knows she's really a -- and my dad is nervous that I'll be upset he's dating again! I wouldn't be! Except that, you know, she's actually you know." Stiles scrubs a hand over his face and chuckles deprecatingly. "Yep. It's a mess."

"We'll deal with it," Derek says.

"We have to, like, as soon as possible. I'm calling Argent tomorrow, and if nothing is worked out, then I'm having brunch with my dad and his pseudo-girlfriend who happens to be a faerie on Sunday."

"I'll keep an eye on her until then," Derek says, and goes to push himself away from the car. Stiles puts a hand on his chest to stop him.

"Um, actually. How about you keep an eye on the Stilinskis tonight? As in, my dad has invited us to join him to watch a movie." Stiles is suddenly nervous, because Derek has avoided spending time with Stiles' father the whole time this has been going on. Which, really, is understandable, what with the arresting thing a couple of years ago. It didn't bother Stiles before, when it was all pretend -- but now, well. It might be kind of nice to have Stiles' real boyfriend over, and for his dad to invite him over is a huge step. Huge. Especially since it is Derek.

Derek must've picked up on Stiles' nervousness, because he lifts a hand and places it around Stiles' bicep, squeezing gently. He's not smiling, but he doesn't look angry or resistant or anything either. "Sure," he says, nodding. "That'd be fine."

"Really? Okay, cool," Stiles says, grinning. He leans in to give Derek a quick kiss, but it ends up going on a bit longer than that, with Derek leaning back against the jeep and Stiles leaning up against him.

"Oh my god! Stop it, you two!" comes a high-pitched scream that sounds suspiciously like Erica. Stiles breaks apart from Derek far enough to turn his head. Erica's hanging over the top of the bleachers, Isaac holding her hips so she doesn't tumble over, and she's waving her hands around. "Ewww, gross. Look, Scott, it's so gross!"

Scott, for his part, has his head dropped into his hands and is definitely not looking. He yells out, "Just because it's Derek!" Everyone else laughs at him.

Derek ignores them altogether, instead pulling Stiles closer. Stiles isn't going to argue that, kisses him again, but flips everyone else the finger while he does.

When Stiles texts Scott and Allison at the last minute to invite them over to his house to have their little pack bonding time, neither of them have a problem with it. They usually go to Scott's place because his mom understands and welcomes them, and leaves them in peace; Stiles' dad doesn't know anything so it can be risky if they have stuff to discuss, and Allison's dad knows too much and wouldn't approve of the whole pack set-up they have anyway. A quick call through Allison to her dad revealed they are no closer to getting rid of the faerie, and Stiles doesn't want to let his dad out of his sight for the weekend, if at all possible.

"So, not done dealing with it, huh?" Scott says from his spot at the end of the couch, being as stealthy in his wording as possible since Stiles' dad is looking over case files in the dining room.

"Nah," Stiles says, poking at the wires behind the TV. Scott brought his Xbox over. "I mean, some breakthrough since talking to Allison's dad, but nothing much." He looks over at her. "He didn't say anything to you?"

She shakes her head. "He's very determined not to encourage me helping out--" she looks askance at Scott "--you know. Truce or not, I'm supposed to be fighting, not helping."

"Or dating them," Scott says grumpily. Allison's dad made a truce, yes, and tolerates Scott's presence in Allison's life -- probably so he doesn't lose his daughter altogether -- but still isn't that happy about Scott at all.

Stiles nods. "Yeah, but I'm not -- you know. It's for me and my dad."

"Which is why he is helping, I guess."

"Wait," Scott says, sitting up straighter. "Your dad. I thought it was about you."

"About Stilinskis, apparently. It was a bit muddled for a while, but yeah, my dad is highly involved now," Stiles says, standing up and going over to the couch to plop himself down right between Allison and Scott. "Not that he knows, of course."

"Of course," Allison and Scott say together.

Scott frowns. "So then the you and Derek thing -- didn't have to be a thing?"

"Scott," Allison hisses. "We talked about this."

"About Scott not being an ass?" Stiles guesses good-naturedly.

"Yeah," Scott says a bit sheepishly, head ducked down. He looks at Stiles through the fringe of his hair. "I don't mean to be! Seriously! It's gotta be instincts and stuff. Sometimes I just get --"

"Territorial?" Stiles suggests.

"Around Derek, yeah," Scott says, nodding. "On a, 'hey, my best bud is dating' level, I'm totally cool with it, I swear. On a wolf pack level, it's still hard to wrap my head around it being Derek."

"I know," Stiles says, "but the thing is -- it's real now. You get that, right?"

"Hey, I got it before you did," Scott says, quite pleased with himself.

"Yeah, yeah," Stiles says, rolling his eyes and bumping his shoulder against Scott's.

"So I'll try to stop being an ass," Scott says determinedly.

"Thanks, dude. You're a prince amongst men," Stiles tells him.

"Although..." Allison starts slowly.

Stiles whips his head around to look at her. "Oh god, now what?"

"Nothing, nothing," she says, holding up her hands. "Except that we wish you would let us help you. More than just staying out of the way."

"Yeah," Scott says, "we should be there for you too. We're your pack. I really don't like not knowing what's up with you."

"I know," Stiles says. "But I promise, at the beginning, it made sense. And the less people running around involved, the better. In this case. I don't want to do it this way always, and I promise, in the future, you will be the first to know if I'm being threatened of being kidnapped by faeries."

"Even before Derek?" Scott asks.

"Yes, unless he happens to be standing right there when that threat goes down. Which, hey, this time he was!"

Scott rolls his eyes. "But then you tell me immediately. Everything."

"And me," Allison puts in.

Stiles uses two fingers to make a cross over his heart. "Promise."

"Good," Allison says. "So, anymore pack business?"

Scott shakes his head. "Other than Stiles dating Derek--"

"And being threatened of kidnapping!"

"-- it's been a pretty quiet year," Scott finishes.

"Thank god," Stiles mumbles. "Seriously, if all I have to deal with is getting a hot boyfriend out of the deal, then fine, but I think we could all use a break."

"Agreed," Scott says. "But, I mean, nothing else is going on."

"Knock on wood," Allison says, and both Scott and she rap on top of Stiles' head while Stiles taps his own forehead.

Allison grins. "Well, if that's all we have to seriously discuss, I think it's time for me to kick your ass," she says smugly. She bounces off the couch to grab the controllers out of the bag.

"Oh like hell you are," Stiles says, sitting up straight and rubbing his hands together. He makes grabby hands and then takes a controller from her.

"I don't know, dude, she's getting pretty good," Scott admits, taking the controller off the table and turning on the tv.

"Ha! She'll never beat me," Stiles says.

"We'll see about that," Allison says, sitting back down beside Stiles.

An hour or so later, Stiles and Allison are pretty much tied, with Scott trailing not too far behind. They're whooping and hollering, trash talking each other, and laughing their asses off. Stiles is just about to win -- sooooo close -- when his dad pops into the living room.

"Hey kids," Stiles' dad says.

Ignoring that they're called kids because Stiles' dad will probably never call them anything else, they all ring out a greeting, though they're still staring at the television. Stiles bites his lower lip in concentration, barely paying attention to his dad.

Until he announces, "I'll see you later."

Stiles immediately puts the game on pause, despite Scott's loud protest. Stiles turns to face his dad. "Where're you going?"

"Just to pick up some groceries. Need anything?"

"I'll come with you," Stiles says, jumping up.

"Stiles, you have friends over. Don't worry about it."

Allison gets to her feet too. "Oh, we were just about to be going anyway," she says.

"We were?" Scott says, and Allison looks at him pointedly. "Oh yeah!" Scott says, getting up too. "We were going to go help my mom with that thing."

"Yeah, that thing," Allison echoes.

"Right, so now I'll come help you with your thing, Dad. Groceries, I mean. You know."

Stiles' dad's gaze goes to each other them. "Well, aren't you a helpful bunch?"

"Yep, we are," Stiles says.

"It's highly suspicious."

"Dad!"

"Fine, fine," his dad says as he watches Scott start putting the controllers in his bag. Allison unplugs the console from the wall, pulling the cords from the television. "I'd appreciate it."

"Cool. Give me a couple minutes, Dad," Stiles says. "Maybe go and make an actual shopping list?"

"Why, so you can cross off everything good?"

"You know I'll just be removing it from the cart anyway. And don't think I won't notice the cookies you hide under the lettuce."

His dad makes grumbling noises, but goes back into the kitchen.

"Thanks, guys. Sorry," Stiles says, helping pack up the console.

"Don't worry about it," Allison says.

"Just let us know if you need anything," Scott adds. "Like, I don't know, us to shadow you or something."

That makes Stiles think of Derek, whom he hasn't heard from all day, but Stiles shakes his head. "It'll be fine. But thanks."

When they go, Allison gives Stiles a hug and Scott fist-bumps him, then they're out the door, leaving Stiles alone to keep an eye on his dad. Stiles goes into the kitchen.

"So," Stiles says, holding out his hand, "let's see this list you have here." His dad sighs but relinquishes it. Stiles eyes it critically. "Oh, yeah, this will not do."

"Glad you chose today to be helpful. No, really, " his dad says dryly. Stiles grins.

Later in the day, when they're back at home and all the groceries are put away, Stiles texts Derek to see what's up. He thinks of maybe inviting him over again, since the night before went pretty well and Stiles doesn't want to leave his dad. He doesn't hear anything back for a while, but they didn't have big plans for the day or anything so he supposes there's nothing wrong with that. Stiles ends up spending his Saturday evening working on homework, and then watching TV with his dad, but he doesn't mind at all. He knows his dad is safe and that's all that matters.

When he's getting ready for bed, he gets a hey quickly followed by a have a good brunch but nothing after that.

Stiles frowns at his phone, but tries not to worry.

Brunch is awkward.

Stiles knows he usually has no problem at all with conversation. Making small talk. Chatting. It's one of the many things he's good at. Take Derek for example; Derek isn't really big on talking, but now Stiles knows how to navigate it enough that he can draw conversation out of Derek. They haven't reached serious levels yet, but when it comes to movies and games and pack business, just hanging out and spending time together, they manage to have full-blown conversations now. It's awesome.

When faced with the young woman who is casually seeing his father, who is actually embodied by a faerie who wants his father in whatever weird modern day way she's after -- well, it's difficult. Stiles can't bring himself to show much enthusiasm during brunch. He's polite, and he keeps a keen eye on the small talk his father and Ms. Morrell manage to drum up -- apparently having your teenaged son and one of the students at the school you're a councilor at isn't very indicative for conversation either.

It's all just really awkward.

Stiles knows his father isn't pleased with him, not with the way he looks over at Stiles with pursed lips and tries to include him. When Stiles can't come up with anything to add, his father turns to Ms. Morrell with a fake smile and fills in the blanks. Whether that faerie in there is paying any attention or not, Stiles can't tell, but he knows that Ms. Morrell herself is rather observant. She's got to be, dealing with counselling teenagers who have no interest in talking to an adult about anything serious. She can definitely tell everything isn’t sitting right, though she doesn't say anything about that.

By the time the check comes, Stiles is ready to grab his father by the arm and drag him out of there, to get away from the faerie and what is possibly the most boring and awkward brunch to go down in the history of ever.

"Well, it's been -- thanks for brunch, Dad," Stiles says, clapping his hands together once as they stand outside the restaurant. Turning to Ms. Morrell, he says, "Nice seeing you. Guess I will at school tomorrow, or whatever."

Stiles' dad is grinding his teeth together. "Stiles, I'll meet you at home later. Then we'll talk."

"What? Dad, we came together in the jeep," Stiles says, pointing across and down the road at the parking lot Stiles found a spot in.

"I was going to ask Ms. Morrell if she would like to join me for coffee and then perhaps give me a ride home afterwards."

"What? No, that's doesn't -- no," Stiles says quickly. He is not leaving his dad with her, not for any reason.

"Oh well, I walked here, actually," she says, glancing between the two of them.

"Then I'll call Stiles when I need a ride," his dad says determinedly.

"Dad, I think she's trying to gracefully get out of hanging with you," Stiles says.

Ms. Morrell puts up a hand. "No, no, I'm not saying that, exactly, but perhaps--"

She's cut off when there's a loud exploding sound, and all three of them flinch back. When they look around, there's a plume of smoke hovering over a building that's maybe a couple blocks away.

"What the crap?" Stiles says, mouth wide as he watches the smoke.

"That looks like it could be one of the abandoned warehouses," his dad says while pulling his cell phone out of his pocket and hitting a programmed number.

"Nine-one-one," Stiles says to Ms. Morrell. "He's reporting the incident." After his dad quickly spouts out some information, he clicks closed the call but is already walking away.

"I'm sorry, but I need to go and see about this," he says, bringing the phone up to his face once more.

Stiles adds, "Police station, to get one of his deputies on duty down here pronto."

"Of course, you go," Ms. Morrell calls out.

"Stiles, please give her a ride home," his father says, looking both ways to cross the street but pointing a finger in their direction.

"Sure," Stiles says. "Then I'll swing by and--"

"No," his dad immediately says. "For once, stay away. I'll get a ride home later, once I know everything is okay. I'll probably go down to the station first." There's a break in traffic and he darts across the street. "I mean it, Stiles," he calls over his shoulder, "go home."

"Well," Stiles says as his father disappears down an alley towards the direction of the smoke. "That happens a lot. Just so you know. The whole running into danger thing."

"Must be worrying," she says.

Stiles recognises that voice. That's the I'm-Counselling-You voice. He can deal with that. "It can be. But he's good at his job."

"Yes, he is," she says, and doesn't look offended by his shortness. She gives a small smile. "It's okay, Stiles, I'll just walk home. I'll see you later."

"No, no," he says, sighing. He's not going to be a little shit, disobey his father on this one. "It's no problem, you're not too far from here. I'll give you a ride home."

"If you're sure," she says. She follows him when he nods and starts leading the way to the jeep.

After a moment's contemplation, when they've crossed the street, he sighs and decides to suck it up. "I'm sorry."

"About what?" She sounds surprised.

"This morning. I know I wasn't very..." He shrugs.

"Talkative?" she suggests. "It's all right, Stiles. I know this is an unusual situation--"

He mutters, "You have no idea."

"-- but you have to believe, we're both thinking about you, how it'll affect you."

Stiles snorts. "I appreciate that, but shouldn't you be trying to think of yourself here?"

"You're the most important person to your father. I don't believe anyone would be able to get involved with him without considering that."

Stiles laughs hollowly. It sounds pretty similar to something the faerie told him once, and it's creepy that it's being said now by Ms. Morrell, that they both recognise it to be true. Instead, he says, "I want what's best for my dad."

"No one wants to be lonely."

Stiles almost walks right into a lamppost, he's so startled. He recognises that voice too. It's the unearthly one of the faerie.

He turns to look at Ms. Morrell, and he swears there's a glimmer of wings out behind her, sun reflecting off them for just a second. In a blink, they're gone. "What?" he asks shakily.

Ms. Morrell answers. "I want what's best for him too."

"Do you really?" Stiles can't help but ask.

"Of course."

"Then trust me. It's best that you stay away from him right now."

She frowns. "I don't understand."

"I know you don't," Stiles says, rather sincerely. It's not her fault she's caught up in this; maybe she doesn't really even like his dad that way, and it's just the faerie's influence. That's not cool either. "I swear, it's the best for both of you right now."

Her eyes flash, and they're purple and gold. Behind her frown, he wonders if there's a set of pointy teeth there.

He speaks before the faerie can manifest any more, but he hopes she hears. That she understands. "If he's with someone, I want it to be because he wants it. That they both want. Something that happened naturally. It's what he deserves." He places his hand lightly on her shoulder, notices a couple flecks of glitter on her neck. "It's what you both deserve."

She blinks, and her eyes are normal again. Her smile is small, but there are no pointed teeth there. "All right. I can give you two some space while you work this out."

"Cool. Thanks. Come on," Stiles says, smiling back at her, feeling a little more at ease. "Let's go."

The jeep is in a parking lot that has woods around one side of it, the edge of a small park. When they approached it, they both pause when they hear a noise from the brush.

"What now?" Stiles asks. It seriously has not been a great morning so far.

"Shhh," she says, putting up a hand to shush him, tilting her head so her ear is towards the brush. They hear it again.

"Is that a dog's whine?" Stiles asks, and starts going towards the bushes.

"Stiles, wait," she says, following him. "Do you usually go off into the trees to follow strange noises?"

Stiles snorts softly and doesn't dignify that with a response.

They're in a little further when the whine comes again. "Just over there!" Stiles says, following a beaten path through the trees. He thinks they're almost through to the park.

Suddenly, Ms. Morrell screams, and Stiles spins around in enough time to see a figure with a leather jacket fly by. It's Derek, and he's splashed something green onto Ms. Morrell. She screams again, but when Stiles tries to move toward her, he finds that his feet are cemented into their spot.

The faerie stops screaming, instead snarls in Derek's direction, where he's retreated to the edge of the small clearing they're in. Trees still surround them, and unless someone follows the screams, they're totally alone.

Her wings flutter agitatedly behind her, the shimmer on her skin reflecting the day's light. She snarls again, pointed teeth bared.

"What the hell, Derek?" Stiles exclaims, and he tries to move again.

A chanting starts on the other side of them, and Stiles twists around to see Chris Argent standing there, a book in his hand. When he's close enough, he too pauses in his spot, unable to walk forward. The humans are immobile.

But Derek, the werewolf, is more than capable of getting around. He springs to land between the faerie and Stiles as she starts to move towards him.

"What is this?" she demands, twitching when Argent chants another line.

Argent stops long enough to say, "Born within," and Derek nods.

"Derek," Stiles says, arms windmilling as he tries to move forward but can't.

Derek pays him absolutely no mind as he sprints towards Argent. Stiles makes a shocked protest, but he sees that Argent's hand dips into his left pocket and pulls out a string. Derek grabs it as he darts by, then jumps up to spring his feet off of a tree trunk, landing behind the faerie. He wraps the string around her neck and she gurgles.

"No, don't hurt her!" Stiles says, trying desperately to move. He can't. He watches, eyes wide and not understanding, as Argent starts to chant again and Derek holds an ancient faerie in place with nothing but a small string.

The string glows bright green, shimmering against her skin, and then it completely disappears. At the same time, Stiles falls forward, feet no longer held in place, and Ms. Morrell goes as limp as and slides to the ground. Derek quickly catches her beneath her arms to lower her down.

Stiles crawls over the leaves to end up at her side; she's unconscious and her skin looks chafed and red where the string was; it seems to be fading with each passing second, though. Which is good, because he has no idea how to explain that one.

"We were lucky with where you decided to park," Argent says as he approached. "Last minute change instead of following her home."

"You ... followed us here? Were you -- my dad." Stiles' gaze snaps up to him. "You did that."

"Distracted him," Argent says, nodding. "Had to separate them. Didn't realise you would be joining her, though."

"We bound the faerie back into her," Derek explains.

"What -- is she going to be okay?" He reaches down and lightly presses two fingers against her throat. He's grateful he finds a pulse. The mark of the string is almost completely gone. He wonders if it's magic, or if it's just some sort of supernatural healing the faerie has passed onto Ms. Morrell.

"She'll wake up and be fully herself again. It won't be able to break out, not until death and it finds a new host."

Stiles shudders. That, frankly, is a terrifying thought.

"When did this happen? When did you find out about this? Was it just this morning?" Setting up that explosion would've taken a bit of time, and caution as to not harm anyone. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Derek and Argent exchange a look. "What?" Stiles says flatly. "What aren't you telling me?"

"I asked him not to," Argent says. "I did not want Allison involved."

"You knew," Stiles says accusingly to Derek. "You knew and you didn't tell me?"

"From what I understand, a lot of that went on," Argent says. Derek scowls at him, but Argent pays him no mind. "Derek’s ruse to keep her from snatching you worked, and then Derek did what he had to do to stop the faerie."

It feels like Stiles has been punched in the lungs and he has no air left. Derek's ruse. That's all it's been right from the start. "Right," he says, barely keeping from throwing up. Stiles is an idiot, such an idiot, to think that it was anything more. Derek just kept it up when Stiles was ready to stop because it wasn't real. He let it be real – did what he had to do to stop the faerie.

That's … god, he wants to punch Derek in the face.

"Stiles--" Derek starts, but he's drops it when Ms. Morrell moans.

"She's waking up," Stiles hisses. He waves a hand at them. "Go away."

"Wait—"

"Go," Stiles stresses, scowling at them both. "I'll deal with this so that no one knows you attacked her."

"We didn't attack her," Argent says, and Stiles pulls a face at him.

"We don't know what she'll remember," Stiles says. Her arms twitches against his again, and her head rolls to the side. He mouths soundlessly at them, "Go," and refuses to look at either of them again. He hears them retreat into the forest.

A moment later, her eyes flicker open. "Stiles?"

"Hey, Ms. Morrell," Stiles says softly. "How're you feeling?"

She struggles to sit up, but he firmly pushes back on her shoulder. She sighs but lets herself lay back on the ground. "Like I've been hit by a car."

"Well, that didn't happen in the middle of the bush," Stiles says.

"No, but there was somebody—"

"Just a dog," Stiles says. "A dumb, impulsive dog." He hopes Derek hears him. "It scared you, you sort of fell backwards, and maybe fainted?" He reaches into his pocket. "I'm going to call the ambulance right now."

"No, no," she says, reaching out and placing a hand on his to stop him. "Please, that's not necessary."

He frowns. He has no idea what the little ritual spell did to her, what having a faerie in control of her body but is now no longer accessible did to her. "Let me take you to the hospital," he compromises.

"I don't think--"

"I'm taking you to the hospital," he says more firmly. "If my dad finds out I didn't take care of you, especially after acting like such a jackass, holy crap I'm in trouble."

Her lips twitch, though she grimaces as she tries to sit up. "Well, if it's what your dad would want."

"And me," he says, helping her up. They pause a moment to make sure she'll be okay and won’t fall over or anything. He holds out his elbow to her, and she slips her hand in it. He helps her back to the jeep, and ignores the rustling in the bushes behind them.

Stiles shouldn't be surprised when Ms. Morrell reluctantly admits to having dizzy spells lately, and to feeling weird. It's a slight relief, because at least she won't be suspicious of what just went down. As pissed off as he is at them, he doesn't want Argent or Derek in any trouble, not for helping his dad and him. It also makes sense that she's noticed something, had some sort of effect of the faerie coming out to play, and Stiles feels badly that she was on the end of this. He really wishes he could've spoke to her sooner about it.

"Nothing too bad, right?" Stiles says as he turns down the hospital road.

"No. Just ... been feeling a bit off, really. I shouldn't be bothering you with this," she adds quickly. He takes his eyes off the road to glance over and she's shaking her head to herself, as if embarrassed, or questioning showing this kind of weakness to one of her students.

"It's okay, you can tell me. Hey, I just helped you out of the bushes after you fainted," he says light-heartedly. "No secrets there, right?" Looking at her again, he can tell that was maybe not the best thing to remind her of. "Well, whatever it is, make sure you tell the doctor. It could be an explanation of what happened today."

His insides twist. Just another lie he has to tell. He wonders if he'll always be wrapped up in them.

"Thank you," she says, and she doesn't even sound patronising at the fact of some teenager telling her how to behave at the doctor's office. "I'll be sure to do that."

"Yeah well," Stiles says. "I hope you'll be okay." That, at least, is a shred of truth in this whole messed up situation. To avoid awkwardness, he says unnecessarily, "Here we are," as they pull up to the hospital.

He goes inside with her -- insists he will not just leave her, he will give her a ride home. She tolerates him, goes to see the ER nurse's desk, and they're directed to the waiting room. It doesn't look too busy, so hopefully they're not there for hours and hours. Ms. Morrell sits down, leans her head against the wall, and closes her eyes.

Stiles pulls out his phone. There's one message waiting for him from Derek. His finger hovers over opening it, but he frowns and ignores it -- hey, if Derek can spend a day doing it, so can Stiles -- and he opens up Star Wars Angry Birds to pass the time.

A while later, Mrs. McCall comes into the waiting room and calls out Ms. Morrell's name. When she sees Stiles, she tilts her head questioning.

Ms. Morrell smiles. "He's my knight in shining armour."

Stiles blows on his knuckles and rubs them against his shoulder, shining up that non-existent armour just a little more. Mrs. Mccall rolls her eyes and says, "Cute," then leads Ms. Morrell to a room down the corridor, and Stiles doesn't doubt for a second that she's going to be asking what Ms. Morrell meant by that.

Stiles is seriously considering sneaking down the hallway and seeing if he can eavesdrop on that conversation, maybe find out what's been up with Ms. Morrell recently because of course she would tell her healthcare professional, but then he sees none other than Scott walk through the emergency room sliding doors, happy and nonchalant. Relief floods through Stiles.

Scott is up at desk asking if his mom is around when Stiles skids to a flailing stop at his side. "Dude. Dude!"

Scott is super surprised. "What're you doing here, man?" He takes in their surroundings, and Stiles can pinpoint the moment of concern. "Are you okay?"

"Fine, I'm fine ... well, I'm sort of pissed off at the world, but I'm okay. Can I talk to you?" He side-eyes the unit clerk. "Alone?"

"Sure," Scott says. To the clerk, he says, "If you see my mom, tell her I'll be right back?"

"And if you see Ms. Morrell, will you tell her I'll be right back?"

The unit clerk arches an eyebrow at them, but nods. Stiles grabs Scott by the arm and drags him outside. They walk a bit to the little area by the hospital that has some flowers and a bench. A nice spot for patients to sit, or relatives and friends to get some air. Thankfully, no one is around right now.

They sit down on the bench. Scott asks, confused, "Why are you here with Ms. Morrell?"

Stiles jumps up off the bench, too anxious to sit still. "Because she is -- was -- the faerie."

Scott's jaw drops. "What?"

"Dude, just -- okay, so here's what happened."

Stiles tells Scott everything. Everything, right down to the last detail. Sure, Scott knows a lot of it, but just the fringes. Stiles can feel the weight lifting off his shoulders as the story comes out; he knows, instinctively, that he should've done that from that start. He won't make that mistake again.

Scott's patient while he listens, knows by now when to just let Stiles vent it all out without interrupting. When Stiles is done pacing and flailing, he flops down on the bench beside Scott again. He finishes with a, "So after she woke up, I brought her here to make sure she was okay. That's the story, dude. The whole story."

Scott is quiet, processing. Stiles gives him his moment to do so. Then Scott says, "So your dad is dating the school councilor? That's weird."

"That's what you have to say?" Stiles asks, astonished.

Scott shrugs. "The rest of it seems oddly ... not surprising."

"Our freaking lives, buddy, our freaking lives," Stiles mutters, shaking his head.

Scott nods seriously. "No kidding."

"But, yes, apparently they are very casually seeing each other. And I haven't really been able to, you know, process that on a normal level. Since she shares her body with a freaking ancient faerie," Stiles says. "But, I mean, yeah it's a little weird. But I want him to move on. I want him to be happy. And if this is the girl that does it ... then, okay. I'll try to deal with the normal-weirdness factor."

Scott's eyes linger on the emergency room doors. "I hear you."

"But if it was just because of some supernatural matchmaker, then I hope they both move on without too much trouble," Stiles adds. He sighs and scrubs a hand over his head. "That their feelings aren't hurt, or whatever. Because that sucks. That feeling sucks so much."

Scott turns back to Stiles. "I kinda got from the end of your story that you're pissed at Derek."

Stiles chuckles without humour. "Picked up on that, huh?"

"Why? Because he didn't tell you about his and Mr. Argent's plan?"

Stiles nods. "Aren't you pissed about that, too? I mean, they kept it from our pack on purpose. Even me. And I've been involved from the beginning!"

"It might've been Mr. Argent's call," Scott says. "That is so like him."

"Yeah, but --- I mean, they seemed to imply that it was all a front Derek was putting on," Stiles manages to get out, even though the words seem stuck in this throat, burning him. "Derek -- Derek went along with being real boyfriends, making me think we were, to get this whole thing done. And now that it is ..."

Stiles trails off, crosses his arms, and frowns. For once, he doesn't want to say anything else. They sit in silence for a moment before Scott reluctantly speaks.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think you're wrong on this one." Scott puts up his hands defensively when Stiles whips around to glare at him. "I know, I know, it's just -- yeah. Maybe you think you don't think you deserve him or something -- which is stupid, it's the other way around -- but the way he looks at you? Is when he --" Scott gestures to his mouth, unable to say kisses you "-- he's not pretending. He's not that good an actor."

"I don't know, we were both good at fooling everyone from the start," Stiles says.

Scott chuckles, but not meanly. "No you weren't. At least not to the people who actually know both of you. And I'm just saying, I don't think he's pretending anymore. Neither of you are."

Stiles shrugs his shoulder. "We'll see."

"So you're gonna talk to him?" Scott says.

"Eventually," Stiles says. "I need to know what happened, the whole planning of the ritual thing that I wasn't involved with. Even if I'm right -- and I still think I am -- I need to know."

Scott nods. "Closure and shit."

"Ha, yeah, something like that," Stiles says. He stands up off the bench. "Come on, let's go back in. I'm going to wait until Ms. Morrell is ready to go so I can give her a ride home."

"Nice of you," Scott says as they make their way back to the hospital. "Considering she was going to steal you or your father away."

"It wasn't really her. And it's the least I can do after aiding in a supernatural ritual to bind an ancient faerie back into her," Stiles says.

"Wonder what the medical term is for that?" Scott asks.

"Heartburn," Stiles answers, and Scott lightly knocks his shoulder with his own.

When she's finished, Stiles drives Ms. Morrell to her apartment. She doesn't get into any details at all, but seems to be doing all right and is appreciative of his help. When he mentions telling his dad about it, she frowns a little, but nods. He watches as she walks up to her building and gets inside all right, and wonders if maybe the faerie's influence is leaving and she doesn't want anything to do with his dad at all. He doesn't know what to make of that, but hopes it works out the same for both of them.

"What a day," he tells his jeep.

He drives home, trying to pay attention to the road rather than his distracting thoughts. When he pulls up into his drive, he isn't sure if his father's home yet since he didn't drive his own car that day. But there's Derek's Camero taking up Stiles' spot on the drive so Stiles has to park on the street.

Derek is sitting on the front steps of the house, still as a statue, even as Stiles gets out of the jeep and slams the door. Stiles walks up on the front sidewalk, tries to forget how it once looked lined with flowers and glitter, and shoves his hands into his hoodie pockets.

"Hey," he says.

"Hi," Derek replies. "Your dad isn't home."

"Oh, and you didn't break in to lurk while waiting for me? Thanks for that," Stiles says flatly.

Derek frowns. "I haven't done that in a long time."

"Right," Stiles says. "Anyway, here for a reason?"

"You know why."

"Do I?" Stiles prompts. "Maybe you should tell me, huh?"

Derek is still for a moment, hands clasped together on his lap. There isn't any emotion on his face, as guarded and blank as he used to be. When Stiles doesn't go on, refusing to be the one that starts the conversation, that facade cracks in an instant with Derek sighing and running a hand down his face. His hand falls back down to his lap.

"I know what you're thinking," Derek says.

"Yeah, doubt that," Stiles replies shortly.

"I do know," Derek says, nodding. "Even when you're not spewing out words, it's so easy to read you. Like an open book."

"You're not," Stiles says immediately, unable to keep it in. "I mean, I thought I was getting there, but clearly I was wrong. So, so wrong. You're a way better actor than I thought."

"Stiles, I have not been pretending with you," Derek says, straight to the point, reading exactly what Stiles has been thinking and man that is freaking annoying. Derek says, "I mean, not since that day at my house. You know what I mean."

"Oh really?" Stiles says. "You weren't just putting on -- how did Argent put it? Oh yes, a ruse -- to make sure I didn't cut you out of the faerie plans? Like the way you cut me out?"

"I didn't mean--"

"We were supposed to be in this together," Stiles explodes, hands flinging out of his pockets into the air, flailing them out to the side agitatedly. "You and I, right from the beginning. I kept things from Scott for you! And all this time, what, you were planning the ritual?"

"No," Derek says firmly. "Argent didn't tell me about it until yesterday morning. When you and your pack were hanging out. Argent isn't dumb, he knows you all think of yourself as that--"

"We are," Stiles stresses irritably.

"I know that, I do, but he has issues with accepting that humans can be in packs. That his daughter can be," Derek says with way more patience than Stiles has right now, and that is freaking annoying too. "He came to me yesterday morning, and told me he knew how to deal with the faerie and he would help, but only if I promised not to include Allison. And that meant also keeping it from you and Scott."

"And you went along with it," Stiles says flatly. "Kept it from me."

"I made a promise that I take very seriously."

"What? Keeping me safe? And happy? Oh, yeah, good one," Stiles spits back at him. "All sunshine and rainbows over here, yaaaaaaay."

"I kept you safe," Derek says. "And you might be pissed with me--"

"Might be?"

"-- and you probably want nothing to do with me anymore," Derek says, and it actually sounds like that's hard for him to get out, "but I'm not dumb either, Stiles. I know your father is the most important person to you. And keeping him safe will, ultimately, keep you at your happiest."

Stiles doesn't say anything, trying to keep from bursting with anger and lets that sink in, when Derek looks at him intensely, bright eyes staring right into him.

"I will not let you lose any more family. Not if I can stop it."

All the anger deflates out of Stiles in an instant. "Oh, fuck you, snugglebum," Stiles says, sighing. "Had to shoot me right through the heart with that one, didn't you?"

Derek looks minutely more relaxed than he had a moment before. "It's the truth."

"Ugh," Stiles replies, but moves to sit next to Derek on the steps. He keeps his hands in his pockets, watching his toes scuff at the cement. "Do you know why I thought you were still pretending? Why I wasn’t surprised to think you were? I mean that had to hurt you that I thought that, right?" Stiles kinda hates that he has to say that out loud, that he has to ask, but it's been a painful lesson in realising that he's going to have to work harder to coax meaningful conversation out of his possibly-still-boyfriend.

"It did," Derek says quietly. "But ... I get it. I kept plans from you. People dating shouldn't do that."

"Do you know what people dating should do?" Stiles says, looking askance at him. "Actually say they like the other person."

Derek's surprised, which is kind of a nice look for him. "You really think I don't?"

"I'm reconsidering that stance," Stiles says.

"I thought ... well, I thought I've been clear about that," Derek says.

Stiles nods. "I know. You're a man of action. But I'm a man of words. We're going to have to mesh that a bit to make sure everyone is on the same page."

"I can work on that," Derek says. "Just a warning though, not my strong point."

"Don't I know it," Stiles says, not unkindly. "But I'll try harder to remember that whenever you piss me off with not talking, just don't be surprised if I do get pissed off when it happens."

"Fine," Derek says. "We're on the same page with that."

"Yeah," Stiles says. He takes his hands out of his pockets, folds them in front of him, and uses his elbow to bump Derek's. "Also? We have to set some ground rules or this isn't going to work."

Derek casts a suspicious glance. "Ground rules?"

"You can't keep things from me, not like you did yesterday," Stiles says. "Even if I do know now how to pick up on when you are."

"Oh yeah?" Derek asks, eyebrows raised. "How's that?"

"You avoid texting or talking to or seeing me," Stiles says, grinning. "Afraid of me figuring something out, were you?"

"You're better at reading me than you think," Derek says.

"Hm, we'll see about that," Stiles says, though is ridiculously pleased Derek seems to think so. Maybe Stiles is on the right track. "But do we have a deal?"

Derek nods. "Yes, but that goes both ways. Do not keep anything like that from me. I don't care if you think you can handle it yourself, or you think it'll cause problems between the packs, I need to know. I'll do the same."

"Even if your alpha instincts are telling you to deal with it yourself, because you think you have to be the hero who keeps me safe?" Stiles asks. "Like, oh I don't know, yesterday and today for example?"

Derek gives him a flat look for pointing it out, but eventually nods. "Even then."

"Okay, deal," Stiles says. "Next point, somewhat related: I will not be keeping things from my pack anymore. I mean, normal relationshipy things, that's fine. Scott doesn't want to know anyway. I mean the serious my life could be in danger things. Like who ancient faeries are, the crazy ones that want to steal me or my dad away. Or even nice ones--"

"There are no nice ones."

"-- well, in case there are. Scott and Allison, no matter what her father thinks, get to know any supernatural business I'm involved with. Neither of you get to make that decision for any of us. And what with that whole dating an alpha werewolf thing, you know this is going to come up with some point."

Derek sighs. "I know. I don't like it, but I know."

"You might not like it, but it's a truth we should deal with up front. I can take care of myself, my pack can take care of me, but I know you can too. Hell, dude, feel free to use your awesome muscles and werewolf powers to help me if I'm in harm's way, just let me and my pack know you're doing it."

"Why? So Scott can fight against my plans the entire time?"

"Scott and you are both going to have to man up and learn how to deal with each other," Stiles tells him. "I'll be there to mediate during those Code Red we're-fighting-supernatural-beings times, but on a normal day? Bicker amongst yourselves."

"Fun," Derek mutters sarcastically.

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Whatever, I think you guys like pushing each other, but I've already said the same thing to Scott, and he agrees. So if you're the hold out here, guess who's being the asshole?"

"Imagine that," Derek says dryly, and Stiles laughs. It makes Derek soften around the features, and he even quirks up one side of his mouth in a half-grin. "Okay. I agree with that, too. Both points. Anything else?"

Stiles thinks for a moment, and then shakes his head. "No. Can you think of anything?"

"Not right now," Derek says, "but we should leave it open to negotiation. We'll have to deal with stuff as it comes up."

"Very true," Stiles says, "but we have to talk about it when it does."

"I know, I know," Derek says, putting up his hands defensively. When he drops them, he reaches out with one and takes Stiles' in it. Stiles twines their fingers together and rests their hands on his knee.

"So we're still actual-boyfriends?" Stiles asks.

"Still boyfriends."

"Can we celebrate with boyfriend sex?"

"When you're eighteen," Derek answers immediately.

Stiles lets out a put-upon sigh but grins. "Boyfriend kissing?"

"Yes," Derek says, and leans in. "Absolutely."

Stiles makes a happy noise at the back of his throat when Derek kisses him. He opens up for it, wanting it deeper, more. Derek's tongue slides wet and warm into his mouth, claiming. Stiles sucks gently, and then greedily, and moans in protest when Derek pulls away.

Derek cups Stiles' chin and looks very intently into his eyes. "Stiles," he says seriously, "I like you more than I like rare steak."

Stiles pulls his head away as he throws it back in loud, surprised laughter. When he looks back, Derek has a big, smug grin gracing his stupidly perfect face.

Stiles rolls his eyes. "You have such a way with words," he says, sounding more affectionate than he meant to.

"I'm trying," Derek says with a shrug, and Stiles can't help but lean in to kiss him again.

EPILOGUE

Stiles has the opportunity to sleep in on his birthday -- it is a Saturday, which works amazingly for having a party, and that’s exactly what will be happening later that night -- but he’s up almost as early as he would be if he had to go to school that day.

He can’t help it. It’s pretty exciting.

He lies in bed looking up at the ceiling and hums a jaunty little tune in his head. He doesn’t sing the words out loud, in case his father decides to pick that moment to walk by his room, overhear it, and awkwardly lecture Stiles on being safe.

Happy Legality day to meeeee, he sings in his own mind. Happy Legality day to meeeee.

It is going to be a freaking fantastic day, Stiles just knows it.

He reaches over to his nightstand to get his phone, a couple messages from his friends already waiting for him. He scrolls through, smiling at the thought there are people who aren’t Scott or his dad that care that it’s his birthday. There is, however, one very specific person that is missing from the list.

That’s okay. Maybe it's Derek that's sleeping in.

Stiles decides to just bypass that, in case Derek thought for some reason that texting him might wake him up and that all birthday dudes deserve to sleep in. There’s nothing wrong with that misplaced thoughtfulness, so Stiles shoots him a text, a simple Hey.

Right away, Derek responds. Good morning.

Stiles waits. And waits. And waits for approximately five whole minutes before texting back Don’t be a jackass.

Derek knows what today is, and should be properly acknowledging it.

Stiles can picture Derek lying in his new bed at the completed Hale house, where he’s decided to spend his weekends, though he does stay with Isaac during the week. Stiles likes this plan, it’s an excellent plan for the couple of couples that are largely comprised of supernatural hearing, save for himself. The space is very good for all of them.

Still, right now, Stiles bets that Derek is lying there in his quiet house with a smug grin on his face and laughing it up at thinking about Stiles and his squirming while waiting for the appropriate response.

Stiles has a feeling that is exactly it when he gets back a, What are you talking about? and determines his boyfriend is electronically the least stealthy and least funny person there is.

Fine, Stiles types, see if I COME over to see you. No real reason to, right?

Within a second there’s a, Happy 18th, Stiles.

That’s what I thought. See you in a while.

Stiles grins to himself and hops out of the bed, heading to the shower. He takes very good care to clean thoroughly, in case a certain werewolf boyfriend he knows wants to put his hands and tongue and lips any and everywhere he damn well pleases. Which would be more than fine with Stiles.

And when he’s done thinking about that, he washes himself thoroughly again. Sometimes thinking can get a bit messy.

All ready for the day, backpack packed with some overnight stuff, Stiles follows the smell of bacon and takes the stairs two at a time, drops the bag by the front door, and slides into the kitchen. His father is there, a hearty breakfast feast on the go.

“No complaining about bacon,” his dad says. “It’s your birthday and it's tradition.”

“No better way of celebrating the rite of passage into manhood than eating crispy bacon,” Stiles says solemnly, and snatches a piece off the plate, narrowly missing the spatula that whaps his way.

“You can wait five minutes.”

“Ugh,” Stiles says. “Today has been a day of waiting. Being eighteen better hurry up.”

His dad looks at him, looks at the clock, and then shakes his head, going back to the bacon. Stiles pops some bread into the toaster.

“Happy birthday, by the way,” his dad says, scooping up the last couple pieces of bacon onto some paper towel and blotting the grease away. “How does it feel?”

“Great,” Stiles says, grinning. “I can vote for you to keep your job, as should be my sonly duty.”

“It’s been a long time coming.”

“Yeah it has,” Stiles says. “You better not freak out when I don’t come home tonight, or my vote is totally going to the other guy.”

His father pauses his motion to take plates out of the cupboard. “That’s right. You’re having a party at the Hale house.”

“A gathering,” Stiles corrects. “Of my closest friends, because Derek is pretty much a hermit who will tolerate only them in his brand new house.”

“And how much underage drinking is going to be going on?”

“None,” Stiles says truthfully. “Like, seventy-five percent of my friends don’t drink anyway.” That might not be entirely reassuring for a father, but it's the truth. Except that there’s no need to tell his dad it’s because those seventy-five percent of his friends are supernatural creatures who don’t get affected by it whatsoever, and that the other twenty-five percent -- Lydia, Allison, and Danny -- and he have already decided to get their drunk on at a party Lydia is planning next weekend anyway. Tonight is going to be a nice, alcohol free evening that werewolves, kanimas and humans can enjoy with no one making a fool of themselves. Hopefully.

His dad cringes at that statement anyway. “I’m not even going to ask about the others, then.”

Stiles shrugs. “We’re all going to be on the same page, promise. No drinking. No getting Derek accused of or arrested for providing minors with alcohol and absolutely no breaking any of his new lamps. He really doesn’t like that, especially when, for example, it happens by complete and total accident while flinging a Wii controller in unbound joy after finally kicking his ass at tennis.”

His dad snorts. “They have wrist straps for that.”

“Oh, I know. I know. I’ve heard all about it, believe me.”

His dad laughs, and hands two plates to Stiles to take to the table, and follows close behind with the bacon and eggs and toast. They’ve just started eating when his dad says, “No drinking still doesn’t explain why not to freak out when you don’t return home tonight.”

Stiles spits out the scrambled eggs he’s eating, and his father rolls his eyes when Stiles points to the ground and says, “I’ll clean that.”

Then, despite the way his cheeks have become heated and are undoubtedly bright red, he looks at his father evenly. “Because,” he says, “I am going to crash at my boyfriend’s house tonight.”

His dad stares at him, not even blinking.

“Oh come on, Dad,” Stiles says, throwing a hand up into the air. “I’m eighteen and we’ve been really good and I haven’t spent a night away from home once in weeks--“

“Yes you did.”

Stiles points a finger at his dad. “I was at Scott’s and Mrs. McCall called to confirm, don’t even front.”

“Fine, fine,” his dad says, holding up his hands defensively. “You’re eighteen now, and even if you’re living under my roof--”

“Dad!”

“This happens on the weekends only,” his dad says. “Nothing that will affect your school work or your chances at college.”

“Fair,” Stiles says.

“Good,” his dad replies. He reaches over and picks up something off the chair next to him that Stiles hadn’t previously seen. He holds it out to Stiles and says, “Happy Birthday, this is for you and Derek to use.”

It's a gift wrapped in ridiculous birthday Pokémon wrapping, like when Stiles was a kid, and he has no idea where his father would've still got wrapping like that. It probably is left from when Stiles was a kid. Except there's something completely off by it, because the box is small, and square, and shaped exactly like a condom box.

Stiles would know. He's looked at condom boxes a lot in the past couple years.

And even purchased some recently. Just in case.

However, getting a gift like that, right now, from --

"Dad!" Stiles exclaims, embarrassed, and doesn't take the present. He doesn't want it at all. Not like this.

"What?" his dad asks innocently, puts the box down on the tabletop, and pushes it over to Stiles. "I think you'll both enjoy it."

"Oh my god, this is, I can't believe you'd do this."

"Did you go snooping around in my room already? It's not Christmas, and you're not five. Or eleven. Or fourteen."

"Or seventeen," Stiles says, and reluctantly picks up the box. He slides his thumb under some tape, and then thinks to hell with it and rips it open.

It's ... a completely plain, simple cardboard brown box.

"Oh my god," Stiles says when he looks at his dad and sees he is barely containing a grin, like he enjoyed seeing Stiles squirm like that. "Dad! You ... is this a gag gift?"

"Poor choice of words, kid."

"Dad!" Stiles scolds, and then rips open the box and digs through the tissue paper, pulling out a gift card to the vegetarian restaurant his father is now extremely fond of. "You have got to be kidding me."

"But the look on your face," his dad says, laughing. "Worth it."

"No, no it really wasn't," Stiles says, but laughs too.

In a flash, his dad's smile is gone and he's gone Serious Dad again, pointing a finger at Stiles. "You better be safe."

Stiles rolls his eyes and shoves some toast into his mouth. "You can stop now, Dad."

His dad grins, but in a way where he's still half-serious, but they go on with their breakfast without any other major embarrassing comments.

Stiles helps clean up, but is anxious to leave and sort of tries to sneak away when his dad isn't looking. His dad probably realises something is up, because Stiles didn't even ask about any other gifts, but stops him in time to give a couple more. Stiles happily opens them, because okay presents are awesome, and is pleased that it's nothing that makes him want to be swallowed up into a hole in the ground, but instead gets a new hoodie and a new playstation game.

"Thanks, Dad, they're cool," he says, slipping off his older, grey hoodie, and puts on the new blue one with purple stripes across it. "Just what I needed, hoodie number twenty-eight." He grins. "It's great."

"Yeah, right," his dad says, shaking his head. "I knew you'd like it, though."

"Love it," he says. "Look, if you don't mind--"

His dad holds out an envelope. "This is from me and your mom."

Stiles goes completely still, heart skipping a beat, and then slowly reaches out for it. "What do you mean?"

"Something we started to put together when you were really young, contributed to it when we could. We always meant to give it to you when you turned eighteen."

Stiles opens the envelope and pulls out some papers, and at the top of one is a financial report for, like, thousands of dollars.

"That's for college," his dad explains when Stiles looks up at him in astonishment. "I know that big brain of yours will probably get scholarships and all that, but I'm sure you'll find that useful in helping you out."

"Well yeah," Stiles says, looking down at the papers again. "This is ... Dad, thank you."

"We used to joke that if you turned out to be a dumbass who didn't go to college we would by a retirement boathouse with it," his dad says with a wistful smile, clearly thinking back on a conversation he once had. Eyes focusing on Stiles again, he gives a more encouraging one. "She would've be so proud to give that to you today."

"Dad," Stiles says, unable to say anything else without maybe tearing up at the thought of his mom. Instead, he pulls his dad into a hug, and whispers, "Thanks."

His dad pats him on the back, pulls away, and gives him a proud smile. "Happy Birthday. Now, I know you don't want to spend it with your old dad--"

"My amazing, fantastic, awesome dad? Who I will vote for one day, especially now that I can."

"Go, get," his dad says, pushing lightly on his shoulder. "Go see your friends."

"Sir, yes, sir," Stiles says, gives a playful salute, and makes for the front door.

"Home tomorrow afternoon! I'm taking you out for dinner."

"Okay!" Stiles calls out as he opens the door.

"And bring Derek!"

"Okay! Later!" Stiles says, bolting out the door and slamming it behind him, but smiling wide because, seriously, he has the best dad.

He's just about to jump into the jeep when he sees Ms. Morrell walking up the sidewalk towards their house. "Hey," Stiles says with a wave.

"Hi, Stiles," she says as she comes up to the drive. "Happy Birthday."

"Dad told you, huh?" he says, grinning. "Thanks."

Stiles isn't completely sure what's going on between the two of them anymore. He does know that there hasn't been a single sighting of purple and gold glitter or sparkles or flowers or faeries since the day of the ritual. Stiles hasn't felt weird, Derek hasn't felt weird, and his dad hasn't been acting weird. If the faerie really is still inside Ms. Morrell, she has no influence on the outside world. Stiles hopes she's resting peacefully, rather than being trapped.

His dad told him a couple weeks before that Ms. Morrell and he thought they would put things on hold, but still be friends. Stiles can't help but wonder if that's because they don't really like each other that way, or if they realised that something was off before so they're backing off. Maybe they'll be into each other again, start over, but maybe they won't. Stiles just wants his dad to be happy and move on, but because that's how he actually feels, not because someone -- or something -- influenced him to.

Whatever is going on between his dad and Ms. Morrell, they're on good enough terms that he's asked her to help him with some fundraising thing the department wants to do. Hey, she helpfully assisted one Stiliniski, and she seems happy to help the other. Nothing wrong with having allies.

"This is for you," she says, dragging Stiles from his thoughts. She holds out a neatly wrapped present, thankfully of a larger rectangular shape.

"You didn't have to do this," he says, taking it as she insistently holds it out to him.

"It's nothing, really," she says. "Well, it is, but it's second hand. It's been mine for a long time, I always found it interesting, but lately ... well, I have a feeling you would like it."

"Well how can I say no to that sell?" he says as he unwraps it. It's a leather bound book with deep etching on the cover.

"It's about myths," she says, "specifically nymphs and sprites and faeries."

He very nearly drops the damn book.

She says, "Your father says you like this kind of thing."

"W-What?" he asks, stuttering.

"Myths? Folklore and such," she says. "He's mentioned that you always have those kind of books sitting around your room, print outs and things. Do you plan on studying it in college?"

"Uh," he says, running his hands over the etched words in the cover. He can't read them. "Sciences, actually."

"Oh, I see," she says. "Well, folklore is so interesting. It's amazing how those myths developed in societies, and how they got passed down through the generations. If you really do like it, you might be able to find a couple of elective courses."

She's smiling at him, open and genuine, not at all suspicious or creepy and there are no wings or pointed teeth. Somehow, he's not surprised that she has an interest in this. It's probably some deep, weird subconscious thing, but nothing appears wrong, not any more.

He smiles at her, just as sincere. "Thank you," he says. "I think I'll look into that." He gestures with the book in his hand. "And I really appreciate this. It could actually come in use some day. For, uh, reading or maybe a class or whatever."

She lightly pats his arm. "You're so very welcome." She points up to your house. "Your father's home?"

He nods. "Yep, he's here."

"Great," she says, pointing to the satchel that's hooked over her shoulder. There aren't any flowers on it anymore. "I had some information to drop off for him."

"Hey, Ms. Morrell?" he calls out after she started to walk away, and she turns to look back at him. "You're okay, right? You know, after that day?"

She smiles widely. "I feel great, much better than I had been for quite a while."

"Good," he says, nodding. "That's ... good. I'm glad to hear."

She gives him a happy nod, and then goes up to the house. His dad answers before she's barely knocked once.

After she's gone into the house, he looks at the book again. He flips some pages, dragging his thumb over some of the gold leafed edges.

The book opens to the middle, and two pressed flowers fall out, fluttering to the ground. One is yellow, and one is purple. The petals shine like glitter in the sun.

He stares at them for a moment, and then picks them up. They're velvety soft. He thinks for a second of crushing them, making them into dust and throwing it out onto the wind.

After a moment, he puts them back into the book and carefully closes it. He gets into the jeep and puts it on the seat next to him, then drives to Derek's, feeling peaceful the entire way.

"Hello?" Stiles calls out as he opens the door to the Hale house. He knows Derek's there, his car is out front, and Derek's sure to have heard the jeep approaching.

"I'm in here!" Derek yells back.

Stiles drops his overnight bag to the floor near the bottom of the stairs and heads to the back of the house. He finds Derek in the kitchen, hands in the sink, and is apparently doing dishes.

Stiles walks up behind him, kisses between his shoulder blades, though sadly Derek is fully clothed and not doing chores while naked. Damn. "Don't you have a brand new dishwasher?"

"Stupid thing started leaking last night," Derek says grumpily. "I'm calling the repair guys on Monday."

"Okay," Stiles says. He wraps his arms around Derek's waist, mouthing at the back of his neck. "So we'll have a bunch of dishes to do by hand in the morning. I could think of worse things."

"In the morning, huh?" Derek says, too nonchalant. "Staying the night?"

Stiles pinches Derek's ass, because it is totally within his legal and boyfriend rights to do so now.

Derek huffs a laugh and uses his ass to push Stiles away from him, and okay then, Stiles can totally live with that pushing up against his crotch. But then Derek squirms away somehow, hands still in the sink.

"Stiles, I really need to finish up here," he says. "There are people coming over later."

"You have got to be kidding me," Stiles says, dropping his hands from Derek's waist and putting them on his own hips. Derek looks too serious when he glances over his shoulder. Stiles gives him wide eyes. "Do you know what today is?"

"Saturday," Derek answers.

"You're still a jackass," Stiles says, sighing, and jumps up to sit on the counter near the sink. At least Derek leans over to give him a quick peck, but then next Stiles knows, Derek's back to standing up straight and is being all domestic and shit.

"You're seriously just going to leave me hanging here?" Stiles says from his perch on the counter, holding his arms out in a come on, man gesture. "On my birthday? Really?"

"My hands are wet," Derek says, his hands still in the sink of soapy water.

"I hear that's good for friction," Stiles say. "No, strike that. I know that's good for friction."

Derek rolls his eyes and swipes the dishcloth over a plate. Again. For, like, the twentieth time, Stiles swears. The jerk is doing this on purpose.

"And I held off this morning waiting for this!"

Derek snorts. "No you didn't."

"Okay, no I didn't," Stiles says, because he totally jerked off thinking of Derek finally touching his dick, and now Derek isn't touching his dick. "But, really, I mean. Come on, it's my birthday."

"All day," Derek says. "We have time all day."

"No we don't," Stiles says. "You're being a busy cleaning bee because we are having our friends over tonight, and I know Scott is not going to tolerate us going at it with them here, even if it is my birthday. Have I mentioned yet it's my birthday?"

"Once or twice."

"Well. It is. And I'm eighteen. Eighteen! You've made me wait forever--"

"Three weeks."

"-- and ever and ever. Let's get on with the sexy times!"

Derek places the plate on the drying rack, and picks up a handful of cutlery from the bottom of the sink, very methodically shining each one to a perfect silver. They're brand new, it's not like they need to be polished off. But Stiles does, badly, and preferably by his boyfriend. Then again, that's not the only way.

"Fine," Stiles says. He wiggles his butt on the counter a little, making a show of getting more comfortable, and leans his head back against the cabinet. "I'll just do it myself. You're in the room. It counts."

Derek goes incredibly still, and looks askance at Stiles. Stiles grins at him, and very blatantly and obviously palms his dicks through his jeans. Derek's gaze drops down to where Stiles is kneading the heel of his hand.

"I bet I could get myself off and be ready to go again before you're done your damn dishes," Stiles says. He thumbs open the button of his jeans and pushes down the zipper. His boxer briefs are dark green and getting tighter over the growing bulge. Stiles keeps his hand on top of them still, palm moving down and fingers curling around the bottom of his sack.

Stiles can feel his face heating up faster than it usually does. Because this is new; of course he's touched himself before, but not like this, not in front of someone else. Especially not Derek, who has been very diligent in keeping things above the waist, even if they have had some pretty intense make-out sessions that required breaks before either of them shot a load. It was both ridiculously tortuous and incredibly awesome. But now Derek's given up all pretense of doing dishes, hands still hanging into the water as he avidly watches Stiles start to rub himself off.

Derek unconsciously licks his lips, and Stiles make a noise at the back of his throat. Derek's eyes snap up to Stiles' face, eyes lingering on his mouth as Stiles bites his bottom lip when he rubs harder.

"Derek," Stiles says, a little breathless.

Derek nods firmly, as if that's the final thing he needed to get a fucking move on already. He flicks his wet, soapy hands into the sink, and then picks up the towel. He dries off his hands, still being careful and slow as he openly watches Stiles' crotch, but then flings the towel clear across the room and steps between Stiles' legs.

"Hi," Stiles says brightly.

"Hi," Derek replies. His hands settle on Stiles' hips, still not touching him the way Stiles actually wants, but it's a start. Stiles is about to make a complaint when Derek leans forward and captures his mouth in a hot, searing kiss. Stiles moans into it, hand stilling while he focuses on Derek's mouth, his wet tongue, his talented lips.

When they pull apart, Derek leans his forehead against Stiles and looks down between their bodies. "Still want to watch you," he says, voice low. "Really touch yourself."

Stiles groans because that's hot and there's no way he can say no to that. He tilts his head just enough so he can spit into his hand, and then dives back down immediately, slipping into his briefs. He groans in relief when there's finally a hand on him, skin against skin, even if it is his own.

He takes hold of his hardening cock and strokes it for real, pulling firm and up. The cockhead sticks out the top of waistband, and Derek makes a choked noise that makes Stiles' insides twist up.

"Please," Stiles says, bordering on a whimper, for crying out loud. Oh yeah, that's fucking sexy. His other hand comes up so that his fingertips press against Derek's skull, his hair too short to grab onto. "Come on, touch me, Derek."

Derek doesn't seem to be in a teasing mood anymore. His hand slides down over Stiles' thigh but then back up inside, cupping Stiles' balls through his briefs. Stiles groans and arches his back, squeezes his cock harder, and holy shit someone else is touching his junk. That fucking rocks.

"Keep going," Derek says, kissing Stiles' cheek, his mouth, and then leans his forehead against Stiles' again. He fondles Stiles' balls while Stiles strokes himself, trying to keep a slow, even pace and not get too worked up over it.

"I want -- please, I want you--" Stiles groans again when Derek gently squeezes his sack, but then promptly lets go. And steps away from Stiles completely.

Stiles pushes himself off the cupboard and sits up straight, staring at Derek's backside as he walks away. "Come on, seriously? You're going to leave me like this? Blue Balls is not the theme colour for my birthday!"

Derek grabs a chair from the little breakfast table on the other side of the kitchen, rolling his eyes as he turns back to Stiles, dragging the chair behind him. There is an obvious bulge at the front of his black jeans and that, at least, is an indication that he doesn't plan on leaving it at that.

"If you would hold on for ten more seconds--"

"What the hell is so important that you stopped touching my dick?" Stiles asks, using his free hand to gesture down at the other one that is still down his pants, stretching the material out, and his dick half showing as it rests against his flat stomach. "Not that you really have yet, I've been doing it, so what the hell?"

"I'm getting ready for this," Derek says. He swings the chair around so that the back of it is up against the lower cabinets. Derek moves swiftly, swinging a leg over it so that he's straddling the chair backwards, but facing Stiles and ... and now his face is right at the level of Stiles' crotch.

"Oh," Stiles says faintly, looking down at Derek where he is in prime position for some cock sucking. "Oh, okay then."

"Okay then," Derek says, and slips his hands under Stiles' thighs, tugging him forward so that his ass is right at the edge of the counter. Derek's hands smooth over Stiles' legs, and his fingers deftly slip into the band of Stiles' boxers, trying to tug both them and his jeans down past his hips.

Stiles is right on board with that. He lets go of his cock but wiggles his hips side to side and pushes his jeans and briefs down over his ass. Derek makes an approving noise as Stiles' cock is exposed, bare to the air and any mouths that happen to want to make its acquaintance.

Derek doesn't bother pulling Stiles' jeans all the way down, just half way down his thighs. He kisses the bare skin at the top inside of one leg -- so close, god so close -- while blindly trying to push Stiles' hoodie and shirt up off his stomach.

Stiles has no problem with that, and hastily tugs them, throwing them the way of the towel. Derek's eyes graze over Stiles' pale skin, his hand meandering a path over his stomach and up over his pecs. Stiles' heart is pounding, and suddenly it's almost hard to meet Derek's eyes, feeling the heaviness of scrutiny that probably doesn't even exist. Derek lifts his ass off the chair and tilts his head up, and Stiles leans over enough to kiss him, getting lost in it after feeling oddly exposed, despite wanting this so badly. It's like Derek knows, and by the time he breaks away and sits back down and nuzzles at Stiles' leg again, Stiles is calmer, ready for this.

"I've thought about this. You. A lot," Derek says, his voice quiet but husky against Stiles' leg when his hand cups Stiles' balls again, this time skin against skin. Stiles takes in a deep breath and nods; he knows that even though Derek was the one putting stops on things, it wasn't that he didn't want Stiles. He was just being stupidly honourable about it all.

That appears to all have gone out the window with that predatory look in his eye, and his hand moving to base of Stiles' cock. Stiles doesn't even try to keep back the gasp this time; there it is, there it finally is, someone else touching his cock. Derek, his boyfriend, finally touching his cock.

Derek gives very little warning before giving one firm stroke, angling Stiles' erection towards him, and then actually slipping the head of it into his mouth. He sucks on it, tongue moving around the crown, and it's like he means to drag that wrecked noise right from Stiles. Stiles' hands grip around the edge of the counter, fingernails digging into the wood underneath, and tries with all his might not to be an asshole who bucks up and chokes Derek.

Derek's got a handle on this, and it's clear that he's experienced. He bobs up and down, tongue moving along the vein underneath. He pays special attention at massaging right under the cockhead with the tip of his tongue, sending heat shivers through Stiles' entire body, beads of sweat breaking out along his forehead. Derek takes him in pretty deep a couple of times, and Stiles can only tilt his head back against the cupboard to keep from falling right over, his mouth open in a soundless cry as he stares up at the ceiling.

"Oh god," Stiles says when Derek goes back to sucking on the cockhead. Stiles glances back down, and sees Derek's cheeks are hollow from perfect suction, and Stiles has to scrunch his eyes shut because it's so hot he's ready to come right now. "I can't -- won't hold on much longer."

There's an obscene pop when Derek backs off his dick, though his hand still strokes it, thumb swiping over the slit. Stiles twitches from it, muscles tense, like a coiled spring ready to let go.

"It's okay," Derek says, "do it. I want you too." He takes one of Stiles' wrists, coaxing him to let go of the counter, but puts Stiles' hand onto his shoulder. Derek's strong muscles move under his shirt and Stiles' fingertips. He repeats, "It's okay."

That's about all it takes. A couple more strong sucks and pumps, and Stiles is curled over, both hands digging into Derek's shoulders now as he comes hard, harder than he ever has on his own. Derek keeps Stiles in his mouth, swallowing around his cock, licking and tasting even as Stiles goes soft. Stiles makes a noise when it becomes too much, too sensitive, and Derek immediately backs off.

"Oh my god," Stiles says, slumping back against the cupboard doors again. His eyes are closed, and he focuses on taking deep inhales, trying to catch his breath. Holy crap, he just had his first blowjob. He says, still breathless, "That was fucking awesome." He reaches out blindly and tries to find some part of Derek to touch, to ground him.

He feels it on the air when Derek stands up, hears the scrap on the floor as the chair is pushed away. Derek crowds in around Stiles, hands moving over bare skin, nose nuzzling at his jaw line.

"Good?" Derek murmurs against Stiles' cheek, sounding entirely too smug. Well, he deserves it, that's for sure.

"There are no words," Stiles says, “not right now. Later? Hell yeah. All the words. You will hear just how good. Just let me enjoy the glow for a second, yeah?"

Derek chuckles, low and full, and it's a sound that Stiles suddenly needs to be closer to. He needs to be closer to all of Derek. He pushes himself up again, right into Derek's body. He wraps his arms around Derek's shoulders, pulling them even closer together. It's a little weird -- Stiles is more than half naked, his jeans caught around his knees, while Derek's still dressed, the soft material of his shirt rubbing against Stiles' bare chest.

Derek rolls his hips to get closer, and Stiles feels the bump of his trapped erection against his stomach.

"Oh," Stiles breaths, eyes flying open. He pushes at Derek, trying to get him to back away enough so Stiles can slide down off the counter. He feels weak in the knees and a little wobbly after coming as hard as he did, but that's okay. He can deal, oh yes he can. "We are so not done here."

Stiles stops long enough to pull his briefs and jeans up over his ass, and he's just about to tuck himself back in when Derek's hand shoots out, gently grabbing Stiles' elbow to stop him. "Don't," Derek says. "Not yet. Just ... leave it."

Stiles' soft, limp dick hangs free and the elastic band on his briefs are snug up under his balls, and his weirdo boyfriend apparently thinks that's hot. "Oh my god," Stiles says, grabbing Derek by the back of the neck and pulling him in for a bruising kiss. He pushes his tongue forward, and Derek opens up for him. There's a tangy flavour now, and Stiles groans when he remembers he's tasting his own spunk. He says against Derek's mouth, "We are going to do so many nasty things, oh my god," and pushes on Derek's chest to get him to move back.

Stiles grabs the chair as they walk by, and he pushes it up against the wall. "But we'll start simple," Stiles says, and points to the chair. "Sit. Jeans open and pushed down, like me."

Derek wordlessly goes -- it's clear where this is going, why would he protest? -- and palms his own dick when he sees Stiles eying it up interestedly. He undoes his fly and smirks when Stiles' notices he's gone commando.

"Fuck," Stiles says, looking at the dark hair from the navel down, nestling around Derek's cock. "That ... was a great idea." Stiles shakes his head to snap out of it, because he's got a plan here. He picks up his shirt and hoodie, folds them haphazardly, and drops them at Derek's feet.

"Here," Derek says, pulling his own shirt off and adding it to the pile.

"Um, yes, always with that," Stiles says. He reaches out and runs his hands down Derek's shoulders, past his collarbones, and over those perfectly, perfectly defined pecs. He's already spent a lot of time on those, just the other day, including kissing and sucking on Derek's abs for so long that Derek was trembling and had to push Stiles away, asking him to stop to regain some composure.

Stiles is so going to do that again some time, and he's not going to have to stop. But he's got other ideas today, ones that bypass the lip worship of Derek's pecs and abs. Straight to the point.

Stiles drops down to his knees on the pile of shirts, inches closer between Derek's legs. Derek slumps down more in the chair, spreads his legs wider, and oh god the man is trying to kill Stiles.

Stiles puts his hands on Derek's thighs, the thick dark hair there tickling his palms as he absently rubs them up and down as he stares at Derek's cock. Derek's got a loose hold on it, pumping almost lazily if it weren't for the way he squeezes at it too. It's a thick and gorgeous cock, flushed red and hard already, pre-come leaking out the end.

"Stiles," Derek says, husky voice, and Stiles looks up at his face. He's starting to look unravelled around the edges, not as controlled as usual when they're getting even a little bit physical. His neck is splotched red, and it's gone down to his shoulders and chest too, flushed with arousal or maybe anticipation. It looks like it takes a lot for him to say, "You don't have to, if you're not ready--"

"Shut up," Stiles says immediately. He determinedly leans down and kisses the inside of Derek's thigh, just like Derek had done to him. He noses around, little licks and kisses as he works his way up. "It's my birthday and I'll suck cock if I want to."

Derek huffs a strained laugh, but let's go of himself, leaving room for Stiles to do whatever he wants. "If you insist."

"Of course I insist, you have no idea how much I insist," Stiles says.

"You have been for weeks," Derek says. "I get it. It's just, you know--"

"I'm good," Stiles promises. "I'm so good, Derek, I am doing this."

Derek nods and relaxes into the chair more, and Stiles takes that as a sign it's okay to go on. He cups Derek's balls, warm and heavy in his hand, and presses fingers to the smooth skin just behind them. He leans down and kisses lightly, then sucks at them, making sloppy noises. Between them, Stiles hears the click of Derek's throat as he swallows loudly.

He tries to remember what Derek did, because what Derek did was freaking fantastic and Stiles doesn't have any other practical experience to go on. He knows it's not going to be the best blow job ever, that it's going to be more enthusiasm than skill, but Derek isn't going to mind. Stiles is totally confident this is going to be great for him too. It's a boyfriend blowjob, how could it not be?

He takes a few minutes to marvel holding another guy's dick in his hand, slowly jacking Derek off while Stiles rests his head against his thigh and watches the way it moves smoothly in his fingers. He twists his wrist a little, thumbs at the same spot Derek paid attention too, and feels amazing when he hears the way Derek moans. Whenever Stiles glances up, Derek's staring right back down at him, as if not willing to miss seeing a single second of this.

Stiles grins at him, places a firm kiss to the top of his leg, and then settles himself evenly on his knees. He presses one hand on Derek's stomach to help balance himself and hopefully keep Derek from bucking up because there's no way Stiles is ready to handle an unexpected mouth full of cock yet, and takes hold of the base of Derek's dick with his other hand. He noses at the side of his cock, feeling the heat radiating, and takes a tentative lick. Derek's muscles move under Stiles' hand and he can't help but grin. He licks again, and determining it really isn't much different than other skin, moves to take the cockhead into his mouth. He tastes the pre-come, salty and kinda weird but not awful. An acquired taste he hopes to have a lot more time to get used to.

When that's fine, he carefully sucks on head of Derek's cock, and moves his tongue in circles. Derek moans lowly, and that's a good sign, so Stiles does it more firmly. Derek puts his hand on Stiles' shoulder like he had encouraged Stiles to do; he doesn't squeeze, exactly, but when there's a pressure of fingertips, Stiles knows he's doing something right. It's reassuring, actually.

Stiles is able to move on to more, sinking deeper down on Derek's cock, careful to cover his teeth with his lips, while using his hand to pump at the base. He's starts slow, is a bit unsure just how much of it he can take without making a fool of himself and gagging, but Derek doesn't push. It doesn't take long at all before he picks up his pace, finding a steady rhythm of mouth meeting hand. Saliva drips down Derek's cock, but it makes the slipslide easier, and it isn't long before Derek's legs are trembling at Stiles' sides and the pressure of fingertips on his shoulder blade is constant.

"Stiles," Derek grunts out when he's really hard and it's obvious he's trying not to move his hips. "You can pull off, I'm gonna--"

Stiles just nods, but he doesn't pull off. Like hell he's missing this. He does what he can to suck harder, move his hand faster, and it isn't long before there's a warmth filling his mouth, hitting the back of his throat like a surprise while Derek groans deeply.

Stiles can't catch it all. He tries but swallowing with a cock that's coming in your mouth isn't the easiest, and he pulls off with a deep gasp to get some air. He can feel wet warmth splash against his cheek, his nose, but he makes sure to keep stroking Derek's cock until it goes soft in his hand.

"Holy man," Stiles says, coughing a bit when he tries to take a deep breath. "That was ..." He trails off, because maybe he isn't the one who should be making grand declarations of how great he is at sex.

"Awesome," Derek says, and sounds thoroughly truthful with that. He echoes Stiles' own earlier sentiment. "Fucking awesome." Stiles can't help but smile because awesome, he's not horrible at sex!

Derek reaches out and thumbs over Stiles' face, and he can feel the come smear across. "Man," Stiles says, "I kinda feel like a porn star."

"You kinda look it," Derek says, looking over Stiles' face, trailing down his bare chest, and ending up staring at Stiles' dick that's still out.

"I'm taking that as the best compliment ever."

"Good," Derek says, and then licks the come off his thumb. He grins as Stiles stares at him open mouthed. "Also a fantastic look for you."

Stiles snaps his jaw shut, but then scrambles up onto Derek's lap, straddling him. Derek grunts when Stiles' already half-interested-again cock bumps up against his just-spent one. "Already?" Derek asks.

"Almost. Being eighteen is great in so many ways," Stiles says.

"Hard to argue that," Derek says, eyeing up the come on Stiles' cheek. He leans forward and kisses it, and then licks it, and Stiles stays still while he does. He doesn't know if it's a Derek thing, or a werewolf thing, or a combo of both since Derek is both, but he lets it slide. It's pretty hot. When he's done there, he moves down to Stiles' neck even though there's no come, and Stiles happily indulges him by tilting his head back.

"We've still got time," Derek says, lips vibrating against Stiles' Adam's apple. Stiles squirms and huffs a laugh, because it feels weird, and he can feel Derek's mouth curve a smile. Derek pulls back to look him in the eye. "We could go upstairs."

"Why, Derek Hale, are you inviting me to your bedroom?" Stiles says, and nips along his jaw.

"I said upstairs," Derek says. "There's also a shower there."

Stiles groans and then kisses him hard. Showering with Derek has been on the fantasy list forever for the past couple weeks. "How about," Stiles says, punctuating it with a slow kiss before he continues, "we go and mess around some more in your bedroom and then shower."

"You drive a hard bargain," Derek says, deadpanned, "but it is your birthday."

"Happy Legality Day to me," Stiles says, adding, "To us," and Derek laughs. Stiles stands up, tugging on Derek's hand. "Let's go."

Derek doesn't dare resist, but Stiles knows there's no way in hell he wants to.

Stiles realises that it's not just his own life that's coming together, having a group of friends and looking towards college and finally, finally dating someone in a relationship that looks like it could last, even with having to work out some serious speedbumps and all. And, you know, add the fact they had a fantastic afternoon messing around with multiple mutual orgasms and starting to work their way up to a hell of a lot more. (Soon, Stiles knows that will be soon, but he's already enjoying the ride there.)

No, it's not just Stiles and his awesome plan to have a fantastic senior year, which looks like it's extending to awesome overall life.

But, Stiles realises in the middle of a birthday party that's being thrown for him, it's all coming together for Derek too.

Despite his teasing, Stiles doesn't think Derek is a loner recluse at all. Not any more, at least. He used to be a creeper, hanging out in a burnt down shell of a house, and then an abandoned train station. But then he built his pack and after a rough start got things settled there, and then moved in with Isaac to be closer to them all and have an actual home. He even stepped up and took responsibility for Jackson the kanima, and at least forged a sort of weird, loose bond there. And now there's Stiles, and Stiles' pack, in which Stiles knows Derek’s always wanted an alliance with Scott, as sketchy as that's been over the last couple years. And then he even rebuilt that home, making it as big and beautiful as it once was.

But now? Stiles stands in the corner of the Hale living room, chatting up with Danny and Boyd, but keeping his eye on the rest. Allison and Lydia are cheering on as Scott and Erica duke it out boxing style on the Wii, and Derek and Isaac are on the couch in an animated conversation with Jackson, who's sitting on the arm of it and waving his hands around to stress his point -- could be about their stupid neighbours, the latest football game, Stiles doesn't know, his normal human hearing can't tell over the background music or the loud jeers and taunts of a competitive video game. Whatever it is, it's good and there's even short bursts of laughter from over there.

And Derek is sitting there, right in the middle of it all, looking around the room and taking in the scene. He doesn't seem annoyed to have all these people invading his new home -- he looks relaxed and peaceful, like he wants it. And Stiles realises -- this is what it probably used to be like for him, in this place. Humans and werewolf packs coming together, not always fearing for their lives or for the lives of others, but just hanging out and living.

Derek and Stiles' eyes meet, and Derek smiles warmly at him. It's small and simple, but Stiles doesn't miss it and Stiles' heart feels like it might burst with so much pride and fucking happiness that there is no way the supernatural beings in the room are missing it.

Or, apparently, the humans.

"For crying out loud, Stiles," Danny says beside him, rolling his eyes, but grinning. "Just go over there and jump him already."

"So obvious," Boyd adds.

"I mean, it is your birthday," Danny says. "That's totally allowed."

"No it isn't!" Scott yells out, not missing a beat and jabbing the nunchuck through the air, scoring points as his avatar hits Erica's in the gut. She growls and attacks back, arms swinging as her eyes are transfixed on the television screen.

"No worries, Scott," Stiles calls out, "I'm saving it for later."

"Oh my god," Scott says, sounding a little too much like a whine, but doesn't lose concentration on the game.

In the middle of everyone's laughter, Derek gets off the couch like a flash of lightning. He takes Erica by surprise when he grabs her wrist and uses the Wii control she's holding to pause the game. Everyone in the room stops, as if frozen in time and space, and stares at him. There's a weird tension as they wait for his move.

Oh shit, Stiles thinks, and closes his eyes briefly. This is not at all how he wanted his birthday to go, and the last thing he needs is Derek making a mess of the packs that are bonding right now.

"It's time to settle this, Scott," Derek says, completely calm.

"What's that suppose to mean?" Scott says, on edge. He's trying to keep himself in check.

To Erica, Derek says, "I'll need your controller and nunchucks. It's time Scott and I duke it out." Turning to Scott, he adds, "And after I beat you, I can kiss Stiles whenever and wherever --"

"Hell yeah, wherever," Stiles adds under his breath, and Danny elbows him.

"--I want without you saying a damn thing about it." He smiles at Scott, wide and full of teeth. "You on?"

"You better believe it," Scott says, and he gets a playful, competitive gleam to his eye, much like when Erica challenged him to a game.

It's like the entire room collectively sighs in relief, but then there's instant chatter, people picking sides and making bets.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Stiles says, walking forward and holding out his hands. "Whoa. Wait a minute here. If you're both going to be alpha dicks who fight over my honour--"

"Kisses," Scott says, "or lack thereof."

"Whatever," Stiles says, waving a hand absently. "I think that the stakes need to be made a little more even. This is awfully one-sided."

Scott doesn't look like he gets what Stiles could possibly be talking about, but Derek is suppressing a grin. He's on to Stiles, but says, "Go on."

Stiles shrugs, playing nonchalant. "If you ask me, Scott should put kissing -- or not kissing -- Allison in public onto the table, don't you think?"

"What?" Scott says, looking alarmed.

"What?" Allison says, echoing him. She looks at Stiles with wide eyes. "Why would you suggest that?"

"Only seems fair," Stiles says sagely.

"Cool, I'm in," Derek says.

"What? No, I'm not in," Scott says. "Not cool."

"It's not all kisses," Stiles points out. "Just public ones."

"Yeah, McCall," Jackson says, smirking. "Are you saying you're above playing fair? Gotta say, not surprised."

"No, of course not," Scott says instantly. Stiles fist pumps the air, because he knows that's got him. Allison groans and puts her face into her hands. "It's okay," Scott says to her, "I'm going to beat him. I'll so beat him."

"We'll see about that," Derek says, grinning smugly.

"Best of three," Stiles says, because he's seen them both play and knows this will actually be a pretty close match. Entertaining for all, at the very least. Erica relinquishes her controllers to Derek and he starts putting them on.

"Kiss for good luck?" Scott says to Allison.

"Oh hell yeah, baby," Stiles says, and practically jumps right onto Derek as he throws his arms around him, trapping his arms and controllers between their bodies. Everybody else either groans or laughs, but Stiles kisses his boyfriend anyway.

"Go get him," Stiles says into his ear.

Derek kisses him again and says, "You know it."

"Hey," Stiles says as Derek starts to pull away. Derek pauses and waits. Stiles just shrugs. "Thanks." He doesn't know exactly what he means for -- earlier in the day, allowing all their friends over, making an attempt to play somewhat nice with Scott, or whatever. Just. "Thanks."

Derek smiles, and kisses him softly once more. But he turns back to the TV when Scott starts making complaints that there needs to be a bet won for that kind of shit.

Stiles backs away so that they have room to play -- the swinging powerful arm of either alpha to the face would not be pleasant, even if they are only playing video games -- and joins the rest of them in a half circle around to watch.

Yep, Stiles thinks as he watches Derek and Scott shake hands, best year.

~end