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~ ~ ~
Mieczyslaw Stilinski– Stiles, as he preferred to be called, because no one beyond his father and late mother could pronounce Mieczyslaw correctly–was a man of observance. Call it a gift, a sixth-sense, or just downright nosy, but Stiles loved observing people. He blamed his father for it. Noah Stilinski was the local police commissioner, so it was only natural for Stiles to follow in his footsteps to some degree. He admired his pops, what could he say?
And besides, putting his nose in people’s business was just plain fun to Stiles.
The speakeasy had been an idea he had been milling around for a while, but his best friend Scott had been the one to ultimately make him seal the deal.
Noah had been less than thrilled when Stiles had mentioned opening up the speakeasy, considering the current state of things At first, he had almost forbidden him from it, but when he realized how much it had meant to both Stiles and Scott, he had simply told him not to give him too many details so he couldn't be held liable, but that the boys had his quiet support.
So Stiles and Scott had worked on opening the speakeasy as carefully and quietly as they could. Stiles wasn’t incredibly well off, but thanks to Scott, and his fiancé, Allison Argent they were able to work together to get the space in perfect order.
Lydia, the terrifying bombshell of a woman who once held all of Stiless’ affections, had also donated a substantial amount of her inheritance to help fund it and keep it working. Stiles was eternally grateful.
Was it dangerous to create a space to harbor people who not only drank, but also did business deals that were often less than kosher? Absolutely. Did being able to keep an eye on things in the underground help Stiles immensely with his detective work? More than he could have ever imagined.
And well, with the recent disappearances in the area, it was the best way for him to possibly gather insight on what was happening.
~ ~ ~
“Anything new, Pops?” Stiles asks, hanging his hat up on the hook by the door as he enters the office.
Noah shakes his head, taking a long sip from his mug of coffee as he watches Stiles pace around his office like an anxious animal. “No, kiddo, we still haven’t gotten any leads.” He replies, looking just about as frustrated as Stiles’ feels.
Stiles sighs heavily, rubbing his temples as he stops in front of the decorated cork board up on his father’s wall. He reaches out, brushing his fingers over the thin, red yarn he had so painstakingly strewn across the board last time he had visited his father. It had taken hours to map everything out, and it still had led to nothing.
“It’s really getting out of hand.” Stiles gestures to the evidence board wildly, a frown on his lips as he takes note of all the names of people who had started going missing over the last year. The list had started to grow startlingly long, and quickly too. “There has to be some kind of connection between all of them. There's just something we're missing, is all…”
“You could try to talk to the Hales.” Noah suggests after a moment of thinking it over. “They might have seen or heard something, since they live relatively close to where a lot of the disappearances have happened.” He shuffles some paperwork aside, piling it on the edge of his desk to clear it a little bit.
Stiles scrunches up his nose a little, hoping the flush that crawls up his neck doesn’t quite reach his cheeks. “They kind of keep to themselves, Pa,” he counters, slumping down in the leather seat across from his father in defeat. Not to mention, they were all ridiculously beautiful and intimidating. And detective or not, Stiles couldn’t help but be a little shy around then
Noah gives a small shrug. “I’m just sayin’, even for a family that has dealt in some shady business over the years, they’re good people, son.” He sets down his mug and rubs the bridge of his nose, trying to ease the ache of an oncoming headache. When his hand comes down to wrap around his mug again, Stiles can see there is a soft sadness straining his face. “Joseph Hale was an especially good man–terrible what happened to him. He of all people didn’t deserve that.”
Stiles gives his father a sympathetic look. Noah had had a particularly difficult time when he had been called in to investigate the mysterious fire that burned the original Hale estate. Joseph Hale himself had supposedly succumbed to smoke inhalation after getting his youngest child, Cora, out of the burning building. Noah and him hadn’t been necessarily best friends, but they had shared a drink or two over the years, and Joseph had even given Noah some information on a couple cases he had been struggling to close.
It had been a partnership that Stiles knew had taken a toll on his father.
“I’ll ask tonight, if they’re there,” Stiles offers, fiddling with a loose button on his vest. “I know Derek’s been in a bit recently with his group.”
“Anything could help, son. I know you’ll do your best.”
If there’s one thing Stiles was determined to do, it was not to disappoint his father.
~ ~ ~
The speakeasy was dimly lit, with soft lights that left the sense of warmth and hominess. It had been Stiles' intention to make the bar seem inviting as a place could, especially in a time when so many spaces weren’t. He turned a blind eye to a lot of things; as long as everyone stayed neutral, and no fighting occurred, he allowed people to mingle and enjoy themselves as they pleased. There had been a minimal amount of times that he or Scott had to drag someone out of the speakeasy because they were getting unruly. Most people knew well enough that if too much commotion happened, there was a possibility the bar would get shut down for good. And that wasn’t what anyone wanted.
“You’re staring at him again , sweetie. You might want to consider wiping your mouth too, before someone sees.” Lydia clicks her fingers at Stiles gently, trying to regain his attention back to her. “It’s a little embarrassing.” Her tone is soft, teasing, with no heat behind it.
Lydia Martin. The apple of Stiles’ eye for the longest time in his child-hood. She was popular, rich, and so far out of Stiles’ league he had been baffled that they had managed to date at the tail-end of high school. Things hadn’t worked out, but they had ended up staying best friends.
And also the bane of Stiles’ existence, especially in moments like these.
Stiles blinks back to himself, setting down the cup that he’s been absentmindedly cleaning for the past five minutes. He looks across the bar at Lydia, frowning at the mischievous amusement plastered over her face.
“I was not ,” He denies with a hiss, but even then, his eyes flicker back to the gruff looking man settled in the corner and his hand absently reaches up to brush his bottom lip, making sure he wasn’t actually drooling and making a complete idiot out of himself. That’s the last thing he needed.
Derek. The only son of Joseph Hale. A reserved man who frequented the Den often, sometimes alone, sometimes with a few other people of his gang in tow. However, he didn’t seem to stay alone for long while he was there. Stiles had watched quite a few times people carefully approach the man and sit with him, carrying on hushed conversations that Stiles wished he could hear to tame his own curiosity. The Hales were a rather well-known mobster family, though for running in the underground, Stiles had heard surprisingly little dirt floating around about them. Maybe that’s why he enjoyed keeping such a close eye on them. They intrigued him. And his father had always had good feelings about them, despite the connections they had.
And it certainly helped–and was also absolutely obnoxious –that Derek was his type.
Lydia smirks at him knowingly and takes a delicate sip of her drink. “You can deny it all you like, but I am not blind, Stiles, and neither is he.” She points out with a perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised in amusement. She leans in closer, whispering so only Stiles can hear her. “Perhaps you should finally make a move, and stop ogling him like a swooning school girl.”
Stiles rolls his eyes but worries his lip between his teeth. He chances another glance over at Derek and immediately adverts his gaze when he sees that the man is looking back at him with that stupidly handsome furrowed brow of his. He swallows, wondering if there was any way he could disappear in the shelves of liquor behind him and never come out again.
“Shit. Lyds, I don't even know if he’s into that . And it ain’t like I can just come right out and ask him. You and I both know that’s dangerous territory.”
“Told you,” Lydia says with a sing-songy tone, a mischievous grin sliding on her face as she slides out of her chair. “I’ll leave you be, sweetie. Seems like it’s your lucky day. I have a good feeling about this!” She muses before walking off to one of the other tables, sidling up next to Jordan Parrish; a kind officer who worked under Stiles’ father, but spent a fair amount of his time in the speakeasy himself.
Stiles was about to ask what Lydia meant when he noticed Derek had suddenly gotten up and was moving towards the bar. Dammit. Why was tonight the night he gave Scott off? If he was here, he could have made an excuse to leave early, or at the very least go hide in the back pretending to take stock of the inventory. Instead he was stuck at the bar, face flushed soft pink in embarrassment as the man he had been absently watching approached.
“Do you always stare at everyone who comes in here, or did I just get that lucky tonight?” Derek asks, his voice tinged with a hint of annoyance that doesn’t entirely reach his eyes. He leans on the bar and Stiles instinctively shifts back for a moment in surprise. There’s something about Derek’s overall aura that has always exuded power, and it makes Stiles’ mouth run dry.
He doesn’t want to think too hard about what that means about him.
“I just like keeping an eye on all my patrons, that’s all. It’s part of the job,” Stiles quips back after he gets over the initial shock, flashing a smile to try to hide the nerves that crawl up his skin. “Can I get ya a drink, Mr. Hale?”
“I thought I told you to call me Derek, Stiles” Derek shoots back with a sigh, dropping heavily into the seat that Lydia had occupied just a few minutes before. He ran a hand through his hair, jaw set tight. “Old fashioned, please.” He glances back then, at the table he was at just a moment before, as if he was keeping an eye on the three younger people that were still seated there.
Stiles nods slightly, starting to make the drink with ease as he watches Derek’s gaze shift away from him. “Anything for your friends?” He chirps, garnishing the drink with a couple cherries before carefully pushing it back over to Derek.
Derek chuckles a little bit, concentration quickly broken as he turns his attention back to Stiles. “Trust me. They’ve had plenty already. Anymore and I might need to carry Isaac back home over my shoulder.” He picks up the fresh drink and takes a long, thoughtful sip. “And Boyd and Erica might get too rowdy if they over indulge. I’ve seen it enough at home. I don’t need to see it here.”
Stiles laughs a little despite himself, leaning against the bar with an easy smile. He had apparently put away his bashfulness for the time being. “Hey, a little rowdy-ness never hurts anyone, ‘long as they keep to themselves,” he replied with a small shrug. For a moment, he wonders if Derek has ever gotten rowdy before. He was normally so quiet and reserved in the bar, it was hard to imagine.
“You say that now, but clearly you haven’t seen how competitive Erica is when she tries to challenge every man in here to arm wrestle, and then laughs in their face when she inevitably wins” Derek replies with a shake of his head. “It gets her in a lot more trouble than it’s worth.”
That gets a little snort out of Stiles. He can only imagine the commotion that would cause. Part of him wants to see it–the chaos of the mere thought of it stirs excitement in it–but he definitely didn’t need a messy bar fight tonight. Those were always more trouble than they were worth. “It sounds like you speak from experience.”
“Unfortunately, too much experience..”
Stiles leans in a little further on the bar, maybe too close to be considered just friendly. “You know, beneath that sour exterior, you’re actually really funny, Derek.” Part of him wants to include “ and handsome ” but he manages to refrain, not sure he wants to test the waters with quite so many people around still.
If Stiles didn’t know any better, he could have sworn a faint blush crawled up Derek’s stubbled cheeks. This was a moment where he actually wished the lights were just a tad brighter so he could confirm it for himself.
“I guess I’ll take that as a compliment,” Derek replies, downing another chug of his drink quickly. He sets the glass down lightly, swirling its contents before his eyes meet Stiles’ again. His gaze flickers down to Stiles lips for a split-moment before back-up to his eyes, and if Stiles wasn’t so good at reading people, he would have missed it. Slowly, he leans closer, the gap between them lessening by the moment. “When are you done working tonight?” He asked, voice low enough for only Stiles to hear.
“You should–” Stiles snarks back playfully before he feels his own face heat up with shyness. He certainly hadn’t expected that question to drop from Derek’s mouth. Nervously, he taps his fingers on top of the bar. “I’m closin’ up the bar alone tonight.” He replies softly, chewing at his lip. “Why? Do ya got somethin’ in mind?”
Derek hesitates for a moment, uncertain as he searches Stiles' eyes for something Stiles can’t quite pinpoint. “Thought it would be nice to talk without a full bar of eyes and ears on us; I have some information you might want,” he suggests, before backpedaling quickly, his gaze flickering away. “If you’re…interested, that is.”
Stiles blinks at Derek owlishly, wondering if he heard him right. He’d dreamt about asking Derek something similar, but had always chickened out every time he got close. It took a good few moments for him to get over the initial surprise.
“Just…the two of us?” Stiles' eyes shifted over to the table Derek normally frequented with the small group that was always surrounding him before back at the man. “I know you normally have your little pack with ya.”
Derek gives a small nod, and Stiles swears he sees the soft pink in his cheeks again.
He decides at that moment that he definitely wants to see more of that.
It takes all of Stiles’ energy to not burst into a fit of excitement. Sure, maybe it was just going to be a purely professional information exchange–which could be helpful, all things considered, with how his current case was going–but with the looks that Derek is giving him, he has a feeling there has to be something more to it. He tamps it down before he makes even more of a fool of himself; making a scene is the last thing he wants to do. Instead he just grins, keeping his hands busy cleaning one of the glasses.
“Y-Yeah, I guess we could do that. I have nothin’ planned after.”
“Good. I’ll hang back tonight then.” Derek says before he finishes off his drink and slides the empty glass to Stiles. He gets up from his seat then, giving Stiles one more slow once over before he stalks back to his table to return to his group.
Stiles does his best not to stare too hard at him as he leaves, but he’s sure he fails miserably. He catches Lydia’s eye, rolling his own when he sees the wicked look of excitement plastered on her face.
It takes a lot of concentration to get through the next couple hours of work. All he can think about is Derek, and what might happen once the doors close and the last of the patrons leave. But he does what he needs to to push through the night. He cleans glasses, he makes drinks, perhaps with a bit more flourish than normal, he makes awful jokes to the patrons that come to him at the bar, and is thankful that most of them have enough sense of humor to laugh at them.
~ ~ ~
The moment the last few stragglers say their goodnights and amble their way out of the be speakeasy, Stiles quickly locks the door and turns his attention to Derek. The man had been sitting up at the bar for the last few minutes; his little herd had left a few minutes ago with complaints about Derek still staying, but he had shooed them away much like a father. It was endearing, to say the least, and Stiles became just a tad more smitten.
“Listen, Stiles, I know who you are,” Derek finally says, his tone quiet. The bar is finally empty, save for the two of them. “And I want your help.”
Stiles cocks his head to the side, eyebrows raising. “I don’t know what you mean. A bartender?” He answers, eyes flickering away quickly as he gives a light chuckle. Keeping his detective day job on the down low was important if he wanted to keep his clientele.
“A detective,” Derek specifies, brow furrowing. There’s no anger or maliciousness there. “And a pretty damn good one, if you’re following in your father’s footsteps. Pa always talked highly of your father, even if they didn’t see eye to eye on everything.”
Stiles sputters a little bit, about to deny having any connection to that, until he sees the serious look on Derek’s face. He sighs heavily, feeling a little deflated. “Alright, you got me. Yeah, I’m a detective. But uh, keep that between me and you. I don’ need to the whole bar knowin’ who I really am.”
Derek nods. “I’m not one for sharing information that isn’t mine to share,” he promises, and Stiles can tell he’s being genuine. He relaxes a little.
“What do you need my help with?”
“A lot of people have been disappearing recently,” Derek points out, absently wiping a drop of condensation from his glass with the tip of his finger, “Our family has been keeping a close eye on it.”
Stiles works on washing down the bar top, a frown on his lips. “So you guys do know about that?” He asked, chewing on his lip. Something was definitely up if more than just the police force was keeping an eye on the disappearances. “Have you been able to find out anything? We keep hitting roadblocks. There just doesn’t seem to be any major kind of connection between the people who disappear…”
Derek gives Stiles a deadpan look. “It’s hard not to, Stiles. A significant amount of people have vanished. Many of them are from our neighborhood in particular.” He rubs the back of his neck, a wary expression on his face. He suddenly looks exhausted. “We actually do have an idea why they might have been targeted.”
Stiles stops his cleaning immediately, tossing the rag aside to give Derek his full attention. His heartbeat quickens. At this point, any lead would help them. The annoyance of being called out as a detective is pushed aside quickly in lieu of possibly finding out what in the hells has been happening in their city.
Without much of his normal finesse–there’s definitely a few drops that spill onto the recently clean countertop–Stiles pours himself and Derek each a strong drink and moves around the bar to sit next to him. He hopes it will feel a little less like an interrogation that way. He settles into his own seat and leans against the bar.
“I’m all ears, friend.”
There is clear hesitation on Derek’s face for a moment before he sighs, almost defeatedly and downs half of his new drink. “What do you know of the supernatural?”
Stiles blinks at Derek before bursting out into laughter. “The Supernatural ? Not much, beyond scary bedtime stories that are told to keep children in line, and ancient myths I read about in some of my moms old books. I suppose I never put a lot of thought into it.” He says with a small shrug, eyebrows raising as he notes the seriousness on Derek’s face. With a frown, he cocks his head. “Why do you ask?”
“It’s understandable if you don’t believe this,” Derek replies, shifting so he’s fully facing Stiles. The intensity of his eye contact makes Stiles squirm in his seat a little. “But most, if not all, of the people who have disappeared lately have had some kind of supernatural being.”
Stiles' brain feels like it’s short circuiting. There’s absolutely no way. He still thinks that Derek must be joking, but there isn’t even a hint of humor in his expression. Maybe he’s having some kind of twisted dream that he needs to pinch himself out of.
No. Way.
“I…So what, there’s vampires and werewolves running around?” Stiles asks, perplexed by the very idea of such creatures. He doesn’t laugh this time, but it all still seems a little ridiculous.
Derek gives Stiles an exasperated look before he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “It might just be easier if I just show you. Then you might understand better…” he grumbles. When his eyes open again, they are the soft green that Stiles has gotten used to getting lost in. Instead, they’re an icy blue that downright glows. His mouth opens slightly, his sharp canines elongated enough that it makes something spark up Stiles’ spine. He doesn’t know if it’s fear or arousal or a mixture of both but he shifts back in his chair a little to get a better look and puts a little distance between the two of them. For safety, of course. And maybe a little bit of sanity as well.
This definitely was unlocking something inside of him.
“Holy shit,” Stiles whispers, his caramel eyes widening. “ What are you?”
“A werewolf,” Derek replies carefully, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “My whole family are werewolves.” There’s a little bit of hesitance on his face however, like he’s unsure if Stiles is going to bolt out the door screaming.
Stiles reaches over for his glass and downs a good half of it before he sets it back down with shaky hands, trying his best to process this. “And you’re saying all those people who went missing over the last year are also…like you?”
Derek shakes his head, and a moment later his features return back to their normal state. “Some of them are, but not all of them. There’s more types of supernatural entities than just us.”
Stiles nods numbly for Derek to continue, still trying his best to process everything he had just learned in the last five minutes.
“My family has been using the tunnels to try and help get some of the people out of danger for years,” Derek says, swirling the remainder of his drink in his glass before he shoots it back and grunts softly as it burns his throat.
“Danger? What the hell kind of danger could someone with teeth like that be in?”
“There are humans in the loop who support and try to protect us. And then, there are people who hunt us down because they think we’re unnatural and need to be put in our place.” Stiles notices that Derek has a haunted look on his face for a moment before he shakes it off.
“Hunt you? Like an animal?” Stiles says, feeling bewildered. He has the impulse to reach out his hand and take one of Derek’s but instead he busies himself with fiddling with the tie that he’s since loosened up around his neck.
Derek nods, still a little somber. Stiles supposes if he and his family was being hunted too, he would be less than happy about it.
“Do you know who the hunters are?” The investigator in Stiles is starting to bubble to the surface; he can’t help himself. He needs to know all he can. If he can help get these people back, it would be a miracle for him, and his father…hell, for the entire police force.
“We know some of them, at least. But going straight after them could create a full blown war in the underground scene, so we have had to act carefully.”
“Do any of them come in here?” Stiles hadn’t realized he’d scooted his chair closer until his knee gently bumps against Derek’s. He doesn’t make an effort to pull it away though; the gentle contact is nice.
Derek jerks for a moment at the sudden touch to his knee, almost shying from it for a moment before he settles back in his chair, leaving his knee where it is. “A few. The Argents in particular. We think them and their group in particular has been responsible for most of the disappearances.”
The family name echoes in Stiles’ head and his eyes widen in horror.
Argent.
Allison Argent.
“No. Shit. Are you sure it’s the Argents?” Stiles says, swallowing thickly as he thinks about what a mess this might become.
Derek gives Stiles a confused look, his lips turning down in a deep frown. “What?”
“My best friend Scott just got engaged to an Argent. She seems spunky, but sweet enough. I wouldn’t ever think she was a hunter of any kind.” Allison’s mother on the other hand, well, Stiles was downright petrified of the woman. Retrospectively, her being a hunter made a lot of sense. “Not ‘cause she’s a lady or anything,” Stiles quickly backpedals “ She just doesn’t seem the type, is all.”
“Your friend keeps very dangerous company, Stiles.”
“Apparently way more dangerous than I thought,” Stiles breathes, running a hand through his short hair. “I just thought they were another mob family. Seems like there's a lot of them in this city.”
Derek snorts. “Would that have been better?” He asked, and some of the seriousness that had fallen down upon them since the bar had closed lifted.
Stiles knocked his knee against Derek again, shoulders lifting with a small shrug. “At least they wouldn’t be hunting people,” He says before pausing. “As much.”
Derek nods. “I wish it wasn’t like that. Just keep an eye on them. We haven’t been able to catch them in the act yet, but all the signs are pointing towards them and the people they work with.”
Against the nervousness in the pit of Stiles’ stomach, he reaches out and squeezes Derek’s arm quickly. “We’ll get this figured out, and we’ll get those people back, Derek. You have my word.”
There’s a softness in Derek’s face when Stiles pulls his hand away. He doesn’t necessarily smile, but he doesn’t look nearly as intense as he had early. It makes Stiles’ heart beat just a little faster.
“I appreciate it.”
~ ~ ~
So Stiles keeps his eyes on the Argents every time they frequent the speakeasy. Hell, he even asks Lydia to keep her ear to the ground. She always had a knack for getting along with just about everyone, and she was a queen of gossip.
They meet, not every night, but often enough. Derek gives Stiles updates as he gets them, and Stiles lets him know if the police force has found out any more information. Stiles had brought up the Argents to his father, but the man had seemed hesitant to delve too deeply in. Not because he wanted to protect the family; his father was one of the few cops in the city who wanted to get rid of corruption. But, the Argents held a considerable amount of power in the city, and he worried pushing too hard too soon without all the facts could result in Stiles or someone else getting hurt.
It’s slow going, and frustrating, but if there is one good thing coming out of it, it’s that they’re spending more and more time together. Derek spends a bit more time up at the bar, especially closer to closing time, when Stiles is working there. Even his friends–or pack , as he explained to Stiles one night where Stiles was babbling off an impossible amount of questions about werewolves–joined him up there occasionally. Stiles liked them. Isaac was soft-spoken but had a sweet smile; he and Scott apparently had met back in school years ago, and they easily slipped into being good friends again. Erica was fierce and excitedable, the kind of woman that scared Stiles a little–in the best of ways. And Boyd was quiet but occasionally came out with a joke that caught Stiles off guard in the best of ways. He was growing to like them.
And he absolutely was growing to like Derek. He had surmised that this definitely wasn’t a fleeting crush.
As for Derek…well, Stiles can certainly rule out his tastes now, if the way he crowds Stiles up against the bar one night after closing and kissed him quiet after he went on a long winded speech about cocktail napkins. The kiss had left him breathless, and yet he had dived in for more the moment he caught his breath again. Kissing him was addictive.
~ ~ ~
Things had been good. It had been nearly a month since Stiles and Derek had had their first meeting after hours.
Stiles double checks everything is right with the bar before grabbing his coat and following Derek out of the speakeasy and towards the tunnel entrance. As he went, Stiles shut and locked the outer door behind them before he made it quickly to Derek’s side.
It was quiet in the tunnels. Midweek there often wasn't a lot of activity, only a few stragglers here and there. So Stiles felt safe enough to loop an arm through Derek’s and lean a little into him as they walked together. Derek made a pleased little rumble, a noise Stiles had only heard a couple times now–and liked to say it was his version of purring–and tugged him closer with a gentle yank to his arm.
With no one in sight, Stiles stops walking and pulls Derek close, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. It’s nice, to say the least. Kissing Derek is nice. Better than nice really. Stiles has only kissed a handful of people–Lydia, when they were dating, Scott as kids, a couple other gals and guys throughout his youth–but Derek was by far the best.
Derek melts into the affection, like he’s starved for it, and holds Stiles like he’s something precious; not like he’s fragile, but like he’s something of value. It’s dim and quiet and it’s just them. It’s special.
Stiles wants to hold onto this feeling forever.
They break away to breath, and Derek peppers Stiles’ throat with kisses that turn into little bites he’s sure will show up as marks in the morning if the man isn’t careful.
There’s a soft noise that makes Stiles pause and he opens his eyes and pulls away from Derek slightly, trying to discern exactly what the hell made that noise.
“Hello?”
Derek seems to sense something too and he whips his head around in the direction of the noise. “Shit, I recognize that perfume–”
The shots ring out through the tunnel before Derek can finish what he’s saying and Stiles can even process what’s going on. Stiles has heard plenty of gunshots before, he’s no stranger to them. But the way it echoed around was chilling.
It’s instant chaos and Stiles grabs his own gun from where it’s tucked into the neat pouch hidden on his hip. He ducks back into the curve in the tunnel he just came from, taking a deep breath as he tries to keep calm and evaluate the situation.
Why in the hell was Kate Argent here?
“It’s bad enough you’re part of the fuzz, Stilinski,” Kate snarks, the click of her heels echoing around the tunnel. “But sleeping with animals like the Hales? That’s just unforgivable.”
“I’d say being in the human trafficking business is pretty despicable, don’t ya think?” Stiles shouts back, eyes flickering over to where Derek is across from him as he loads his gun.
“They’re not humans, sweetheart , they’re creatures. There’s no laws protecting them, and there shouldn’t be.”
Stiles lets another moment pass and takes a deep breath before peeking out and shooting off a round of shots in Kate’s direction.
And unfortunately, Kate was ready for him.
Another round of shots. A shout from Derek. A string of curses that waft throughout the tunnel and echo all around. Stiles sways a little where he stands. He watches Kate raise her gun again and pull the trigger, but something must be happening–maybe it’s jammed–and Derek is gaining on her as she stumbles backwards and starts to run.
Stiles blinks. Everything feels like it’s slowing down. There’s a ringing in his ears and he soon finds himself on the ground, a hand pressing against his stomach. When did he get so light headed?
It takes him a moment to realize that Derek’s at his side, putting pressure above his hand in an attempt to keep the pressure on the wound. He’s saying something but Stiles can’t hear it above the ringing. All he can do is slump forward against Derek, his eyes shuttering closed.
And then everything is black.
~ ~ ~
The first thing that Stiles takes note of when he wakes up is the searing pain in his stomach. He clenches his teeth, eyes watering a little as he tries to get his bearings on what the hell happened. The second thing he becomes aware of is that he’s being carried. Blearily, he looks up and is immediately greeted by Derek. The man has a grim but determined expression on his face, eyebrows knitted together in thought as he hurries them along the tunnel with as much care as he can muster as he tries not to not jostle Stiles too much.
Stiles reaches up a hand–covered in drying blood, he notes to himself with a grimace–and pats Derek’s cheek weakly.
“You didn’t even buy me dinner and you’re carrying me home already?” Stiles says hoarsely, trying to add humor to a situation he’s slowly realizing must be dire. It’s not his fault that humor is his defense mechanism, even if he’s lurking around death's door. “‘M not even wearin’ my nice underwear tonight.”
Derek startles for a second at Stiles’ voice, almost tripping–he must not have realized Stiles had woken up. He catches himself, however, and continues his quick pace. “You’re not funny. You’re bleeding out, Stiles.” He replies gruffly, but even behind his cold-shoulder nature, Stiles can tell there’s worry in his eyes. He’s scared.
“I’m hilarious ,” Stiles slurs back with a tired grin, grunting when another shot of pain shoots through his body. He bites his lip, trying to keep himself from making too much noise. “W-where are we going? Romantic as it is for you to be carryin’ me like this, it hurts…”
“To my family's estate,” Derek replies, turning left down another tunnel before stopping at a less than ideal looking ladder. He looks down at Stiles, finally meeting his eyes. “This is going to be really uncomfortable, but you’re going to have to hang on to my back. Can you do that for me, baby?”
Stiles blinks up at Derek slowly. “I never thought you’d ever call me that,” he said, almost in awe, heart fluttering around in his chest like it was trying to escape; though that could be the delirium and exhaustion sinking in from the loss of blood.
“ Stiles ,” Derek snaps back, and his eyes flash that cool blue tone that makes Stiles swallow nervously.
“Y-yeah, I can try to do that,” Stiles nods slowly. “But I can’t guarantee I won’t pass out again.” His body feels like jello, and just thinking about moving from where he is in Derek’s arms is making his body ache.
Derek huffs. “Just try your best,” he grumbles before adjusting Stiles so he can stand on the ground. He keeps a strong hand on him, watching as he wobbles and nearly crumbles under the pain. “Hold onto the wall while I turn around. I’ll make this as quick as I can.”
Stiles didn't realize how hard standing was going to be until Derek set him down. He was instantly light-headed and he scrambled for purchase on the wall while Derek shifted in front of him and bent down enough for him to crawl onto his back. Though Stiles fell more into position on his back than climbed, arms loose around his neck.
Derek brought a hand up, grasping Stiles joined hands tightly with his own to make sure his grip wouldn’t slip before he stood up.
Instinctively, Stiles wrapped his thighs around his waist, panting softly as he tried to gain control over the pain that was starting to flare up through his skin again.
And then, it all suddenly stopped.
For a second, Stiles wonders if he fell into a dreamscape of some kind. Or if he was dead.
“I can’t feel anything,” he whispers against Derek’s shoulder, voice warbling a little.
Derek begins to climb, grunting a little at the effort of carrying Stiles, and the sharp pain he had started to drag out of the other man. He’s strong, sure, but it still didn’t help the fact that it was awkward lugging Stiles up the rickety ladder.
“I’m taking your pain away,” he huffs as he gets to the top of the ladder. “Hold on tight, I need to let go for a second.”
Stiles nods against his back dazedly and Derek drops his clenched hands before reaching up and pushing with as much force as he can muster on the manhole cover. It shifts with a groan and scrap of metal and he pushes it out of the way before climbing up and out.
“Is that a…werewolf thing or somethin’?” Stiles asks when they’re above ground. The pain starts leeching back in, slow and smooth, once Derek had stopped touching him. He craves the pain relief again.
“Yes,” Derek says simply, not wanting to tire Stiles out with further conversation before he turns a quick pace down the alleyway and towards the Hale manor. They’re close at least, but he knows from the growing moist spot on his back, and the smell of sickening iron seeping into his nose that they don’t have a lot of time left.
Derek’s hand is back again on Stiles’ before he can even ask and he lets his eyes droop shut, enjoying the bliss that wafts over him at the lack of pain. He fades in and out of unconsciousness the rest of the short trek, waking with a start as Derek kicks the door open with a loud creak .
“This isn’t what it looks like,” Stiles hears Derek say gruffly in greeting. Stiles is too tired to open his eyes.
There’s a moment of silence before another voice chimes in–Derek’s sister Cora, if Stiles remembers correctly.
“Well, I can’t say I expected you to bring him home like this. Uncle isn’t going to be happy, you know.”
Another voice. Peter. Stiles saw him occasionally in the bar, but didn’t talk to him often.
“Darling Nephew, did you really bring that pretty little detective to our home? You should know better.” Peter chastises, and just from the tone alone, Stiles can tell his frowning at him. “I thought we had a rule about not involving ourselves with them .”
“Dammit, Peter. Kate got to him. She was following us back into the tunnels. He saved me and now he’s going to die if we don’t act quickly.”
“I tried to get to her ,” Stiles croaks, grimacing as he’s jostled onto what he imagines is the kitchen table. If he wasn't so tired, he would apologize for staining the fine wood. “But that bitch is fast. Good thing she’s got shit for aim.” He reaches up for Derek when he pulls away. “‘M not gonna die yet though, Der’, just gonna…bleed out a little more…” He goes limp on the table then, disturbingly still.
Derek’s thankful he hears Stiles’ heartbeat, but it's certainly not as strong as he’s hoping it would be. Stiles is exceedingly pale, even more so than normal, and that makes dread settle in the pit of his stomach. He looks at Peter, brows furrowed.
“You’re not seriously thinking of kicking him out are you? He barely made it here as it is, Peter. He needs help now .”
Peter looks like he’s about to argue, but he looks between the distraught look on his nephew’s face, to the dying man on the kitchen table that’s absolutely going to have to be replaced before he sighs heavily in defeat. If it wasn’t such a dire moment, Derek might have rolled his eyes at his Uncle’s dramatic antics.
“I guess he’s not one of the bad ones. Lucky for him, Joseph liked his father a lot. Let me get my medical kit. Keep an eye on him.”
Derek sighs in shaky relief, shoulders slumping. He makes quick work of ridding Stiles of his jacket and shirt, wincing when he sees just how bad the damage is; and just how much he’s still bleeding. It was far worse than he thought.
Time was truly of the essence at his point.
Thankfully, Peter is back in only a minute or two, flipping out the metal medical case and pulling out a pair of long tweezers, an obscene amount of gauze, and a needle to stitch with. His nose twitches at the harsh smell of iron seeping into his nostrils and he grimaces before starting the careful work of removing the bullets.
Plink. Plink. Plink.
It’s an agonizing process, and Derek can do little else other than hold Stiles hand tightly and leech as much pain from him as he can muster. His heart is starting to weaken more and that makes him all the more concerned.
“Peter, his heart is really slowing down…” Derek rasps but Peter waves him off dismissively, dropping the forceps and reaching for the needle and thread to start stitching Stiles up.
“I can hear it, dear Nephew. He’ll stabilize,” Peter assures him calmly, threading the needle with ease and slicing it off with his teeth. “He's a strong kid.”
“Humans aren’t supposed to lose that much blood.” Derek points out with a snarl, eyes glowing as his emotions get the better of him.
Peter shoots Derek an exasperated look as he starts to painstakingly add the stitches. “They can be resilient. I’m sure he’ll be—”
“I will never forgive you if he dies, Peter.” Derek interrupts with a harsh growl, clearly at the end of his rope.
“Well, what in the hell do you suggest that I do then?” Peter shouts back, teeth bared as he continues to stitch Stiles up. There’s a grim look on his face and the pause of his bloodied hands moving doesn’t go unnoticed. He looks over and meets his nephew’s eyes. “If you are so concerned, we could turn him.”
Derek takes a step back, eyes wide. “We…we can’t do that to him. He only just learned about the supernatural, and turning him into one of us–”
“There aren’t a whole lot of options here, sweetheart,” Talia speaks up from where she’s been lurking around the corner, stepping into the room as she carefully assesses the damage. Her frown is sharp, and she gives her son a look of regret. “I’m afraid your uncle might be right. It might be the only chance of saving him at this point, even if it’s not what he wants.”
“But if the bite doesn’t take, he could die,” Derek says quietly, studying the unearthly paleness of Stiles’ face, so unlike when they were in the bar hours ago and he was flushed pink with excitement from their kiss.
“And if we don’t try, he will die anyway,” Peter replies sharply, tossing the needle and thread aside as he finishes closing the wound. He takes Stiles hand in his, eyeing his wrist before his red eyes flicker to Derek. “You need to make the decision and make it now, Derek. There isn’t any more time.”
Derek stands stock still, jaw set tight. He looks at the uneasy stillness of Stiles’, listens to how slow his heart has become, thinks about never hearing his laugh, or his playful banter. He thinks about never kissing Stiles again, or holding him against him in the dark. He thinks of the reaction Noah Stilinski would have, hearing his son died in a shootout with an Argent. The heartbreak. He swallows.
“Okay. Do it. It’s the best chance we’ve got.”
Peter gives him a nod as he brings Stiles limp wrist to his mouth and sinks his teeth in deep, his face half transformed and eyes glowing a sharp red as he does so. Talia rests a hand on Derek’s shoulder lovingly, squeezing it gently in support as they watch Stiles’ body jerk on the table for a moment. Derek winces.
Carefully, Peter releases his bite and lays Stiles’ hand back down to his side. He wipes the small mess of blood from his lips with the back of his hand before he looks back at Derek and his sister. “Now we must wait and see if he’s strong enough.”
“Let’s carry him upstairs while his body tries to heal, hmm? A bed would be much more comfortable than the table,” Talia suggests quietly to Derek.
Peter moves to pick up Stiles but Derek interjects, quietly nudging his uncle aside as he gently lifts Stiles up off the table and starts to bring him towards the stairs. His heart is still faint, but it hasn’t gotten any worse, so part of him believes that maybe, just maybe, he’ll get lucky and the bite will actually take. He brings him to one of the spare bedrooms normally reserved for guests, and carefully lays him in the bed.
Talia brings in a couple blankets and a glass of water, setting them down and giving Derek a gentle peck on the cheek before she leaves him to be in silence.
Once Stiles is covered up and as comfortable as Derek can think to make him, he pulls up a plush chair by the bed and sits. And waits.
And waits.
And waits some more.
His large hand holds one of Stiles’–the one Peter had bitten the wrist of–and doesn’t let go, even when exhaustion finally hits him and he falls into a restless sleep, slumped against the edge of the bed.
~ ~ ~
The first thing that Stiles notices as he wakes up is that he feels far more alert than he should. Hell, he doesn’t know if he’s ever felt so alert in his whole damn life. The last thing he remembers is being deposited on the Hales’ kitchen table, bleeding out and delirious. He blinks his eyes awake, noticing a warmth against his side. When he looks to the side, he finds himself surprised to see Derek slumped over and asleep, head pressed against his ribs as he holds his hand. His eyes trail to where their fingers are intertwined, and he notices a mark on his wrist. Teeth marks? Did an animal bite him or something? He definitely doesn’t remember that. He squints, though doesn’t pull his hand away in worry of stirring Derek.
With Stiles’ free hand he shifts the blankets off of himself, looking down at the bandage covering his bullet wounds. Carefully, he pulls up the covering, eyes widening when he sees there’s no longer any marks; like he was never shot in the first place. His brow furrows. That can’t be right. He had gotten shot multiple times; it couldn’t have been a dream. And if he hadn’t been shot, why would he be in the Hales’ house? It seemed too soon for Derek to want to officially introduce him to his family.
Maybe he had died and this was some twisted version of heaven.
Someone clears their throat quietly and Stiles’ eyes snap over to the doorway, spotting Talia Hale standing there with a small, warm smile on her face.
“You’re finally awake, Stiles.” Talia says softly, stepping into the room carefully. “How do you feel?” There’s a hesitation in the way she moves, like she’s trying not to provoke a caged animal.
Stiles shifts a little, still being mindful not to disturb Derek too much. “Strangely good, considerin’ last time I was awake, I was bleeding out all over your beautiful kitchen.” He scratches the back of his neck with his free hand, giving Talia a puzzled look. “Care to explain what the hell happened? ‘M pretty sure I shouldn’t be alive right now, let alone left without bullet holes.”
There’s a tension that crosses over Talia’s features. “It is…complicated.” She sits down on the window seat across from the bed, brushing a bit of lint from her skirt. “Derek did let us know he told you about what we do here. What we are.”
Stiles gave a small nod. “I wasn’t quite sure I believed him at first, until he showed me his eyes, and his teeth.” He gave a little shrug. “It still feels a little surreal, but I guess it makes sense.”
“There were some… complications when Peter was trying to stitch you back up. You had lost a dangerous amount of blood. And we were concerned that you might not make it through the night otherwise…” Talia explains carefully, chewing at her lip. Stiles blinks at her, so she continues with a heavy sigh. “Peter bit you, to turn you into a werewolf. It was the only way we could save your life–and even then, it wasn’t guaranteed. Not everyone can take the bite and live through it..”
Stiles' eyes widened. “ What ?” He yelped, grimacing when he saw that the noise made Derek jerk and stir next to him.
Talia gave a small, understanding smile. “You will be like us now,” she explained gently. “I’m sorry that there wasn’t another way. It does come with some complications, for certain, but I’m sure this is preferred over death.”
Stiles blinks at Talia, feeling utterly bewildered. The idea of the supernatural being real was still so fresh on his mind; trying to wrap his head around the fact that he himself was now one was more than a challenge.
Talia seems to be able to read Stiles' mind, as she offers a reassuring smile. “It will be an adjustment, but you have all of us to help you develop your new skills.”
“What about my dad?” Stiles croaks, suddenly realizing his father was probably worried sick. He wasn’t even sure how long he had been asleep for. And shit, his job? What did everyone at the station think of his absence? Was he going to get fired?
It seemed as though Talia had realized that Stiles brain was going a mile a minute and gently patted his knee with a look of reassurance on her face.
“We told your father that you’re safe, and with us. That something happened in the tunnels and you got injured. He’s already seen you once since you’ve been out. He would have stayed longer but he was trying to keep things covered at work in your absence.” Talia explains. “We’ve also let your business partner know as well. Isaac and Erica are helping out at the bar.”
Stiles visibly sags with relief and nods, already feeling a bit of exhaustion hitting him again. “Thank you., for lettin’ my Pops know.,” he breathes, running his free hand through his hair. “Does he know about…all this supernatural stuff?”
Talia shakes her head. “Not yet, but I believe it might be a good idea to bring him into the fold. Especially since the case he and you have been working on involves the supernatural.”
“And y’know, myself now,” Stiles adds, gesturing to himself.
“It will be a learning experience for both of you, surely. But you have all of our support and guidance.” Talia says as she stands up. She leans over, pressing a soft kiss on the top of Stiles’ head. He tears up a little. It reminds him just a little too much of his late mother. “Get some more rest. You are stronger than you were before, but your body will still need to recover from the changes.”
Stiles nods and settles back against the pillows, blinking away the tears that dare to spill over. For the first time in a while, he feels like he’s found a home.
~ ~ ~
Stiles can’t remember the last time he slept so much. He’s thankful his father is able to make excuses for him at the agency for the rest of the week, because otherwise he would definitely be out on his ass. Sure, he was a decent detective, but mysteriously disappearing was certainly not looked upon kindly. Not that the speakeasy didn’t bring in a good amount of profit and intrigue with it, but being a detective was just as important to him.
Derek is pressed against his side, face buried in his neck. His breathing is deep and gently tickles Stiles skin. The arm around his waist is like a vice grip, and as Stiles gets past his initial exhaustion, he becomes embarrassingly aware of the hard-on that’s pressing in his thigh. His own twitches in interest and he swallows slightly.
Fuck.
Carefully, he starts to try and extract himself from Derek’s hold, only for the man to pull him in tighter. Quietly, Stiles curses, settling into his fate of being trapped by the other. He stares up at the canopy of the bed, trying to will his erection away. Instead, it throbs in protest and he huffs, shifting as much as he can in the werewolves tight grip.
Stiles feels Derek stir next to him. Green eyes flicker open slowly and he pulls away just enough to get a good look at Stiles.
“How do you feel?” Derek asks, voice a little gruff from sleep. His hold eases up but doesn’t completely release. Part of Stiles curses him for it, but the touch starved part of him was more than happy for the continued touch.
“Better,” Stiles replies, the flush spreading further up his throat when he realizes that there is no way Derek can’t tell he’s horny. He’s new to the whole werewolf thing, but he does know that enhanced senses are definitely a thing. He's still new to his open heightened senses; it's almost a little disorienting, like he’s drunk. “Tired of sleeping.”
Derek chuckles quietly, the rumble of it making Stiles crave him all the more. He takes a chance then, shifting onto his side so he can lean in and press a kiss to Derek’s lips. It’s hesitant at first, but it quickly devolves into something wet and messy as they relax against each other. It’s the first time they’ve really kissed since Stiles’ had turned–beyond the occasional peck or kiss on the forehead or hand–and everything that Stiles’ had had pent up before getting shot had bubbled to the surface.
Before Stiles’ even realized it, he was nicking Derek’s lip with his teeth–still needed to get used to the new sharpness–and was straddling his hips.
Derek growled back at him, eyes glowing that shocking blue that made Stiles’ heart race. “Go easy, sweetheart.”
Stiles’ grins down at him with sharp teeth, just a tad hazy on the lust and the power coursing through his veins at the moment. “Make me,” he snarks back. He grinds his hips down against Derek's, deep groans leaving both of them at the friction it caused.
With ease, Derek flips them around, Stiles landing with a soft thud on his back as Derek hovered over him and quickly rid them both of their underclothes.
Stiles makes a move to cover himself up the moment he’s exposed but Derek threads their fingers together and shakes his head. He wasn’t a virgin by any means, but being with a man to this capacity was new for him. And Derek was so insanely beautiful, it made him all the more nervous.
“I want to see all of you.”
And who is Stiles to deny him that?
Derek kisses Stiles slow and soft, a sense of reassurance coursing between them. Stiles takes a deep breath and lets the nerves wash off of him. He loops his arms around Derek’s neck, fingers curling in his dark hair and tugging as Derek pulls back from the kiss in favor of nuzzling and mouthing at Stiles throat.
Stiles arches beautifully when Derek makes his way, all soft lips and tickling stubble down his chest and stomach, before he ravishes his cock with his tongue. He’s impossibly good at this, and Stiles worries absently that he won’t be quite as exciting with his lack of experience. He’s already panting and writhing underneath Derek and he knows there’s more to come.
But Derek seems to enjoy Stiles' mouth just as much as Stiles’ enjoyed his. Stiles is more tentative with the way he touches Derek and takes him into his mouth, trying his best to not choke while also being stubborn and taking him as far into his throat as he can manage.
They take their time. And thanks to the stamina that the supernatural possess–and Stiles is absurdly thankful for–they’re at it for hours.
Derek prepares Stiles gently, opening him up with his thick fingers and a sweet smelling oil from the bedside table. He puts Stiles on his knees with a pillow under his belly so he’s extra comfortable. Stiles whimpers and rocks his hips back, impatient at how long Derek seems to want to take. He’s sure later he’ll appreciate the care, but in the moment, he wants to be filled.
And filled he is. Derek is thick and hot and fills Stiles to the breaking point. He goes slow at first, letting Stiles adjust as much as he can, before they both seem to lose patience and any sense of carefulness and finesse go out the window.
It’s hot and rough. Stiles claws at the sheets, newly formed claws popping out on accident as he tries to find purchase. Derek groans against his throat, leaving mark after mark against his pale skin. It’ll fade quickly with his new healing capability but he doesn’t care. It’s still nice to be claimed in that way.
Stiles comes first, whimpering and crying out Derek’s name as his back arches beautifully. Derek isn’t far behind. He growls deeply, thrusting once, twice, three times more until he’s pressing impossibly deep and coming inside of Stiles. They take their time catching their breath before they separate and lay next to each other on the bed, panting.
Stiles isn’t sure which of them falls asleep first, but he knows they both fall asleep satisfied.
~ ~ ~
Derek is just buttoning up his trousers when there's a knock at the door. He glances at Stiles, making sure he's fully dressed as well before he unlocks and opens it.
“Uncle?”
Peter stands there in the hallway, looking a bit grim. He looks genuinely tired for once. Stiles' interest is instantly piqued as he peers around Derek at the older man.
“We have a visitor downstairs, Derek.” Peter replies, arms crossing over his chest, looking just a tad impatient.
“And you’re bothering us about this because?” Derek asks as he leans against the door frame, rolling up the cuffs of his dark shirt.
“It’s Kate’s brother, Chris. He’s got some information he’s willing to share that might lead us to some of the people that have gone missing,” Peter explains quickly, foot tapping a little. “And he thinks he knows where Kate’s run off to.”
Stiles is off the bed, barely in his shoes before he’s at the doorway by Derek’s side. “Well let’s go talk to him then.” He replies, almost a little giddy. The thought that he might be finally making some headway in the case brought a great sense of relief to him. Not to mention that he might get to track down the woman who left him full of bullet holes would certainly be gratifying.
Derek sighs but nods to Peter, who turns around and heads back to the stairs. He hangs back for a moment, waiting for his uncle to disappear before he swoops down and presses a chaste kiss to Stiles’ lips.
“Whatever happens next, we’ll solve this together,” Stiles assures him, giving a light pat to his cheek before he’s brushing past him in the doorway and hurrying down the stairs.
Stiles had a feeling the next chapter of this mystery was only just beginning…