Chapter Text
Stiles pulled up to the studio at 4:50 p.m., ten minutes before he had to be on-air. He blew out a breath as he ran his hands down his face. He was exhausted from lack of sleep. His stomach made that gurgling noise he was all too familiar with lately. Ever since the first present he hadn't had much of an appetite. Stiles jumped when his phone suddenly began to ring. Laughing at himself, he answered the call.
“Yeah, this is Stiles." The static on the other end made Stiles' hair stand on end. "Hello?" Stiles checked the caller ID hoping this time something would show...Nothing.
The distinctive click of the call ending had Stiles scrambling for the pen and paper he kept in the glove compartment, for moments like this. He had picked up a thing or two from working cases with his dad. Below the last entry, he wrote the number 165 and proceeded to record the date, time, and duration of the call. After he was finished, he tucked it safely back in the glove compartment. He shuddered when his hand brushed the cold steel of the Glock G42 his father insisted he keep on him. Just for emergencies. It's small enough to conceal, but it packs a hell of a punch, his dad had said.
A tap on the window made Stiles jolt. Once his heart rate calmed down and he realized it was just Lydia, his oldest friend, save for Scott, he shut the engine to his Jeep off and got out. Lydia always looked amazing. She could be wearing a trash bag, and the fiery red-head would pull it off. Stiles greeted her with a weak smile and stepped up for a hug.
"Stiles, what's wrong?" Her piercing green eyes made Stiles shift uncomfortably.
"I just got another phone call; same thing, still an unknown number. I don't know how much
longer I can do this, Lyds."
Lydia wrapped Stiles in another hug. "I wish you would just accept everyone's help. Why don't
you stay at my place tonight? It will be just like old times!"
“Thanks, maybe I will.”
"Oh, I almost forgot, you're on in..." Lydia glanced at her watch, "2 minutes!”
“Guess we better hurry then, huh?" Stiles headed into the studio and went straight to his booth.
The radio station was a small one, quaint even. Scott, Lydia, and Stiles had made it their home away from home. They had worked there since high school. Lydia was smart enough to go anywhere she wanted, but she loved Beacon Hills, and this was where she needed to be. Scott’s booth was decorated in sports memorabilia, and pictures of him and Kira, his fiancé. Stiles’ booth had pictures of him, Scott, and Lydia throughout the years. The walls were covered in band posters and news articles. Stiles grabbed his headphones and waited for the light to switch to, "on-air".
“Listen up Beacon Hills, this is your favorite radio host, DJ Stiles. Tonight's a special night for me guys. I don't know if you know this or not, but today's my birthday! Yep, I'm officially old, now. 25. Man, time flies when you're having a blast. Shout out to my best friends for spending the evening with me, the sports master himself and the ever-beautiful Lady Lydia." Stiles fell into his usual rhythm; he took his usual calls, most of them wishing him a happy birthday and requesting songs for loved ones. When 5 a.m. rolled around, he signed off and met Lydia and Scott over by the lounge.
"Stiles why didn't you tell me you got another call, dude?" Stiles shot Lydia an, “I hate you” glare.
"Sorry man, I didn't have time before we went on air."
They' re getting more frequent, you should let me handle this."
"No, you promised. No wolfing out unless it's a real threat. Someone's just playing a stupid joke, Scott, and it's not like they ever say anything. It will blow over." Stiles tried to still his rapidly beating heart before Scott picked up on his anxiety.
"At least let me stay with you for a while, just to make sure you're safe. Please, Stiles."
"You don't need to. I already agreed to stay with Lydia.” Scott and Lydia exchanged looks.
"Ya know, I heard a rumor that a certain member of the Hale family, is uh... Stiles, well um, Derek’s back.
"Scott, no! Don't you dare get him involved. The last thing I need is that sourwolf around. He chose to leave. He has no right coming back into my life," Stiles enunciated every word to make sure his friends understood exactly where he stood on the matter. "I'm done talking about this. Now, Lydia if you're ready, I'd like to go get some sleep. I've slept like complete shit the past couple days, and I feel like I could sleep for a week." Scott and Lydia both nodded in agreement before following Stiles out the door. The bright, highlighter-yellow, note on the windshield of his Jeep caused his heart-rate to spike all over again. Before he could remove it, Scott was already there. Carefully, he grabbed one corner and held it up
Roses are Red,
Violets are Blue,
Happy Birthday, My Love,
This Present's for You!
Stiles paled as Scott read the poem aloud. Scott opened the driver side door to find a shoebox full of blood and roses. Animal blood from the smell of it. Scott quickly shut the door and turned to Stiles. “Why don’t you ride with Lydia tonight? We will get this cleaned up and looking good as new as soon as the police go over it.” Stiles could only nod in agreement. Still in shock, he followed Lydia to her car. After they arrived at Lydia’s, she tried to comfort her friend. Stiles thanked her, grabbed a bottle of wine, and headed for the guest room. Lydia headed into the kitchen, it was time for a little offense, and she knew just the man for the job.
Stiles woke to the smell of eggs, bacon, blueberry pancakes, waffles, and coffee. Ugh, he loved Lydia. She understood him like no one else ever had. Stiles threw on a pair of red sweatpants and his favorite hoodie before he headed toward the kitchen. He felt pretty good considering it was the best sleep he' d had in days and he downed a bottle of wine before he fell asleep. As he neared the kitchen, he heard hushed voices, one of which stopped him dead in his tracks and instantly made him want to run.
"Don't run, Stilinski."
Stiles hated that, even after two years apart, the man still knew how to read his mind. Taking a deep breath, he stepped around the corner and into the kitchen. He thought he was prepared. He had rehearsed this scene in his head so many times before; what he would say, where it would happen, how he would keep his cool no matter what, how he wouldn't let Derek know just how much his leaving had hurt. Nothing had prepared him for the sight of the mischievous grin though, or that scruff that he loved so goddamn much. THe sucked in a breath when they made eye contact, still as beautiful as ever, this damn man was. Stiles almost forgot that any time had passed. But it did, he reminded himself, and he wasn't going to forget. He walked passed Derek and headed straight for the coffee.
“Good morning Stiles, you look terrible.” Stiles responded to Lydia with nothing more than a curt nod. “Derek here, just stopped by to chat. So, I’m going to step outside for some air, and don’t you dare run away, Stiles. I mean it!” Lydia winked at Derek as she stepped outside the patio doors.
“So, uh, how have you been?” Derek asked hopefully.
Stiles tried to remain calm, he really did. He failed. “Fuck you, Derek. What the hell are you doing here? Who the fuck told you that you could come back here? Did you really think I’d let you just waltz back into my life?” Derek simply sat there, his strong hands wrapped around his coffee mug. Stiles tried not to think about how those hands used to feel on his body. “And another thing, why now? After two freaking years, Derek? I called you dozens of times; no response. I went to your house, Derek! Imagine my surprise when Laura answered, only to tell me you were gone. No explanation, just that you left in the middle of the night and that you weren’t coming back. I begged her to tell me where you were. Do you know how long I looked for you? Do you even care what I went through? Nothing? You’re not going to say anything?” Stiles slammed his hand on the counter between them, wincing slightly at the pain.
Derek cocked one eyebrow before sighing. “Stiles, I’m sorry…”
"SORRY', you're sorry? You broke my fucking heart, and you're sorry" Stiles hurled his coffee mug into the sink, shattering the ceramic dish. Derek flinched when a piece of the cup struck the corner of his mouth. "You don't get to say you're sorry, Derek. Not to me." Stiles turned to storm out of the room but hesitated when he noticed the cut. "How is that possible?" He nodded towards Derek. "You don't get hurt. You have super-wolf abilities, why aren't you healing?" The worry in Stiles' tone made Derek smile a little. "Stop smiling, Derek. Why aren't you healing?" When Derek didn't reply, Stiles, hurt, shook his head and left the room.
Derek let out a heavy sigh as he rubbed his new wound. That actually kind of
hurt. Derek got up to find himself a beer when Lydia returned from outside.
"That went well, I take it?" Lydia asked.
"Better than I thought, actually.” Derek snorted.
"Just give him some time. He needs you right now, Derek. He may not know it yet, but he needs
you."
Derek slowly shook his head. "I don't know, you didn't feel the emotions coming from him, he swallowed. "There was so much anger and betrayal inside him."
"I may not be a werewolf, Derek, but I am his best friend. He's hurt, and confused, and
stressed."
“Yeah, I know. So, tell me about these phone calls.”
“They started about a month and a half ago. At first, it was just random calls. Now, they are constant. Always an unknown number. No one ever speaks, all he hears is static. Sheriff Stilinski has tried tracing them, but they never stay on the line long enough. After the first week of calls, Stiles started to ignore them. Then he got a present. Someone slit a rabbit’s throat and left it in a shoebox for him, with a note that said, “Till death do us part.” The next one was a squirrel, and then a cat. There’s always a note of some sort, each one creepier than the last. The latest happened last night. They left a poem on his windshield and a shoebox full of animal blood and roses on his driver’s seat. There’s one other thing. Scott and I haven’t told Stiles, but the lock to the studio was busted when we got there. Nothing was stolen, as far as we could tell, but with everything going on, we didn’t want to worry him unnecessarily. He won’t let Scott nor I look into it. And that’s where you come in, Derek. We don’t know why you left, but I know you had your reasons. You loved-love Stiles. Anyone with half a brain can see it. So, we need you to stay with Stiles, be his live-in bodyguard. And if you happen to put the spark back in his step, well, no one here will complain.” Lydia winked at Derek. “Okay, I’ve got errands to run. Jackson wants to meet me for lunch and I need to go grocery shopping. And Derek, don’t give up on him. He does love you, he’s just broken. “
The wolf in Derek wanted to hunt down this stalker and rip them to shreds for what they had put Stiles through. Derek felt bad enough about the way he had left things between them, or rather, the way he had disappeared. He had needed a clean break. It will be easier for Stiles this way, at least that’s what he had told himself. He stayed away for two years, hoping Stiles would move on and forget him. He, on the other hand, would never forget Stiles. He had spent every day of the past two years in some dive bar wallowing in self-pity. Which is where he had been when Lydia called him. Something in him snapped when she told him what had happened. Suddenly, losing his abilities didn’t seem like such a big deal. Stiles needed him, so what if he couldn’t heal, so what if he couldn’t shift. He knew then and there that he couldn’t run away anymore. No matter what, he would spend the rest of his life making it up to Stiles, even if that meant being his bodyguard instead of his boyfriend. For now. Some people, however, hadn’t been so welcoming upon his return. Scott for instance, had punched him in the jaw, and since he had lost some of his supernatural abilities, the most inconvenient, being his ability to heal super fast, he was still feeling that one. He still healed faster than normal people, but now he bruised. Sheriff Stilinski had promised to throw him in jail if he hurt Stiles again. He wasn’t mad at them, he actually admired them for it and was glad Stiles had people looking out for him. Plus, he knew he deserved worse.
Derek gave it a couple minutes before he made his way to the guest room where Stiles was staying. He could smell the hurt and confusion mixed with a little lust. The latter gave him a glimmer of hope, but for now, he had to focus on keeping Stiles safe. He knocked on the door and waited until he heard, “come in” before entering. Stiles was sitting on the edge of the bed, hands clasped tightly in a ball by his forehead.
“Stiles, I know I’m the last person you want to see right now, but please hear me out. You’re right, I have no business apologizing to you. I’m the one who left. I fucked up. That will always be my biggest regret. Whether you believe me or not, I never stopped loving you,” Stiles snorted at that, but Derek pressed on. “But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here because you’re in trouble and you need protection.” Derek held his hand up to silence the oncoming denial he knew would come from Stiles’ mouth. “I’ve been filled in and everyone is in agreement, well, almost everyone.” He said as he rubbed his jaw. “You need protection, at least until we find whoever’s behind this, and believe me, we will. So, like it or not, we’re stuck together.” Stiles only groaned in response.