Chapter Text
"Is he a serial killer?"
What? No, none of those thoughts today. Today, Stiles was on top of the world. Not literally ... because, well, logistics, but he sure felt like it. He wasn't going to let the seeds of doubt take root in the deep, dark recess of his suspicious mind, even if it was Lydia who had asked it. He had never refused an invitation to brunch with her, but now, he was going to have to re-think that stance. Her questioning Derek's motives were really dampening his mood, even a day later. His ego could only take so much, thank you.
"And he's not a serial killer," he muttered to no one in particular as he rounded a bend on the single-track. At least, he didn't think so. He'd preferred to think he'd managed to charm Derek with his irresistible personality and sparkling wit, not because the most handsome man he'd ever laid eyes upon might have some homicidal intentions. And even then, he might be convinced to overlook a few character flaws ...
He skirted over a more technical section of trail and landed lightly on his forefoot before cruising along the flatter elevation part of his run. Seriously, who was he? Two days ago, he would've almost tripped several times on that last stretch, and now, he was crushing this run like a fucking superstar!
'Oh, I knew exactly who you are,' a little voice inside his head pointed out. 'You're a guy who's gone on two dates in as many days with the hottest guy this side of the hemisphere! That's right, you are a superstar! Own it!'
Stiles grinned to himself. In fact, he didn't think that grin had fully left his face since he'd had that first lunch with Derek. It had all seemed so ... easy, if not a bit surreal. That was the only way he could describe it. An outside observer would think they were in a romcom or fairytale montage or something with how smoothly it'd gone. They'd had that initial awkward introductory chat during their first lunch, but that had quickly morphed into a healthy rhythm of conversation. They borderline bickered, but it was fun, good-natured, comfortable. Yes, they were different: Derek was hot, like off-the-charts hot, and serious, and steady, whereas he ... well, he was the complete opposite. And yet, they somehow clicked. They worked, and his overactive brain was on the verge of burning out trying to explain how.
And that was not a good thing. He liked his brain. He was kind of attached to it and still needed it in working order. So, here he was again, traipsing through the Preserve, trying to clear his head.
He focused on his stride and on his breaths. And for quite a while, it was just him and the sounds of his even cadence over the shaded trail. Still, after an indeterminate number of minutes, his legs began to slow on their own accord. Eventually, he came to a complete standstill. He looked around, and realized that this was pretty close to where he'd stopped last time for a break. And it was also the spot where he'd completely panicked and turned around. This time, he wanted to say that it was different, that what had happened a couple of days ago was a complete overreaction on his part ... but it wasn't. He still felt that flutter of unease, like something was stretching and squeezing his stomach over and over, and he couldn't seem to shake it. The happy high he'd been revelling in earlier faded away, and the inexplicable stillness of the surroundings seemed to settle heavily on him.
Wolves. Lydia had mentioned something about wolves yesterday at brunch. Something about a group of local kids claiming they'd seen one in the Preserve. Which was ridiculous. He'd been quick to point out that those kids hadn't been his students. No, his students knew better. Aside from a couple of packs repopulating up north, he'd expressly taught his students that wolves had long disappeared from their Preserve. He couldn't help but insert that tidbit in whenever he covered the unit on symbolism in his class, where he usually pointed out the role of wolves in literature. Obviously, any former troublemaker could see that all the rumors were a scare tactic, and probably a distraction of sorts. Those kids were covering up some spring break shenanigans. Stiles would bet money on that. He would've done the same - in fact, he had - only he'd been smarter about it and had created a more plausible story.
"Nope, not wolves, Stiles, because that would be stupid," he reassured himself as he started moving again. He kept his pace at a slow walk as he took a drink of water, eyes darting every which way to convince his overactive imagination that it wasn't seeing canine shadows around every corner.
It didn't help. When he was done drinking, he started up again, this time going at a leisurely jog. But that feeling still remained. He couldn't shake it. There was something about these woods ...
Countless stories flittered through his head - fairytales and fables and folktales - of things that happened in the woods, of what this collection of trees really represented. It was stuff he'd taught a hundred times, but he'd make it clear to his students that all those stories were parables and metaphors, allegories designed to teach children lessons. They weren't real life.
When the trailhead to the parking lot finally came into view, Stiles had never breathed a bigger sigh of relief. He sped through the last stretch, and began to relax as he caught a glimpse of familiar blue paint. Only he stopped short when he realized there was a lot more activity in the lot than what he was used to. He spoke before his brain could fully process everything.
"Uh, you guys can't hunt here. It's illegal. "
In hindsight, antagonizing the four darkly clad strangers packing their rifles into their SUVs might not have been the best idea, but the sight of intimidating, armed men and women milling about in the Preserve - his Preserve, the one he'd practically grown up in - stirred up a visceral response. One of them - a man with a rather crooked nose and weathered face - turned and glared.
Stiles took an involuntary step back.
"We're just leaving," the stranger answered tersely just as the back hatch on the nearest SUV latched closed.
Stiles swallowed and nodded. He watched silently as they loaded themselves into their two vehicles and rumbled their way out of the gravel lot, nothing but a cloud of dust left in their wake. He didn't move for a full minute as a mix of dismay, anger, and 'WTF?' rolled through him. In all the years he'd been coming here, whether it'd been to explore as a kid or to hike and run as an adult, he'd never seen people like that. And the fact that they had guns just made his blood boil. The sheer ignorance and audacity ... ugh! He hoped he never saw them again.
Once he'd calmed down enough, he made his way to his jeep. It wasn't until he was on the road back to his apartment that he made the connection between his earlier thoughts and the parking lot scene he'd witnessed. His best guess, those so-called hunters had probably heard the rumors about the imaginary wolf the local kids had made up, and thought they'd had a shot at some rare game. If that was the case, then good riddance.
(***)
Stiles was never one to toot his own horn - Who was he kidding? He always jumped at the chance to do just that - but tonight had to have been one of the best dinners he'd ever made. Screw the FBI. Maybe he'd missed his calling as a professional chef! He chuckled quietly to himself at the thought as he finished rinsing the plate in his hand and slid it into the dishwasher.
"What's so funny?"
He shrugged and glanced over at Derek, who'd taken to wiping down up their small table now that it'd been cleared. "Oh, nothing. Just thinking about the perfect chicken I made and how lucky you were to partake."
Derek shook his head, and continued cleaning. "Yes, whatever did I do to deserve it?" he deadpanned.
In response, Stiles raised one of the spoons in his hand and threw it at his peanut gallery of one. "Okay there, Statler. You realize there were no leftovers, right? That chicken was amazing."
And, as expected, Derek caught the utensil without missing a beat. Pfft, cocky werewolves and their annoyingly fast reflexes. The man walked around the kitchen island and tossed the spoon back into the sink. This close, Stiles was keenly aware of the wolf's presence, his warmth. "Was it?" Derek asked, his voice near enough to Stile's ear that a little shiver ran down his spine. "Or was it because I'd defrosted it, brined it, and made the glaze for it before you got home?"
It said much about their relationship when culinary talk like that got him all hot and bothered. Yup, he'd become a regular Betty Draper (from the early seasons, not the later ones, for ... reasons), but with a badge and a gun.
Unfazed, Derek then bent down, gave the side his neck a teasing nip, and zipped back to the other side of the island before Stiles even got a chance to properly flick him with the dish towel. Again with those annoyingly fast wolfy reflexes! It was a bit frustrating sometimes when he couldn't have the last laugh, or say, or action ... or whatever. Fortunately - or unfortunately? - he was used to it, so he let it go and went back to what he was doing.
They cleaned in silence for a few minutes, and after the dishwasher was fully loaded and running, Stiles headed to the fridge to rummage for a couple of drinks. He turned to Derek and was about to ask what the man wanted when he noticed that his boyfriend had already made himself comfortable on their sofa, expressive eyebrows drawn and entirely engrossed with something on his phone.
"What's wrong?" He'd known the wolf long enough to read the non-verbal cues. He quickly grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge and made his way onto the couch as well.
Derek didn't respond right away, his lips tight and angled in a way that only spoke of discomfort. And then, "Could be nothing," Derek finally answered, his tone deceptively light. He nodded his thanks as he took the beer Stiles offered. True, the alcohol had no effect on him, but Stiles knew he enjoyed the taste, strangely enough. "Just thinking about the hunters today. And if they were responsible for the kidnapping case you mentioned. I had Chris start looking into it when he sent the crew to clean up the scene. He just messaged that he thinks he might have a lead in some hunter archives."
Somehow, Stiles doubted that was everything on his partner's mind, but by now, he had made himself all cozy, cuddled up against the portable furnace that was his boyfriend, so he played along. "What? Hunters have an archive? How have I never heard of this? And why haven't I been invited to snoop through it?" He leaned over to take a look at the message in question, and yup, Chris was officially off his Christmas list until further notice.
"I'm sure it was just an oversight."
Despite the casualness of the response, the words sounded a bit stilted to Stiles. Derek was still holding something back. After only a brief second of hesitation, he decided to call it out, and gave the man a nudge. "Something else is bothering you. What is it?"
Small, subtle lines formed around Derek's mouth as he tilted his head up every so slightly. Stiles had seen him do that countless times before when he was just about to track something.
"I don't know. I just ..." The wolf paused as he looked back down at the bottle in his hand. "Something just seems ... off. Has since this afternoon. I can't explain it."
Concerned, Stiles straightened and took in the hard set of his companion's features. If Derek's Spidey senses were tingling, then something was up. "Think it might have to do with the magic we felt in that building? I haven't had a chance to research it yet, but it's not sitting easy with me either."
"Maybe. You don't feel it?"
Stiles wasn't a proficient or gifted magic user by any means, but he was all they had right now. And truth be told, he'd been so worried about filing the right paperwork at the office and getting home in time to make dinner today that he hadn't been paying attention to much else, especially anything that required him to tap into his innate, though meager, Spark abilities. But now that he'd been asked to -
He settled himself down, told himself to just focus on the here and now, ignore the buzzing inherent in his surroundings - which was easier said than done given this was him - and just ... be.
There was nothing. Just him and the million trivial things floating around in his head. "I don't - " Stiles looked at Derek, at those captivating eyes that, frankly, he'd gotten lost in more times than he cared to admit. "Did I forget something? Like, did I forget something at the office? Or maybe forget one of our anniversaries?"
Derek angled his head as if to say, 'See what I mean?'
"Holy fuck, you're right." There wasn't anything wrong per se, just something ... not right. He got what Derek meant when he'd said he couldn't quite describe it. He pushed off the couch, easily falling into a rhythm learned from years of practice. "I'll get my laptop. We need to do some research."
And as a testament to how well they worked as a tandem, Derek followed without a word.
(***)
Lickity Split was an ice cream shop that had opened near central Beacon Hills around the time Stiles had finished college. Back then, the immediate area had been in need of some revitalization, but now, with the trendy new shops that had opened up around it, the neighborhood had become a hub of activity, especially amongst the younger crowd who made it a habit to post selfies from every colorful storefront. Still, as the OG shop on the street, customers still flocked to the place for their ice cream-y needs, which resulted in a perpetual line all hours of the day.
And that was where Stiles found himself at three in the afternoon, waiting for Derek to get off shift as two scoops of French Vanilla Bean melted away in its cup. The tiered cone of Rocky Road and Birthday Cake, on the other hand, was getting quite the licking because, well, he couldn't let good ice cream go to waste! Yes, he'd come early for their ice cream date, but in his defense, the shop was always lined up, and he'd really wanted ice cream.
"Bye, Mr. S!"
The drawback about being here at this time was the students he'd been bumping into. Beacon Hills wasn't big by any stretch, but sometimes, he would've liked the anonymity a big city would've provided, especially when it came to nurturing a new relationship. He had a feeling that by week's end, everyone in town would know about him and the new deputy.
"So, Mr. S, huh?"
Stiles hated to admit it but he felt his whole face brighten at Derek's approach. He'd spent more time than he cared to admit on how to do his hair - just artfully mussed, thank you very much - and what to wear - his new plaid blue hoodie, because he couldn't look like he was trying too hard. So, yes, he'd been reduced to acting like a lovesick puppy, but he couldn't bring himself to be too embarrassed by it. "Yeah, the kids and I are cool like that. They don't saran wrap my desk and I let them call me by a fun yet educationally acceptable nickname."
Derek made a noise of amused understanding. "This mine?" he asked as he scooped the ice cream off the table and eased into the hard plastic seat.
"Yup, though I think it's halfway turned into vanilla cream soup now." Stiles displayed no remorse as he took another triumphant lick of his relatively intact cone.
Derek shrugged and spooned some of the ice cream into his mouth. "Still tastes good, and all the same going down."
Stiles watched the small uptick on his companion's lips and the subtle motion of his throat as he swallowed. Derek must've changed out of his uniform the moment he got off shift because he was in a comfortable-looking maroon tee and a pair of well-fitted jeans now, and Stiles couldn't deny that the whole package was a visual feast. And yet, for some reason, it wasn't that but the easy acceptance and the 'take things as they came' attitude - even for a small gesture like eating melted ice cream - that endeared the man to Stiles even more. God, he had it bad.
Derek noticed him staring - at which Stiles' cheeks may or may not have heated up - and gave him a lopsided smile before finishing up the melted part of his ice cream. "So, how was your day?"
Flashbacks to the awkward encounter at the preserve flittered through Stiles' head. "Uneventful," he found himself saying. Sure, he'd developed a familiarity with Derek so fast that it was almost unnatural, but realistically, they'd only met a couple of days ago, and it was maybe too soon to share his borderline paranoia from that morning. "Went for a run. Enjoyed nature. The usual for a 'gentleman of leisure' such as myself."
"Sounds better than spending the day writing up multiple complaints on Mrs. Bloomfield's promiscuous cat."
Stiles laughed. "Ha! Did Engelbert get out again? I swear, half the kittens within a five-block radius are probably sired by that cat. Mrs. Bloomfield needs to get him fixed."
Derek's posture sagged at the suggestion as if he'd had this futile conversation with the lady in question before. "Preaching to the choir."
Stiles gave his companion a sympathetic look. "Oh, speaking of animals on the loose, did you hear the rumor about how Beacon Hills has its very own wolf?"
A dark eyebrow rose in question as its owner took in another healthy scoop of whatever leftover semi-solid ice cream was still in the cup.
Stiles translated the brow-speak to mean 'tell me more' so he continued on with his theory. "Lydia mentioned it yesterday at brunch. Apparently, some kids are going around claiming they saw a wolf in the preserve, but really, it's spring break and the time for hijinks is upon us, so best guess is that it's probably a play for attention or distraction. I teach these kids. I know them. They're literally crying wolf. I'm surprised you haven't had any of these reports come into the station."
Derek made a non-committal noise as he continued to work on his ice cream. "I think I heard something about it. I wasn't the one doing the intake though. I'd agree. It's probably just a prank."
"See? Thank you. I told Lydia this yesterday. Wolves don't -"
"Who's Lydia?"
Stiles stopped short at the question. Derek didn't seem like the type to interrupt and change a topic like this, but he decided to chalk it up to maybe a spark of jealously. The thought kind of warmed him a little. "Oh, Lydia? She's a friend. She was actually my first crush, and I basically worshipped the ground she walked on for most of my school aged life. In fact, I still worship the ground she walks on because she's brilliant and pretty and driven in that take-no-prisoners kind of way. Most of the time, I get a fear boner when I'm with her, and the rest of the time, I risk shattering my fragile male ego, but she's the one you want on your team when shit hits the fan because she's awesome like that."
"She sounds ... interesting."
Stiles grinned. "She is!" And just like that, he continued his rambling, first about Lydia and then Scott, and then somehow, they ended up on the topic of his high school nemesis, Jackson, which, upon sad reflection, showed how short his list of close friends was given he'd exhausted it by the third name.
Minutes later, when he'd popped the last of his cone in his mouth - and Derek had long finished his cup - he realized that he'd been doing most of the talking. As much as he enjoyed it, he'd learned long ago that too much of him could get on some people's nerves. Derek didn't seem like the talkative type, but that didn't mean he wanted to hear his whole life story. Stiles bit his lower lip, slightly embarrassed. "Sorry, I'm hogging the conversation again. I'm doing all the talking and oversharing."
"No, it's fine. I don't mind listening."
While Derek's expression didn't change much, the sincerity Stiles noticed in his companion's eyes warmed something in his chest. Oooh, this man was so perfect, it was almost unfair! "No, it's impolite, and I was taught better than that," he insisted. "How about you? What was your childhood like? Where are you from originally?"
Stiles noticed a brief flicker of hesitation cross Derek's usually impassive face, but he didn't think much of it. The man was quiet and an inherent introvert. Anyone who'd been in his company for more than ten minutes could see that. And, unlike him, being asked to talk about himself was probably hard to do.
"My family was originally from Beacon Hills, believe it or not," Derek said after a brief pause.
"No way! Really?" Stiles was Beacon Hills, born and raised. He thought he knew everything about the town. Apparently not.
Derek nodded solemnly. "We moved away a while back. I split my childhood between New York and DC, but I'd always wanted to come back. Family's roots are here."
Stiles made a sound of understanding. "I get that. The town isn't fancy or glamorous like the big cities but it has its charms. What made your family pick up and leave?"
"We had ... " Derek didn't finish. Instead, he straightened in his seat and turned those piercing eyes right on Stiles. "We should probably go," he stated with utmost authority.
The first thought that ran through Stiles' head was that he'd somehow offended the other man ... which would really suck, but it wouldn't be the first time either that he'd annoyed someone without realizing it. "I'm sorry. Did I - ?"
"No, no, it's not you." Derek stood. "I was thinking we've probably occupied this table long enough. Maybe we can head back to my place? I can make us dinner."
Stiles rose as well, slightly disoriented by the sudden change in conversation. "Uh... yeah, yeah, that'd be great." Jekyll and Hyde moment aside, Stiles wasn't ready for this date to end. He liked Derek too much for that, and if there was a way to prolong their time together, he'd take it. Besides, now that they'd had ice cream together, he was almost ninety-five percent sure that Derek wasn't a serial killer (because what serial killer enjoyed French Vanilla Bean ice cream that much?). That was a clear ten points increase in confidence compared to this morning. "Lead the way."
Derek did just that. Stiles scrambled to keep up as they left the shop, and after a brief exchange where Derek shared his address, they each tracked down their cars and Stiles did his best to follow Derek to his place. Normally, he would be bouncing around with excitement at such an invitation, his overactive imagination jumping to all the possible outcomes of spending the evening at a hot guy's place. But right now, he was just confused. Things had been going so well. What had changed? Why did Derek seem to be in a rush all of a sudden? Regardless, he did take comfort in that the man still wanted him around. Otherwise, he wouldn't be here, trying to make out the street sign to his left and determine whether this was Birch Street or not.
Derek's place was on a quiet road just off Birch. In fact, it wasn't too far away from the house where Stiles had grown up, and where his dad still lived. The small, yellow bungalow with the neatly trimmed lawn was cute and unassuming, which seemed like such a marked contrast to its current resident. He had a good private chuckle at picturing Derek on his knees, weeding the line of multi-colored perennials that bordered the walkway.
Not surprisingly, Derek was already there by the time Stiles pulled up. He slipped out of his jeep, and quickly made his way toward the entrance. Steps away, he heard the other man swear angrily.
"What? What's wrong?"
Derek growled - like, literally growled! He stepped back, almost bumping into Stiles, and stared daggers at the front door. "I broke my key," he grumbled.
Huh? "You broke your key? How?"
"I don't know. It just sort of - snapped off." Derek gestured accusingly at the door.
Stiles peered over his companion's shoulder. "It snapped off...? Like, inside the keyhole?" He stared at the lock in question, then at Derek's dark expression, then at the lock again. "Shit, how do you...? How strong are you? You know how hard it is to snap a key like that?"
Derek didn't respond. Instead, he continued to glare at the door as if he could force the thing open with sheer willpower alone.
"You know, you can't just stand there, and huff and puff and blow that door down, right?"
Again, all Stiles got in response was a low growl. He was beginning to learn that words weren't exactly Derek's strong suit when emotions were high. But something inside him just wanted to help any way he could. He didn't like seeing Derek agitated like this. "Okay, can't pick the lock. Or break the door down," he reasoned, though he did notice Derek perk up at the latter suggestion. Strange. He looked around. "Can we get in through a window?"
Derek turned and met Stiles' gaze directly for the first time since they'd left the ice cream shop. Stiles couldn't exactly describe what he saw on his companion's face, or identify what Derek was feeling, only that he knew Derek was calming down from whatever had gotten him riled up. It was the oddest sensation, standing this close together and instinctively knowing the effect he had on someone. There was no physical evidence, no verbal confirmation, but Derek was coming across as more centered, more settled.
The moment lasted for several seconds before Derek broke the connection. He spared a brief glance at something behind Stiles before he walked away. Stiles guessed it was likely to check on if any neighbors were spying on them, which might be a good thing. The last thing he needed was for his dad to get called out to find his son breaking and entering.
"So that's a yes then, I'm assuming?" Stiles asked as he trailed after his companion.
Derek didn't answer. He didn't need to because as Stiles rounded the side of the house, Derek was already popping off the screen and sliding open a window about five feet off the ground.
"You leave the window open when you're at work? How is that safe?"
"It's for air flow. And who would break into a deputy's house?" Derek grunted in response as he heaved himself off the ground.
And holy, how did he make that whole motion look so smooth and effortless? The guy's upper body strength must be insane!
"Fair point," Stiles muttered and watched with envy as Derek slid easily into the house. He moved to follow suit, hands getting a decent purchase on the sill and muscles straining to pull himself up. Except... well, he wasn't as coordinated as Derek apparently, and there was a lot more dexterity and power needed to climb into a window than it appeared. He got stuck, ass hanging out while his arms flailed on the inside.
"A little help," he groaned.
Derek, in all his despicable unruffled glory, looked down at him with a mix of disbelief and confusion. "Stiles, why - ? What - ? I was just going to open the front door for you."
Well, that would've been handy to know a minute ago! "You need to use your words more, Mr. Strong and Silent! Not a mind reader." His voice was strained, due in part to the windowsill digging into his gut, so the force behind his argument was a bit lackluster.
Derek huffed at the comment, and although his body language spoke of exasperation, Stiles knew he was secretly amused. He didn't know how he knew. He just did.
They worked together to get the rest of him into the house, with Derek holding onto his arms and Stiles leveraging Derek's sturdiness to pull himself up. Only, he didn't anticipate Derek tugging as well, or how strong the other man was, or his own uncoordinated movements. Because between the two of them, Stiles somehow managed to tumbled into the house, onto the floor, and on top of his helper. Derek took the brunt of the fall, though he definitely didn't show it.
"Sorry," Stiles breathed out. This close, Derek looked different. He seemed real, accessible, vulnerable. And suddenly, Stiles was acutely aware of their positions, of the warmth seeping in through his clothes, of the solidness of the body underneath him. "And hi," he managed as his brain locked on to the fascinating golden flecks of colour he just noticed in the other man's eyes.
He felt Derek's chest rise and fall. Up. Down. Up. Down.
And then ...
Stiles wasn't sure who moved first. Derek may have angled his head up. He may have dropped his own head down. Or they may have met halfway. However or whoever, it didn't matter because the kiss was incredible. It wasn't fireworks incredible - because that was overly clichéd and for fluffy make-believe stuff like romcoms and romance novels - but it was hot, and heavy, and hungry, and ... and very alliterative, apparently. God, the neurons in his brain were misfiring again if that was his current train of thought. He pulled himself back to the now, to Derek's lips, the way they moved, and how they tasted. That was all this was about. It was muddling his mind and body in the best sort of way.
They separated eventually. They stared at each other, breathing heavily and eyes wide as if silently asking, 'What was that? And was that as good for you?'
"So, uh, dinner... something about making dinner..." Stiles finally said, his voice sounding a bit raw and an octave higher than usual.
Derek took a moment to process the words. But when he did, he nodded and started to rise. "Right. Dinner."
Stiles rolled off onto the ground in a heap - a cute, endearing heap, mind you! - and tilted his head to watch as the man he'd really like to have his wicked way with headed toward the kitchen. A goofy smile made its way onto his face because the view of Derek's ass from this angle did inspire some interesting thoughts. "Yes, you go get started. I'm right behind you," he pointed out. Then, he promptly laid there until he could get his own body back into working order.
(***)
Ugh, why was it so bright? Stupid morning sun and its even stupider happy, cheery rays. He groaned and turned over, snuggling deeper into his blankets. He needed five more minutes, but he swore he'd just closed his eyes when the alarm on his phone started beeping.
Fuck! He patted randomly at the nightstand until the annoying thing turned off.
"Der ..." Wait, what was he going to say?
He rolled onto his back, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes with his palms. Why did he feel so groggy and disoriented this morning? What did he do last night?
Nothing crazy, his inner voice rationalized.
He'd just been resear ... No, he'd been reading. Yes, he'd been nose-deep in a really good book last night.
And he'd been with Der ... No, he'd been alone. Yes, he had been by himself, in his room, in his cozy apartment in Beacon Hills, because he was exciting like that.
He blinked and breathed out heavily. He was a little out of it this morning, for sure. But ... But that was probably because he wasn't getting ready for work. That would explain why he felt like he had to do something, be somewhere.
It's the first day of spring break, he reminded himself. No students, no marking, no lesson plans for at least a week!
At the thought of temporary freedom, he sat up with a sigh, and blinked blearily at the familiar contents of his bedroom. Yup, this was his bedspread, and that was his dresser, his closet ... and it was time to get up and face the day, the open and completely free day!
He scooted himself off the bed, mood now lighter and more thoughtful. He tapped his phone and noted the time. 6:01 A.M. It was uncivilized early, but it was the ideal time for ... a run. He should go for a run!
After all, he'd bought new trail shoes and a running vest just last week. Today seemed like a good day to take them on their maiden voyage. Yes, a trail run through the preserve sounded perfect ...
(***)
Stiles awoke with a start. He gasped, heading popping up so fast that he felt a slight twinge in his neck. He blinked several times before his unfamiliar surroundings registered. The space was dark, but the ambient light from the streetlamps outside was enough for him to make out the nearby TV, coffee table, and armchair. Awareness dawned. He was at Derek's. They'd had ice cream together, and for reasons unknown, Derek had invited him back to his place for dinner. After a valiant battle with the window (and contrary to popular opinion, it was a valiant battle), Derek had made dinner, and they'd had probably the best tasting carbonara Stiles had ever eaten. There may have been something big that happened in there somewhere too ... what was it? Oh, yeah, that mother of a kiss!
Stiles sat up, absently noting the cushions shift on the couch beneath him. He was awake now. Which meant he'd probably fallen asleep in Derek's living room. They'd had dinner and then curled up together for a movie as if the kiss hadn't happened, as if they'd broken into houses and kissed a million times before, and it was a non-issue. Which was fucking weird, but also, kind of reassuring. And somewhere in the middle of the latest Christopher Nolan film, he must've dozed off.
He stretched over to the end table where he'd tossed his phone and checked the time - 2:57am. Probably one of the worse times to wake up: it was too late to do anything, and too early to get up. He hated when that happened.
A shuffling sound coming from the kitchen caught his attention, and it was only then he realized that Derek wasn't with him. The man had been right beside him when they'd been watching the movie. Of that, Stiles was certain because he'd smoothly - or insofar as Stiles Stilinski could be smooth - cuddled up against him as the night had gone on. He hadn't been rebuffed so he'd take that as a win!
He grabbed his phone, straightened his twisted blue hoodie, and rose to investigate. A muted swish against his jeans caused him to look down and he noticed belatedly that a well-loved quilt had been on him this whole time. He bent down, picked it up, folded it, and carefully placed it back on the couch. He smiled, and imagined big, gruff Derek bringing out the blanket with it's sunny-colored patches just so his guest wouldn't get cold. That consideration and thoughtfulness did so many funny things to his insides that he was scared to admit what it really all meant.
With slow, quiet steps, he made his way to the kitchen. Unlike his apartment, which had a more open concept floorplan, Derek's bungalow boasted a mid-century modern layout, and so the kitchen was distinctly separate from the living room. It allowed him to stealthily peek around the dividing wall and observe his host unnoticed.
Several seconds ticked by before his eyes could make out anything. The lights were off, and although the moon was clearly visible through the window, it was only a sliver of itself, which left the whole area in shadow. It wasn't until he heard a clink of a dish against the granite countertop that he could make out Derek's outline. No wonder he had a hard time seeing him. The man was dressed all in black. But barefoot and hair mussed, with loose PJ bottoms and a cozy-looking Henley, Stiles didn't think he'd ever seen a sexier sight. He bit his lower lip to suppress a contented sigh, and just stared.
"Sorry, did I wake you?"
At first, the softly spoken words didn't register. He'd thought he'd imagined them, especially since Derek had his back turned to him and hadn't paused in whatever he was doing. But when the man glanced over his shoulder directly at him, he realized it wasn't just his imagination. How had Derek even known he was there? He'd been so quiet.
He stepped away from the wall and into the kitchen. "Uh, no," he answered in a similarly hushed tone. What was it about the night that make people talk in such a low voice? "No, I was up. I must've had a bad dream or something."
"Want to talk about it?"
Stiles shrugged and brushed off the question. "Nah, I don't even remember it." He sidled on up to the man, inexplicably just wanting to be closer. "Whatcha doin'?"
At this, Derek did finally stop what he was doing, and turned toward him with a bit of a sheepish look. He gestured toward the French press and mug he'd just been fiddling with. "I ... I have an early shift tomorrow, but I didn't want to just leave you in a lurch so I was going to get some easy breakfast foods set up for you so you could help yourself."
And if Stiles hadn't already been in love with this man, he fell hard at that very moment.
There was something magical about this time of night. The world was sleeping, innocent, silent save for the occasional insect chirp, and the air was still with unspoken promises of the day yet to dawn. It was enough to make Stiles almost believe in fairytales, in the good always triumphing over the bad, in valiant knights vanquishing monstrous dragons, and in true love kisses breaking evil spells.
Unlike yesterday, he knew exactly who kissed whom. He leaned forward, slowly, leaving enough time for Derek to turn away if he wanted. But he didn't. Before, they'd been impulsive, stunned, and blindsided by endorphins. This time ... this time was the complete opposite - slow and sweet and ... and perfect.
When it ended, Stiles felt like he was looking at everything around him through a dream-tinted filter. He was pretty sure his expression reflected it too, all starry eyes and drunken smile. Their bodies were still pressed together, and he was reluctant to let go. Similarly, Derek hadn't really moved either, as if, without words, their bodies understood each other and decided that this was how they wanted to be. Stiles leaned in. During their kiss, his arms had moved up to encircle Derek's neck, and he felt the other man's arms on his lower back. And somehow, inexplicably, this felt ... right.
He loved the intimacy of the moment. On first glance, it almost looked like they were ...
"What? What is it?" Derek asked, his voice a low grumble. "I can almost see your brain working."
Stiles laughed under his breath, suddenly inspired. "Oh, nothing. Really. Here, one sec." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone, though he almost knocked the French press over as he did so. Stupid darkness. Improvising, he promptly opened the fridge until they stood together in the flooded section of light, and pulled up whatever song was next queued on his playlist. As he returned his arms to rest on Derek's shoulders, the first notes of an old Taylor Swift song (yes, he was a lowkey Swiftie, but then again, who wasn't?) started playing.
Derek arched a questioning brow.
"What? The moon's kinda disappointing tonight, so we're sharing a dance by romantic fridge light. We've already assumed the positions," he pointed out, all matter-of-fact. His own eyebrow rose too, as if to ask, 'Got a problem with that? Deal with it.'
Derek said nothing in response. The lowering of his head, small smile, and slight tightening of his hold was answer enough.
For a few minutes, there was nothing but the strains of tinny music, the wedge of refrigerator light, and them. And that was more than enough for Stiles.
Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you
And I will hold on to you...
He wasn't sure what popped their little bubble of contentment: the song coming to an end, the air becoming uncomfortably cool from the open door, or maybe Derek tensing ever so slightly beneath Stiles' touch. Whatever it was, something shifted, and Stiles looked up.
"What's wrong?"
The shadows only made Derek's face harder to read. At first, he didn't react to the question, but Stiles figured if he stayed silent and stared long enough, the other man would cave. He did.
"You ever get that feeling of being watched," he finally said, voice low and uncharacteristically hesitant.
Stiles froze. How...?
"Know what? Never mind," Derek continued.
Stiles felt the other man moving away, but he held tight. He still didn't know how to react, or what to say. Because he knew exactly when Derek meant. The cold ball of apprehension settling in his stomach prevented him from saying anything. He blinked. His attention fell onto where his arms rested on Derek's shoulders. He slid one back until his hand became the point of contact. He stared at it blankly, lips pursed and brows furrowed. He registered the heat, the strength, and the solidness he felt under his fingers but ...
"Why, Mr. Hale, are you sweet-talking me with the promise of an investigation into a group of bigoted, homicidal hunters and a mysteriously dangerous magical entity?"
But there was something he was missing, something that just flittered on the edges of his memories.
"Okay?"
"Yeah, let's go?"
The sense of déjà vu was so strong that he experienced a large dose of vertigo. He wobbled, and held onto Derek for balance.
"Whoa, you okay? Look, I didn't mean to come off as some paranoid lunatic."
Stiles shook his head. "No, that's not it. You're not crazy because ... because I've felt it too."
He looked up and locked his gaze with the stunned pair of hazel eyes before him. Well, joke was on him. Stiles was just as stunned. And confused. But mainly stunned.
"How?"
"I don't know, but ..." He scrutinized his hand again, leaving it on Derek's shoulder as he stepped back a little and walked around the other man until he stood behind him. The fingers on his other hand, now free, twitched slightly, as if they should be holding something. "We've ... we've done this before."
"That doesn't make sense. We only met a few days ago."
Stiles was just as confused, but he couldn't deny that something was off. That sense of deja vu, of familiarity, of being watched - it was all too much of a coincidence. "I get that, but ... this might sound weird and probably cliché, but when we met, I felt like I knew you, like we've known each other a really long time."
Derek stiffened briefly at the words before he turned so they could face each other. "I - I did too. You smel- You seemed familiar. Kind of like ... home."
If his brain hadn't been screaming 'Danger, Will Robinson, Danger' at that moment, Stiles was pretty sure he would've melted into a puddle of sentimental goo. Derek was like an idiot savant in the romance department. Did he even know the effect his words had? "Wait." Stiles narrowed his eyes. It was right there. He could almost grasp it if his mind could just make that one last leap. "Did you say you smelled me?"
"Hey, not my fault my inferior human eyes can't see in the dark."
"What? No, I didn't - "
"You're a werewolf!" He was. Stiles was certain of it. He didn't know how he knew, but he did.
Derek just continued to stare at him, the muscles of his jaw tightening and relaxing in the shadowed light. He didn't deny the statement, so Stiles took that to mean he was right. To any normal, sane person, the revelation would've had them freaking out, screaming and running for the hills with maybe a belated call to some sort of authority. But to Stiles, he had no inclination to do anything - which either meant he was in shock, or had gone insane. He'd prefer the former, but couldn't really rule out the latter.
"So, are you the wolf the kids are crying about?" he found himself asking.
Derek's gaze was steady as he inclined his head just an inch. "You know that feeling? The one where it feels like you're being watched? The first time, I didn't know what it was and ended up shifting, trying to escape it. It was reflex, and I was careless and got spotted. But the second and third time, when I tried to run away, I was shot at." Derek paused, his throat visibly working as he swallowed. "Hunters."
Stiles' mouth parted ever so slightly. "I saw them! Guys with big guns."
"I don't know what's going on, Stiles. Sometimes, everything seems so normal, like I'm living the charmed life and then getting to meet the perfect guy, and sometimes, I feel like ..."
Derek trailed off, but Stiles knew what he was getting at. "Like it's not right. Like you're some character living in an idyllic, too-perfect world," he finished.
The hard set of the other man's features told Stiles he'd voiced exactly what Derek had been thinking. And already, his mind was working to reconcile all this information, trying to connect the dots and make some sense of it. "You know what?" he started, deciding to think aloud. "I don't think we belong here. Nothing makes sense because everything makes too much sense. I think we -"
He stopped.
Red dot. Derek's temple. Laser sight.
Instincts took over and he yanked his companion down to the ground as a shot rang out. Something shattered above them on the counter. Stiles didn't look. Didn't care. He felt Derek's strong arms around him, sheltering him as they rolled toward the cabinets out of the window's sightline. They ended up with Derek on top of him, much like their positions when he had fallen in through the window, though reversed. This time, however, Stiles was captivated by the man pressed against him for a whole other reason: Derek's face had changed. There was too much going on for Stiles to list all the details in the split second he had, but he saw the fangs, heard the almost sub-vocal growl, and when another shot rang out, shattering some glass above them, he noticed the vivid flash of blue in the other man's eyes. On a rational level, he realized he should've been a bit more panicked with a fucking werewolf on top of him, but on an instinctual level, he didn't feel like there was any safer place to be when being shot at.
"I'm going out there," Derek rasped as he glanced over his shoulder at the window.
"What? No. We don't know who's shooting at us, or how many, or what kind of weapons they have." Werewolf or not, Derek wasn't immortal, and Stiles did not want to see him hurt.
Derek stilled for a millisecond, his distorted features tight and focused. "There's four of them. Sounds like automatic assault weapons with ... wolfbane."
Wolfsbane? That could kill Derek. Stiles didn't know where that piece of knowledge came from, but it was a fact.
Another two shots rang out in succession.
Fuck!
"Why are they shooting at us?" He was thinking out loud, voicing the questions that might help him puzzle the pieces together. "Wait, you'd said these ... these hunters started shooting at you the last two times you tried to run away."
Derek nodded just as a bullet pierced the floor tile a foot from them. Stiles turned away as Derek angled himself to take a majority of the ceramic shrapnel.
"And I saw them when I felt something was seriously off. And right now, we were ..." He was almost there. He could almost see the pattern...
"Oh, hey, can you defrost the chicken when you get home?"
Stiles eyes widened, as the last piece fell into place. "This isn't real," he whispered. He reached up and placed a hand on each side of Derek's face. God, his eyes were so damn pretty, it just wasn't fair. "This isn't real," he repeated with more conviction.
"What?"
"I don't think this isn't real, Derek," he said again. "Every time we get close to that conclusion, we're threatened away from it. Our lives, our backstory here... it's all make-believe. This isn't us. Not really."
It was his best hypothesis and one he hoped was right.
"Then how do we get back to the real us?" And Derek, bless his heart, just showed how much inherent faith he had in him by that question alone because Stiles didn't think he could've just blindly believed someone who'd proposed an off-the-wall theory like that. Stiles couldn't deny how heartwarming that revelation was.
"I don't know."
The tile beside them exploded as another shot was fired. Derek shielded him from a majority of the flying shards but Stiles felt a sting on the side of his face as a few slipped through. He ignored it, and focused on the man above him.
He wasn't alone. He had Derek, and if their connection was an indication, they were close, intimate on a level that went beyond physical. They were in this together. "I don't know," he repeated as he pulled Derek close. The man complied easily, falling against him with a reassuring weight. He touched their foreheads together. This close, with their breaths mingling, Stiles could almost hear both their hearts beating. Together. In-sync. "But this is real. You. Me. We're real," he stated more loudly. To whom, he didn't know, but he hoped someone was listening. "Everything else, it isn't real, and we'd really like to leave now. Please!"
Derek grunted in agreement, and Stiles smiled wearily at him. While he couldn't recall anything about them beyond the last few days, he knew intuitively, down to the very core of his being, that they'd been through a lot together - despairing lows, blissful highs, trials and tribulations that had shaped them into who and what they were - and he wouldn't wanted to tackle anything without this man by his side.
He wasn't sure what caused it - perhaps they had been shot and were dying, perhaps it was their realization that the only real thing in this world was each other, or perhaps it was him simply saying 'please' - but something changed just then. It started with the darkening at the edges of his vision, like he'd run out of air and was starting to lose consciousness, and it ended with a bout of vertigo that would've easily knocked him over had he not already been on the ground.
He blinked several times to try and get his eyes seeing properly. It didn't work. Everything was just so dark. And quiet. The kitchen, the shooting ... it was all gone. Derek wasn't on him anymore, though he did feel a smaller weight on his stomach. A quick touch told him it was an arm, and a muted groan beside him told him exactly who it belonged to.
"Derek?" His voice sounded raspy and unused.
"Yeah, I'm here." Derek's voice didn't sound any better. "You okay?"
Stiles took a quick mental inventory, and when not alarm bells rang, he answered, "Yeah, still in one piece."
The arm on his stomach disappeared and he heard Derek starting to move. But that was when he also picked up on someone else sniffling as well. It was quiet, distant, and timid. Derek noticed it too because he'd stopped moving.
"Hello?" Stiles said into the darkness as he pushed himself up into a sitting position.
No response.
But Derek was moving again, slowly. "We're in the storage facility," he said after a bit of shuffling.
And then, it all came back in a rush: the Bureau, the lunch break investigation, the kidnapping case ... and meeting up with Derek. "Woah," he muttered to himself, hands reaching up to lessen the light-headedness that overtook him. It was so overwhelming that he was surprised his head was still attached to his body.
The sound - that sniffle - came again.
Stiles looked up and turned in its direction.
"Stiles, there's a little girl in the corner of the room," he heard Derek say. "I think she's the one you're looking for."
He took another millisecond to gather his wits before he stood and reached out to his boyfriend. "I'm going to need some help. Still too dark for me."
Derek took his hand without hesitation. The wolf's arm was warm and solid, and Stiles very consciously gave it a squeeze to ground himself. Derek must've had the same sentiment because he slid Stile's hand down and intertwined their fingers for a reciprocating squeeze before leading him toward where the sniffling sound had come. They'd taken about ten steps before they stopped, and Derek crouched down. Stiles mimicked his action, assuming they were where they needed to be.
"Hi, sweetheart. My name is Derek, and this is Stiles," Derek said, his voice soft and patient. Stiles schooled his features to look as friendly as possible. "Are you okay?"
There was a slight swish of sound, which Stiles took to be a nod based on Derek's next question. "Good. You can see us, can't you? Even in the dark?"
Again, a quiet swish.
Derek chuckled encouragingly. "You're a wolf, like me, aren't you?"
The attempt at connection worked because the child answered with an almost imperceptible "Mmm-hmm" this time.
Stiles' heartrate picked up, hopeful. "What's your name?" he asked with an encouraging smile.
At first, there was no response. But then, to Stiles' relief, a small voice finally responded, "Amanda..."
(***)
"So, was that Chris on the phone?" Stiles asked as he handed over one of the mugs of tea in his hand to Derek before he settled down on the couch. He let out a tired sigh. It'd been a long day - like super-long, given that it was now past three in the morning - and he had no shame cuddling up against his boyfriend like a limp noodle as the man in question placed his cell down on the end table.
"Yeah." Derek shifted into a more comfortable position, which allowed Stiles to slot right into all the perfect crevices. He'd always loved how well their bodies fit together.
"The rogue hunters?"
"He took care of them."
Stiles made a sound of approval as he took a sip of his tea. Chamomile and lavender flooded his senses as he took a moment to just relax and slowly process everything that had happened. While he and Derek had been looking for Amanda, Chris had already been on the trail of the rogue hunters who'd kidnapped her as well as her parents. Based on what Chris had told them, the rogue hunters had separated the parents from their daughter, tagged them for extermination, while Amanda had been transported somewhere else for study before she would've eventually met the same fate. It just happened to be random chance that Chris had found the group holding Amanda's parents when Stiles and Derek had been tracking Amanda. Though, she hadn't needed their help much given how she'd taken care of her kidnappers already when they'd arrived at the storage facility.
"She's a hybrid, isn't she?" Stiles asked contemplatively. "Part wolf, part magic user? That's the only reason I can think of that would give her the power to cast such a strong illusion spell. Even untrained, she instinctively took out a whole squad of rogue hunters, and the two of us. She'll be pretty awesome when she learns how to use her gifts."
Derek's lips ghosted over his hair, and Stiles knew he was being scented as a way of reassuring the wolf he was real. "Yeah, that's why those hunters were after her. They thought she was an abomination."
"Motherfuckers."
Derek snorted in amusement at his little outburst. "Well, she's with her parents now. So happy ending all around."
"Hmm." That did explain some things. And indeed, it was nice to have things turn out. Chris had already been on his way to D.C. with the parents when they'd found Amanda. Other than a massive shitload of paperwork he had had to fill out - not to mention making up some plausible explanation about working a hunch - Stiles had gotten to reunite child and parents after he'd brought Amanda back to the office. He wasn't stupid. He knew he wouldn't win them all, so he would take and definitely enjoy these wins as they came
"I can't believe we were only out for a few hours," he said in the way of conversation as he sipped away at his tea. "It felt like days."
Derek's arms tightened around him. "But you somehow figured it out."
"You bet your tight wolfy ass I did. I'm awesome like that, you know."
Derek scoffed at his remark, though he did tilt his head down and place a quick kiss on Stiles' temple.
Stiles preened. He angled his head to look back at his boyfriend, wide grin still in place. "You know what I just realized?"
"What?"
"Our love literally transcends worlds." Stiles laughed at his own corniness while Derek rolled his eyes. "It's true!" he continued when he settled down a bit. Then, more seriously, "Without you, and without us being together, I don't think I would've remembered, or figured it out."
Something in Stiles' words must've resonated with Derek because the wolf was looking steadily at him with hooded eyes. Stiles knew that look. He understood that look.
He placed his mug on the coffee table without looking away. "You're going to kiss me now, aren't you?"
"Mmm-hmm."
Stiles turned so he could wrap his arms around his boyfriend, smirk forming on his lips as he wiggled his eyebrows. "And then we're going to have some sexy-sexy times, aren't we?"
"Stiles, no self-respecting man calls it that."
"No self-respecting man but me," he amended as he pushed up so his knees could properly staddle his partner.
"God, you're an idiot."
Stiles stared fondly at the wolf. "But I'm your idiot."
To that, Derek didn't respond. Instead, he simply pulled Stiles down until their lips met, and what had already been a long day easily became a much longer night.
(***)
"We can forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light."
- Plato or Seneca the Younger, paraphrasing Titus Lucretius Carus (Depending on what sources you read)