Chapter Text
He's sixteen and in the woods on the wrong side of the town-line and he's so fucking fucked.
He knows he's not supposed to run, they teach that to you in preschool (don't run from a Were, back away slowly and walk with care), but they never told you how it would feel, standing in the dark with your heart in your throat as those pale, lit eyes tracked you from the shadows.
He's sprinting away like a startled deer even as he sings the old nursery song wildly in his head, keeping beat with the frantic thud of his sneakers in the dirt. He knows as soon as he starts that it was the wrong move, almost as wrong as crossing the town-line, or as wrong as neglecting to tell anyone that he was going to wander into the Hale woods today like a reckless dipshit.
He can't stop now though. Once you start running, there's only one thing that stops you.
He's only gotten partway through the second verse of the rhyme when it hits him, not a sound to warn him before he's knocked right off his feet, the Were solid and heavy and animal-smelling at his back. He screams in fear, an echo in the dark woods before he feels the sudden sting of teeth.
He stares into the silent dark with shocky eyes, a breath caught in his throat as the wolf snaps teeth like sharp needles into the soft, vulnerable spot at the nape of his neck.
He sucks in a deep breath and cries out long and mournful into the dirt as the teeth stay clamped there, holding him still, pinned, claimed.
They're like that for hours before the search party finds them. By then, he's slipped into a black-out sleep a few times, drained by the adrenaline rushes, only to wake again and rush when he feels the teeth pinched in his neck still.
It's hunters that find them first, and the wolf at his back starts growling before Stiles can hear them breaking through the undergrowth; it's a low, terrifying sound and it makes Stiles whimper a little, fingers clawing the dirt and dead leaves around him.
There's shouting and beaming flashlights, bouncing along the trees and settling on them. The wolf's growling pitches higher, more threatening, and Stiles starts trembling, cowering at it.
"Get it off him! Get it off!" one of the hunters is yelling and then there are others, moving swiftly and sleekly through the trees, and he knows before the hunters shout that they're Weres.
"Oh shit, oh shit," someone groans as the Weres appear on the other side of the clearing, too many for Stiles to count.
Rifles cock and the Weres make low noises and then he hears him, his father's voice, coming clear and stern through the upset "Everyone calm down. Back away from them. Back up."
There's silence and then a woman's voice "Derek, love. You need to let him go."
The wolf at his back starts panting through its nose, sharp, loud breaths like it's freaking out as badly as Stiles is. Stiles tries to be very still as the woman gets closer. "I'm going to help you, sweetheart. Just let me--" Stiles sees her bare feet first and it makes him wince, knowing she's a wolf too. But when he winces, the wolf at his back growls again, low and unhappy.
"Stiles, stay still, son, relax," his father says and Stiles tries to go limp everywhere. He thinks about making his arms pliant, his legs. The wolf on him seems to approve, sighs out once through its nose, the heat of it rifling Stiles' hair.
"Ok, love. Your teeth are caught. I'm going to help you," the woman says and it's a lot of slow motions and the careful, cold touch of her fingertips where Stiles' nape is all slobbery-wet from the wolf and then, as easy as anything, the teeth are out of him and he's trying to scramble away.
"Stiles, don't move. Don't move!" his father shouts and the wolf snarls but when Stiles flips over on his back, heart racing, he sees the woman wrestling the snapping wolf away from him and then the wolf changing, a vibration of color and fur that settles into the rangy figure of Derek Hale. Derek Hale, the eldest son of the Alpha, whose face is all snarled and wild and dirty, his bare chest streaked, his chest hair matted with mud. Stiles stares dumbfounded at him, at the way he grits his teeth back at Stiles with all this pain in his eyes.
The hunters descend. One of the Argent's is shouting at the woman, Talia (oh god, Talia Hale the alpha herself) and someone else is throwing an emergency blanket over Stiles. And there are pointing guns and other wolves, standing naked and unafraid and Stiles curls in on his own knees, shaking, the back of his neck feeling hot and sore from the bite.
It's his father again who calms them. "Get your gun out of here, Hersh," he says dismissively, annoyed. The Argent brother frowns but listens, steps back. Stiles watches, shivering as his father walks to Talia Hale, who has settled her son with some of the other wolves. She greets him and it is an odd sight, his father in his police browns and Talia Hale in just her human skin.
"Your son, he's not an alpha?" his father asks first, and Stiles didn't even think of that, that he might change. That he might grow teeth as long as his fingers, might start howling at the moon.
"No," Talia says, "he's a beta. And he's never given anyone any trouble."
Stiles' dad gives her the steely sheriff eyes before he tacks onto her words "--until today."
She looks unhappy as she agrees "until today."
His father sighs, looks over at Stiles and his jaw works. "The bite...why--?"
Talia looks at Stiles too, and her eyes are clear and pale and cool. Stiles shivers harder when they make contact.
"Derek has claimed him," she admits softly.
The hunters start shouting again and it takes a moment for his dad to quiet them and then he's scrubbing at his forehead the way he does when he feels overwhelmed.
"Pardon me for my ignorance, but what does that mean, Alpha Hale?"
She looks back at her own son, who is now slumped between two other wolves, his eyes cast aside, mouth turned down in a hard, unhappy frown.
"It means your son is his mate."
It's a long while after that, calming the Argents down.
"Hey," his father says at Stiles' bedroom door.
"Hey," Stiles say back dryly. They haven't spoken much for a week since...yeah.
His dad pushes the door open a little more and looks around. He leans against the door jamb, frowning a little in thought. And then he pulls the book out of his back pocket and holds it out.
Stiles finishes tying his shoe and gets up to grab it.
His face washes over with shame when he sees what it is.
Being Claimed: Your Duty to Yourself and Your Wolf.
"Dad," he says, strangled.
"Just...read it," his father says bluntly. Not angry, but just uncertain of himself, lost for words.
Stiles nods and sits down hard on his bed, staring at the cover.
"I...I asked Alpha Hale and she said it was accurate."
Stiles laughs humorlessly, thinking about his father and Alpha Hale on the phone, sharing literature recommendations.
"Stiles," his father warns.
"No, it's fine, dad," he sighs. And then presses the book to his forehead for a second while his whole face twists up. He pulls it away and smiles a little, tries to. His father looks at him worriedly. "Thanks."
Get to Know Your Wolf
With patience, open mindedness and a careful mediator, there is no reason why you can't get to know your wolf.
The book is dog-eared and settled in his jacket's breast pocket as he knowingly crosses the Hale line again, this time on the road.
The land on this side looks exactly like Beacon Hills, the trees hanging heavy and quiet in the humidity, the fields hazy, rolling at the edges with heat mirage.
He walks along the pale-paved road, the sun buzzing at his back, heating the bite mark on his nape.
He takes off his plaid shirt when he gets too hot, ties it around his waist and walks on in his sweaty tee-shirt.
A red pickup truck rumbles up the road. He steps to the side hastily but it stops and Talia Hale leans out, hair golden brown in the sun.
"Stiles," she says, and smiles. Her face is beautiful, carefully lined at her eyes and mouth. "Why don't you climb in."
He's breathing a little fast when he gets into the passenger seat, the leather hot under him. It helps that she's dressed this time. She looks more approachable in a pair of maroon corduroys and a faded denim shirt.
"Hi," he says, heart drumming quickly. He rubs his sweaty palms on his thighs.
"I can drive you back to the town-line or I can bring you up to the house." Her offer is genuine, he can tell. But he can also tell what she'd like him to say.
"Uhhh," he says, swallowing nervously. "I can come over for a while?"
She smiles again, bright with all those white teeth in her mouth.
He doesn't know what to feel when she says "Derek's not home," as they pull up to the big old house in the woods.
"Oh," he says stupidly.
"Come on," she gets out and there are kids sitting on the porch, all tan-shoulders and sunburned faces that track Stiles as he climbs up the steps behind her.
"My nephews," she tells Stiles and pushes open the screen door, holding it briefly for Stiles to follow. As she lopes in front of him, her loose hair swings a little. The house is gloomy inside compared to the sun-stroke of the day, but not unwelcoming or cold. Stiles pauses in the hall, looks into a wide, airy room with soft, old sofas, all frayed around the edges like little Were-paws have fringed them for ages.
A Were is coming down stairs when Stiles' turns back around. He feels his face go hot with embarrassment at being caught snooping around.
She's got a book curled in her hand and they just freeze at the sight of each other before Talia Hale's voice wafts in from the back of the house "Laura, invite Stiles in please?"
Laura rolls her eyes and it's so human that it makes Stiles' shoulders loosen.
"Hey," she says, bored as she walks him back through. "Stiles, right? Stilinski? Your dad's the sheriff?"
Stiles shoves his trembling hands into his pants pockets, trying to look cool. "Yeah."
The kitchen is big and warm and yellow, lit up with a picture window facing the backyard and Talia is pulling stuff out of the fridge when they walk in. "Your dad's hot," Laura tells him nonchalantly and Stiles gapes in disbelief.
"Laura," her mother says sharply. Laura walks out again and Stiles watches her go, mouth still agape.
"She's just trying to rile you," Talia soothes, and begins washing some greens in the sink. "Don't take anything too seriously."
"W-what," Stiles tries, "you trying to say my dad's not hot?"
She pauses and is silent for so long, he starts to sweat a little and then she's laughing hoarsely, a deep, pleased sound. He smiles back, big and dorky in his relief.
"Come help me, Stiles," she beckons, putting out a chopping board, a knife and three summer squashes. "And tell me all about you. How has school been?"
And then it's easy. He helps her finish dinner for her pack while he prattles on at her like she's one of his favorite aunts or something.
He's just started looking forward to eating what they've made when Laura pops in again, face agitated. "Mom, the police."
Talia sighs and wipes her hands off on a dishtowel. "Come," she beckons to Stiles.
He sees the flash or blue and red lights from the window. He's about to apologize for bringing the law to their land again when the front door flies open and Derek Hale comes stumbling in, face full of fear.
He's in some lacrosse shorts and pads like he just ran from practice, his hair wet at the tips like he actually sweat doing so. He looks like he's going to say something but the moment he sees Stiles, he goes very still and just...stares at him.
"...you play lacrosse?" Stiles asks like he can't keep his big mouth shut and Derek just looks at him, all wide eyes.
And then his eyebrows come together in confusion and he says, voice very soft "Yes?--" and gets interrupted by Stiles' dad shouting "Stiles! Get your ass out here!" from the yard.
"Go, love," Talia says, suddenly there again and guiding him out. He has to walk past Derek and when he does, Derek flinches away a little, but not soon enough that Stiles doesn't get a sense of how much bigger he is, how much taller. How freaking attractive.
"Jesus," he whispers to himself on the porch, dazed by it.
Talia actually smiles as she gives him a little push towards the stairs.
His dad is standing on the lawn with his arms crossed over his chest, looking very forbidding in his uniform and sunglasses. Stiles sighs, slumps a little as he walks down the stairs towards him.
"Sheriff Stilinski," Talia Hale says in greeting.
"Alpha Hale," his dad says back, watching Stiles the whole time. Stiles climbs into the passenger seat with his head down. He looks up once and catches Laura Hale standing on the porch with a little smirk on her face.
He doesn't think, just sticks his tongue out at her and her smile grows until it's full-blown and she looks just like her mom.
He looks away again when his dad gets in the car with a deep, disappointed sigh and starts the engine.
"Nothing happened!" Stiles argues on the drive home. "Derek wasn't even there! I mean, not until I was leaving--"
"Stiles, you can't just walk into Were land alone. You were lucky that Alpha Hale found you first. What if a jealous beta had? Do you even know how uncommon and taboo it is for the Alpha's son to claim a human? You don't know how the pack feels! You might just have started an inter-pack feud--"
"Really?" Stiles says, remembering the quiet homestead and the kids all lazy on the porch. Laura rolling her eyes. Talia putting dry pasta in a boiling pot.
Derek in his lacrosse shorts, knees all grass-stained and handsome face flushed from running.
"--it didn't seem like that."
"Not everything is as it seems," his father argues and Stiles looks away, curled in on himself.
After that, it's done by the book. Literally by the book. With formal invites and chaperons and Stiles' dad fussing over his suit tie.
"Dad, it's fine. It's just dinner. Talia Hale isn't some cocktail hour lady, she's really...chill and laid back."
Stiles' dad snorts, retying his tie once more in the mirror. "She's one of the richest Weres in the state, kid. We're just going to do our best to look nice tonight."
Stiles wanders away grumbling. Waits out on the front stoop for the Argent brothers to show. He doesn't love the idea of them coming, though it helps to know they'll just be waiting in the car.
Talia answers the door wearing a summer dress that matches her pale green eyes. Stiles' dad is nervous when he shakes her hand.
She beckons them in and all the lights are on in the house, setting it ablaze, bright and yellow and Stiles squints a little, startles when he sees how many Hales are there. It's definitely not the whole pack but it's a crowd of them.
"You both look handsome," Talia tells them, taking Stiles' dad's jacket and then she turns her eyes on Stiles and smiles with all this affection. "Stiles, you cut your hair. It's very nice." And then she's walking Stiles into the pack a little with a hand on his knobby shoulder and saying "Isn't his haircut handsome?"
The pack makes general sounds of approval and close in around them and they're all warm and inviting and Stiles can't make out any familiar faces as he blushes and stutters out thanks and says hi, nice to meet you and shakes a few hands as Talia leads him through proudly.
He feels welcome here. He feels like he's wanted here and it's nice and strange all at the same time. He's read the book and he can kind of understand it, but not wholly, not like they do. He'll never feel what they feel, how one, awkward, too-long bite in the woods that night suddenly made him pack. Family.
"This is Peter, my brother," Talia says and there is a man holding a squirming baby in front of him, flashing him a smile and saying "Hey, nice to meet you finally."
"Nice to meet you--" Stiles says back and then he's being introduced to others: Allie, Peter's wife. Grace and Jameson, Ben's parents. Cora, Oliver, Helen. A little boy named Cedar, who runs through with a dinosaur toy, barking at everyone. Two other cousins whose names Stiles forgets. And then Laura is there with a man named Thomas and then Derek. Derek, who stands up hurriedly from the couch, and with stiff motions, introduces himself to Stiles' father.
"Sheriff Stilinski, I'm Derek Hale," he says seriously, earnestly. And he's wearing a tie. Just like Stiles's dad. And his dark hair is brushed back neatly off his forehead.
Stiles' dad takes Derek's hand firmly and shakes. Says "It's nice to meet you under better circumstances, Derek."
Derek shoots Stiles a nervous look and then looks back at Stiles' dad, still shaking his hand. "Yes, sir."
Stiles' dad has to free himself with an amused smile and then Derek is jerking his hand away like he's been shocked and looking worse for wear.
"Oh god, dad. Leave him alone," Stiles can't help muttering, which makes Derek look at him again, wide-eyed, and his dad snort.
"Go on, then. Go...get to know each other or something, Jesus," his dad says, clapping Stiles' shoulder. Stiles grabs Derek's arm and walks them away quickly.
They're in a little hall beneath the stairs when Derek frees his arm with a wincing look on his face. "Uh, sorry," Stiles offers. "My dad just--is uh--"
They look at each other and Stiles can't finish what he was going to say because Derek is really, really good-looking (Jesus) but also just standing there, looking at Stiles like Stiles is about to rip his heart out of his chest or something.
"Why--" Stiles starts, and then breathes "are you scared of me?"
Derek swallows and looks away, pained.
"What? Do you think--" Stiles tries. "I'm not an Argent or something."
"I know," Derek says quickly, adamantly.
"I don't get it," Stiles says, and he starts to deflate a little, feeling out of his depth. "I uh. Not a lot of people understand why you bit me because I'm kind of...kind of a spazz."
Derek looks at him, hard.
"They all think you were desperate--"
Derek makes an angry sound in his throat, face all outraged.
"It's ok, man. I uh. It's kind of a weird choice. Maybe we were too close to the new moon or something? Isn't that a thing? Werewolf rut or lust or--" and then he's being pressed roughly into the wall by pinching hands and Derek looms over him for a second, breathing heavily and threateningly before he disappears around the corner.
"Woah, ok," Stiles gasps to himself, shaken.
He's still trembling a little as he walks into the next room and Laura appears out of nowhere, tips his head back and looks into his eyes. "Stiles, are you ok?"
"Uh, yeah? I just maybe made your brother angry," he says and Talia appears too, concerned.
Laura makes a face like she doesn't believe him but Talia sends her away with a firm "Go. Find him. Talk to him."
Then she leads Stiles to his father and says, sighing. "Perhaps tonight was a little too soon."
"I'm sorry," Stiles says, miserable as she packs them into the car with tupperware of dinner, extras for the Argents who mutter their thanks with downcast eyes.
"It's ok, Stiles," she says, face so fond it hurts him a little.
"No, it's not ok," Stiles says. "I said...I said something really rude, I think. I think I implied something really rude and bigoted."
She's leaning down in the window with her hair tucked behind her ears, face all lined with concern. "Stiles--"
"I told him he probably was just in...in werewolf lust when he claimed me," Stiles admits unhappily, whispering.
Her face is surprised. One of the Argents, who heard him, snorts in laughter.
She gives the man a stern look and then runs a hand through Stiles' hair gently, just once.
"That's not true, you know?"
Stiles nods slowly, because he thinks he knows. He kind of knows.
Next to him, his father says "Oh hell, Stiles."
"It's ok. You'll see," she smiles and then steps back. Waves as they drive away.
They try again with a picnic on Hale land. This time, his dad forgoes the Argent protection detail and the pack seems calmer, quieter. They're in the big, sloping field behind the Hale house, near where a few trees shade a rocky little brook that feeds into the river.
He feels the healed bite mark at his nape go hot and awake when Derek walks up to greet them with an uncomfortable look on his face and a handful of wildflowers.
"Hey, uh. I'm sorry about--" Stiles starts to say but Derek just holds out the flowers. Stiles takes them with fumbling hands.
Derek's eyes watch him closely as Stiles looks at the bouquet and then smells it because he doesn't know what else to do. It's sweet, full of honeysuckle. He smiles and Derek's eyes track it and then Stiles sneezes. Twice.
When he can open his eyes again, Derek is grabbing the flowers out of his hand and throwing them away. It's the first thing he sees, Derek with a determined look on his face, throwing Stiles' flowers away like they're a live grenade.
Stiles sniffs and smiles weakly but Derek's shoulders hunch and he suddenly, stiffly walks away.
Talia watches them from a picnic blanket, hand cutting the sun from her eyes.
"That boy is an odd one," his father whispers, and there's no way that any werewolf in the field missed it.
The next time is at the lake on the Hale preserve, the Hales all in swimsuits and trunks, though Stiles is pretty sure that the pack could care less about modesty when humans aren't around (which becomes apparent when most of the little ones have to be wrangled back into their swimsuits every few minutes; one with a little pale butt goes bounding past Stiles into the water).
It sounded like fun when his father told him about it but then it's just him shivering in his shorts and a towel, skinny and human and cold while golden Weres splash in the chilly,
mountain lake.
Derek spends the day on the other side of the beach, mostly by himself. Stiles watches, curled around his knees for warmth, as Talia walks across the sand to her son. They talk for a long time, Derek throwing rocks in the water and then they walk back together, Talia with her arm over her son's shoulders.
They walk right up to where Stiles is shivering and his father is reading a book quietly in a beach chair. Talia looks at her son and Derek looks at his feet and says "do you want to come out with me in the boat?"
Stiles nods, teeth chattering and Derek makes a huffing noise and pulls off his sweatshirt, hands it to Stiles.
It's body-warm, feverishly so, from the Were's skin and it smells spicy like Derek hasn't bathed today. It's nice to slip on, the sleeves fitting Stiles' long arms but the shoulders are stretched out, a little too big on him. It'll keep him warm but it's almost not worth it when he realizes, as Derek struts away like it's the only way he can walk, that he's about to be stuck in a boat with the man while he's half-naked. Derek's back is golden and lithe and Stiles stares, mouth-breathing a little.
"Be good," his father says sternly.
Stiles has to jog to catch up when the Were looks over his shoulder to see if he's following.
Derek does all the work, arms bunching and pulling as he rows. Stiles tries not to look, watches a loon fishing.
They end up rowing all the way out to the big rock, and then Derek pulls the oars in and just sits there, frowning to himself.
"Thank you for the flowers. Before," he tries.
Derek scoffs. "You were allergic to them."
"No I wasn't!" Stiles says quickly. "I just have hay fever. Sometimes. They were fine."
"Oh," Derek says, and then his mouth curls downwards.
He should reassure him, but instead he barks out a sharp laugh, says "You bombed those things across the field like they were about to explode."
Derek looks startled as Stiles tips the boat a little, laughing at the memory.
"It was funny," he explains. Derek watches him quietly and then looks away.
It's awkward and forced, this time alone together. The sun beats hot on the lake, but the wind is cool. It leaves him both sunburned and cuddled tightly in Derek's sweatshirt for warmth. They don't talk. And then Derek sighs and puts the oars back into the water.
When they're close to shore, Derek's expression goes through all these feelings while Stiles watches and then he whispers "I'm sorry."
"For what?" Stiles wonders, smiling about the flowers again.
The boat hits the sandy bottom of the shallows and Derek climbs out into the water to tug it onto the grassy shore. "For biting you in the first place," Derek says softly, looking at Stiles with all this open regret.
Falling in the cold center of the lake would have felt less unpleasant than realizing Derek's regret and Stiles doesn't know what to say. He just gapes and Derek grimaces and walks away, leaves him to heft himself out of the boat alone and figure out what to do with Derek's sweatshirt, which he just leaves draped over the side of an oar.
He walks back to his dad and says "can we go?" hugging himself.
His father sees his face and nods, gets up, concern etched in his brow.
They're at the car when Talia catches up and Stiles slams the door and slumps deep into the cup of his seat, ignoring them as his dad and Talia talk frantically outside to one another.
Laura is wrangling all the nieces and nephews, rolling in the grass with them the next time they come by.
Talia greets them on the porch steps. "Derek has lacrosse practice this afternoon. Don't you play lacrosse too, Stiles?"
"Uh, for Beacon Hills, yeah," Stiles says and frowns when his dad claps him on the shoulder and walks back to the car.
"Dad--" he says, trying to follow but one of the kids rolls right into his legs and trips him up.
"I'll be back to get you by night fall. Be good. Listen to Alpha Hale," he says and gets in the car.
"Dad!" Stiles says louder, and ends up in the grass, downed by the kid that tripped him.
'Have fun!" his dad shouts out the window and beeps the horn as Stiles gets scent-marked by three Hale kids, earnestly rubbing their cheeks against his face and one against his shin.
He gives up trying to fight them and ends up lying in the grass next to Laura with his eyes closed, relaxed like he hasn't been for the whole summer, a few of the kids snoozing on him, drooling on his shoulder, his chest.
Laura tells him it's a pack thing, that the little ones puppy pile. And then she rolls nearer and cuffs her arm around one of the pups and sleeps too. It makes Stiles' eyelids heavy, his breathing slow.
He wakes up suddenly, surprised he fell asleep at all. He's alone on the grass.
The house looms gloomily in front of him like Derek Hale's unhappy face. He gets up and brushes off his ass, goes looking for the Weres.
Everything is silent though, still. Even the light. No one is home. They must have all gone somewhere and left him.
He grumbles to himself as he starts walking back to the town-line alone.
The woods are empty. At least they feel empty. He keeps pausing, looking around, listening. Listening for something. He looks over his shoulder and there's no one there.
He wakes up with a start, disoriented and Laura owls an eye at him. The sun is hot, making his hair sweaty. He sits up, groggy and disheveled. Looks around. "Shit, I was dreaming."
"About werewolves?" Laura asks, smirking.
He frowns, runs his hands through his damp hair. "No, there were no Weres. The woods were all...empty."
She makes a face at that and pushes herself up on her feet. "There are more of us than you can count."
It makes Stiles lie back for a bit, weirdly relieved. The kids are all on the porch with Peter Hale, eating melty popsicles. Stiles gets up, brushes off his ass and wanders over.
Peter offers him a red one with a raised brow and Stiles settles on the steps next to Cedar and lets the cold sweetness wake him.
He gets dropped off early on Sunday, finds Talia baking bread in the kitchen, her hair pulled up in a messy bun.
"Derek's still sleeping," she says, voice rich and low.
Stiles shrugs and washes his hands to help.
He kneads dough on a big, wooden cutting board until it turns glossy and elastic and then Talia busses it away in a bowl, covers it to rise. She pours them both coffee and they sit at the kitchen table in the dough-sweet kitchen, drinking, arms covered with flour.
"I think we're stuck," he admits. She looks at him curiously over her mug. "We just keep misunderstanding each other and getting angry. I think we need to do the next part."
"The next part?" she asks.
He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the little book. Her eyebrows rise. Then she clears her voice and says "what's the next part of Being Claimed Stiles?"
He looks at it, squeezes it in his hand, shy. "I uh. Something about being scent-marked."
There's a thump from upstairs and Talia smiles, leans back in her seat with her coffee. "Oh?"
"Yeah, uh--" Stiles says, distracted as the thumping moves across the floor upstairs. "I think we should just do that now and see if it helps. Some of the pack pups have marked me already, I guess? But maybe we're holding up the process because we haven't tried--"
Then there are quick, heavy feet on the stairs and Stiles turns around in his chair just in time to get a sleepy, frowning, half-naked Derek Hale in his arms.
"Woah!" Stiles says. Derek hunches over him, heavy and spicy, hot-skinned. Buries his face against Stiles' shoulder and rolls it there, like Stiles' isn't built bony and sharp. He rubs the grain of his unshaven cheek against Stiles' neck and tee-shirted shoulder, taking frantic little breaths while he does it.
Talia gets up, rustles her hand through both of their hair as she leaves them alone for a bit.
Stiles sits very still, blushing, palms hovering at Derek's naked back for a minute before they settle there lightly, ginger and uncertain against that heat. Derek scent-marks him with his cheek, leaves the skin of Stiles' throat scratchy and beard-burned. There's a moment where Stiles' heart upticks, when he remembers the woods, that same spicy scent at his back when the wolf had his nape locked in its teeth and that's when Derek jerks away.
Stiles touches at his hot, itchy skin after and says "Dude, you're hairy for a teenager."
Derek's eyes are thin like he's still half-asleep, eyebrows collapsed together in that Hale resting face of eternal frustration. But he mumbles "I'm a werewolf, Stiles," in response.
"--that's probably it," Stiles agrees quietly, stupidly surprised that Derek even knows his name.
Now when they come for dinner, Derek meets them impatiently on the porch, shifting his weight restlessly from foot to foot, arms crossed over his chest as he frowns.
"I'm coming, just give me a second!" Stiles calls from the car, trying to grab up the casserole and salad they packed in the backseat.
"I got this, you go. He looks like he's about to throw himself off that porch," Stiles' dad says, shooing him.
Stiles runs up the steps with his arms wide open, a knowing smirk on his face. Derek meets him halfway, clutches at Stiles as he scent-marks him, roughing their cheeks together.
It only takes a few strokes now, because they do this so often. Stiles barely gets in a loose bro-hug before Derek is moving away again, still awkward even after literally rubbing their faces together.
"Better?" Stiles asks and Derek shrugs, looks away. But it must be better because Derek is loose in the shoulders. They walk in together and the pack greets them with happy noise, Peter shaking Stiles' dad's hand.
Things get easier after Stiles gives Derek free rein to scent-mark him whenever he needs to. It's like something inside of Derek, that's made him stiff and closed off unlocks a little, jars open.
They still don't really know how to talk to each other, and Stiles ends up spending more time with the pups and Talia than Derek on any given visit, but there's not the same full-bodied strain to their interactions.
The only time it gets particularly bad again is when Stiles can't make it out for a week when his grandmum is visiting. When he finally gets back to the Hale House, Derek meets them in the driveway and jerks the car door open, forcibly pulls Stiles out by his wrist.
"--oh, h-hey," Stiles tries but Derek drags him away from his dad, away from the house and into the trees.
Stiles trips as he tries to keep up, mouth agape. He starts apologizing for whatever boneheaded thing he's done this time. He wonders if the wolf will come out. If the wolf will hunt him again and it makes his blood quicken.
He's turned and knocked right into a tree, a breath shocked out of him. He puts his hands up in defense and whines "Sorry. Sorry! I didn't mean to do anything...I didn't know--"
as Derek faceplants against his shoulder.
"Oh," Stiles says after a while, when Derek just breathes there.
"Hey," he says softly, taking a bit of Derek's weight. There's dark hair tickling his nose and he turns his head slightly towards it and takes his own, small sniff.
"--did you just scent me?" Derek asks, voice muffled against Stiles' shirt.
"Yeah, I guess so?" Stiles says. He takes a deeper inhale of Derek's Were scent, spicy and sweaty and warm and Derek makes this throaty, ticking noise, almost like a purr.
"You don't smell like pack anymore," Derek tells him, and Stiles can feel his hot breath, in and out quickly, on his throat.
"It's only a matter of time before your nieces and nephews puppy-pile," he soothes.
Derek pulls away. His face is flushed, eyes a little lost.
Stiles swallows, because Jesus Christ, the Were is fucking hot.
Derek steps back, shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He looks skittish, like he might run, so Stiles steps into him and pointedly drags his own cheek and forehead against Derek's shoulder, roughing up his shirt sleeve. Derek steadies him with a hand to his elbow and lets him.
When he pulls away, Derek's eyes are thinned out, content.
School is starting up again and he's spending the last Saturday of his break with the Hales. It's late, the gibbous moon nearly fat over their heads, making the house a pale ghost of itself.
Peter and Thomas, Laura's mate, start a bonfire in the back field that the pups practice howling around, their little voices echoing and high-pitched. The Were's faces dance with orange light, all sharp-lined. Their eyes catch the light in that strange way animal eyes do, glowing like headlights. It makes Stiles stare from his spot on a dry log beside the bonfire, mouth agape.
Derek joins him later with a stick, sits near even though they don't talk, they rarely talk. He pokes the fire with his stick a few times, watching the sparks scatter.
It hits Stiles, that he's going to miss this. All this time he's gotten to spend with the Hale pack.
His dad is drinking a beer on the other side of the fire, talking with Jameson, laughing about something, tipsy enough that the skin of his neck is ruddy.
It feels good, settled. Stiles ducks his head to look at Derek, who is frowning in spite of the glowy, happy feeling of the evening.
"What? What is it?" Stiles whispers, interested.
Derek's eyes dart to his. He looks like he has no idea what he wants to say and then he closes his eyes suddenly, tightly, gruffs out "I won't see you."
Stiles knocks their shoulders together awkwardly. "Hey, buddy, that's not true. I'll come see you on the weekends."
Derek doesn't look like he believes it, but he says "Can you...do something for me?"
Stiles shrugs, "Sure."
Derek's mouth thins and he considers. He plucks bark off the log as he thinks. "Can you go up to my room and just...trade your shirt for one of mine?"
Stiles mouth falls open. Derek notices his surprise and his lips thin and turn down darkly.
"No no, hey. It's cool. I'll do it. I'd love to do it." He jumps up so Derek can't change is mind, in action. "--but I get to take whatever I want!"
Derek nods, eyebrows lifting as he watches Stiles turn and jog back to the house.
"Hey," Laura says, passing him in the hall. Stiles stops her.
"Which one is Derek's room?" he asks and though she's surprised by the question, she points to the closed door at the end of the hall. "Ok, thanks."
"Don't get yourself into trouble, Stilinski," she sings as she goes down the stairs.
Stiles lets himself in, closes the door behind him.
He finds a light switch blindly on the wall and it turns on the standing lamp in the corner.
The room is...normal. A dresser with clothes spilling out. A bookshelf stuffed with fantasy paperbacks. A messy unmade bed.
Stiles strips off his shirt, sits down on the bed and peeks through the crap on Derek's nightstand. There are some receipts, a handful of change. A collection of Isaac Asimov short stories. Stiles picks it up to look at it and the bookmark slips out before he can catch it.
He picks it up off the floor and stares at it.
It's his school photo from last year, ripped out of a yearbook.
"Holy shit," he breathes and it hits him for the first time ever, that maybe Derek didn't accidentally pick him in the woods that day. That maybe...maybe Derek likes him a little bit after all.
He stares at his own, dorky face for a minute before stuffing the photo back in the book.
Before he puts on a shirt, he lets himself lie back in Derek's bed, shaky with what he's doing. He knows that his scent is going to be thick here when Derek goes to bed tonight.
And he still does it, turns over so he can smell Derek's pillow, the sour-spiciness of his scent layered here.
Then he shoves out of the bed, flushing when he realizes he's boned up in his shorts.
He kicks through Derek's clothes on the floor until he finds what he wants, Derek's dirty, scent-rich lacrosse shirt. He pulls it on and gnaws his lip a little, readjusts himself in his shorts.
Then he puts on a brave face and goes downstairs, out the back door of the kitchen, towards the warm light of the bonfire.
The Weres he passes all pause and turn to him, eyes following. Like they know. They do know. Stiles is wearing Derek's scent like he's wrapped himself up naked in his arms. He's wearing Derek's scent like a promise.
When he reaches the fire, Peter actually drops the heavy branch he's dragging and looks at him, eyes widening.
And Derek, Derek's nostrils flare and his eyebrows crawl up to his hairline and his mouth falls open on a single, whimpery sound.
Stiles swallows and says "we should probably get going," to his dad.
Frowning, his father gets up and says "well, I guess you do have school tomorrow," clearly happy to stay if he could.
Stiles makes his way to Derek and, while the guy just looks at him like he's caught in the crosshairs of a shotgun, Stiles pats his shoulder tentatively and says "So I'll see you next weekend?"
Derek nods, speechless.
"Ok, great," Stile says, and looks around, seeing all the other Weres just staring at him too.
"Oh, well. Bye!" Stiles says loudly and waves a little.
On the way to the car, Talia Hale catches up to them, takes one look at Stiles swallowed up in Derek's lacrosse shirt and lets out a little, surprised sound.
"Goodnight, Alpha Hale--" Stiles' dad says warmly.
"Goodnight, sheriff," she says. And then to Stiles "Goodnight, Stiles."
In the car, his dad lets out a hard sigh. "Jesus, Stiles. You don't do anything halfway, do you kiddo?"
"What do you mean?" he wonders, but he knows. He can smell Derek on him. He's drenched in it.
"Lets just say that if any of the pack was wondering about how serious you are about this claiming nonsense, they'd know now."
Stiles makes a face, but when he turns away to look out the window, he takes a little, silent sniff of Derek's shirt sleeve.