Chapter Text
Stiles meets Derek for the first time at Scott’s house, hiding behind his best friend’s back because he is overwhelmed by the events.
There are so many people in the house, too many, in Stiles' opinion; he doesn’t know half of them. He is sure that Scott or Melissa don't know them either, but it is an important occasion and people came, invited or not.
Becoming a member of the Hale pack is a big thing. Huge. So, naturally, everybody from the town wanted to be here, to greet their Alpha, to show their appreciation that one more is saved, taken into the fold. Apparently, Alpha Hale gives the gift of the bite only to those who need it, not to the ones who want it. If that weren't the case, half of the town would be members of the pack.
This time, it's Scott. His Scott. Alpha gave him the bite last week, after he had spent another ten days in the hospital hooked on oxygen tanks and inhalators, with Melissa's blessing, of course - and they survived. And by 'they', Stiles means Scott and himself, of course.
So Stiles comes even though he hates crowds - he is aware that this is something to celebrate, but he plants himself behind Mrs. McCall’s ficus, which is blissfully taller than him, hiding and occasionally stealing bits of food from the nearby table. Great spot. He is right in the middle of nibbling on a delicious cheese cracker when Scott sees him and blows his cover - he lifts him up from the ground in a bear hug, laughing and twirling him in the air. “Stop hiding, buddy. Come, join the festivities!"
"What festivities, Scott," Stiles complains and pats his friend gently on the shoulder. Scott puts him down. "I saw Mrs. Jameson stealing food into her bag for later."
Scott grins and gives Stiles that honest, confessional-time look. "I. . . am so happy, Stiles. You’ll see, everything’s going to be fine. Nothing’s going to change." Why would something change, Stiles didn't even think something would change. "Well, except that I won’t be sick anymore, and I’ll have to do pack stuff. But other than that… We’re still best buds, I’ll still spend as much time with you as I did before.”
And Stiles can’t help it, Scott's positive attitude infecting him as well, so he laughs together with his friend, happy for him, happy with him. Stiles trusts him, implicitly. Scott had never lied to him before, and there is no reason for him to start doing it now when he is a werewolf. Stiles hugs his friend back, swinging his skinny arms around his neck, and he finds Scott's new size odd under his touch; he was always bigger than Stiles, but especially now, after the bite. It feels like his muscles have grown muscles.
“Come, let’s meet everyone,” Scott declares, dragging the reluctant Stiles a little.
Stiles’ eyes roam across the gathering, humans and werewolves all mixed, and he decides that it would be safest to hide behind Scott’s back, as per usual, again. And Scott usually lets him, so when after a few steps, Scott takes him by his arm and nudges a little, placing Stiles in front of him, Stiles jerks in surprise. Traitor.
“Alpha Hale, this is my best friend, Stiles,” Scott declares proudly.
Stiles is mortified. Alpha! Scott gave him no warning, no anything, this is a gross violation of their bro code. Stiles can’t bring himself to look up from the ground. He retreats again behind Scott, and clutches Scott’s shirt at his back.
“Stiles. Nice to meet you,” a melodious voice says and a strong, robust hand appears under his nose.
Oh. Well. He can't be uncivil now. Stiles bites his lip and knows that he should look up, greet the Alpha properly, with decorum. He tries, but all he manages is to put his hand in the man’s much bigger one, terrified that he is ruining things for Scott, embarrassed by the sweatiness of his palm, and not a little afraid, to be honest – if Alpha Hale decides to shake his hand for real, good chances are that he’ll break a bone or two in it. Stiles hopes that the Alpha can tell that he is an omega.
The man cups Stiles' hand gently like it's made of glass and strokes his open palm with his thumb, once, twice, mindful of his strength.
Stiles' skin tingles and he panics a little. "I'm sorry," he mumbles into his chin, apologizing for his own social and other ineptitude.
He hears the alpha huff out through his nose in amusement. "There's nothing to apologize for, Stiles," the voice says softly.
Stiles blinks, grateful, and looks up in surprise, only for a second, just a fleeting glimpse through his eyelashes – all he gets for his effort is a vague blur of dark hair, strong beard, sharp features and piercing, pale eyes. He focuses on the floor again.
“Aw, come on, buddy, don’t be like that,” Scott cajoles, hugging Stiles around his shoulders in support. “He’s not scared of you, I promise, Alpha. He’s just a little shy. But you’ll get to know him, I hope. We’ve been best friends since diapers.”
Stiles blushes at Scott’s words, grateful and embarrassed in equal amounts. But he can't fault his friend for he isn’t wrong.
“You can bring him to the next pack meeting if you'd like,” Alpha offers.
“That’d be great! Thank you,” Scott says with glee, and decides that they shouldn't hog their alpha's time any longer, to Stiles’ relief.
He introduces Stiles to a few more people, with the same amount of social ineptitude on Stiles’ part. Thankfully, the official part of the evening begins, with speeches from the Sheriff, Melissa and the Alpha himself, so Stiles goes back in hiding.
---
Stiles never gets around to attending any pack meetings after that. Truth be told, he doesn’t even particularly want to. He prefers to be alone, or with Scott, or his father. Scott keeps his promise, he doesn't ditch on Stiles now that he is the pack member and they still spend a lot of time together, playing games, going swimming, or just talking; nothing much changes. A few times he does have to cancel, he makes it up to Stiles by some extra long quality bro time.
He talks about the pack, and his Alpha, with great reverence.
A couple of weeks after Scott's party, on one of those lonely, uneventful evenings, when Sheriff lies sprawled on his chair downstairs watching television and Stiles is upstairs in his room reading, something happens that Stiles deeply believes he should have gotten a warning for. A doorbell rings, quite unexpectedly, jerking them both from their lull. Stiles can hear his father getting up, opening the door and talking to someone, but he can’t tell who it is.
A few minutes later, John climbs upstairs and peeks around Stiles’ door. “Son, you have a visitor.”
Still clutching his book, Stiles frowns. It's a strange word choice, since they never have ‘visitors’. Only Scott and Melissa come to their house, and Parrish, John’s deputy, on occasion – and they never refer to any one of them as ‘visitor'.
When Stiles doesn’t move, still believing that his dad is possibly joking, or sleep-walking, John clears his throat, eyeballs him meaningfully and repeats. “You better get up, son, there’s someone here to see you," he says loudly, and then whispers dramatically,"it’s Alpha Hale.”
Stiles pales immediately, shocked. He gets up, pushes his fingers through his hair in an attempt to make himself more presentable. He fears something has happened to Scott. He goes down the stairs slowly, clutching the banister since his legs are shaking. He looks awful, in his too small sweatpants and a threadbare shirt. He really tries not to panic.
His dad trudges after him.
And yes, there he is, Alpha Hale, in the middle of their poorly lit, linoleum clad hallway. It's like seeing Santa Claus, unreal. Stiles stops, looks back at his father, and John flails his arm over his son's shoulder. "Would you come into the living room, please, alpha. More space there."
Alpha Hale nods. When all three men stand in the living room facing one another, not knowing how or when to start, it is their guest who first breaks the awkward silence that has descended upon them. “Hello, Stiles,” Alpha greets. Stiles stops clutching his fingers and nods his head, hoping that he doesn’t blush. “Alpha,” he whispers in return in the man’s general direction, without looking at him.
“Please, call me Derek.”
"Is everything all right with Scott?" Stiles addresses the man for the first time ever and remains alive to tell about it, so. Yay him.
"Of course! I'm sorry, I see how you might have thought that was the reason behind my visit. I apologize."
And Stiles can’t help it; he grins a little for the first time in the man’s presence. He has no idea what the man is doing at his house, apologizing, demanding that Stiles call him by his first name, but Stiles finds it ridiculous.
“Would you like something to drink, Derek?” John offers, remembering his manners.
“No, thank you, Sheriff," Derek clears his throat. "Well, you must be wondering what I am doing here. I won't keep you guessing a second longer. I am here on a very important, time-sensitive matter. I am here to ask your son, Stiles," and he helpfully gesticulates towards Stiles' person, as if the Sheriff didn't know who or where Stiles was, "on a date."
The word 'date' explodes like a firecracker in John and Stiles' ears and they both open their mouth, gawking. Derek continues, all official and unperturbed. "And hopefully, after we talk and get to know each other a little better, I would like to ask for permission from you, Sheriff, to officially court him.”
Stiles almost faints in shock. He stands there, frozen, and pinches his thigh. He must be dreaming. The entire scene feels surreal. And somehow - wrong.
John frowns. “Um, well, you see, Alpha, um, Derek, I don’t know the official protocol here, but if you want to take my son out on a date, all you have to do is ask him,” he manages to say in response.
Stiles frowns as well. He feels put on the spot, unfairly. Wouldn't it be nicer if something preceded this 'official' approach, something like, for example, talking with Stiles? Unofficially. Getting to know him. Seeing if he was interested at all. Stiles doesn't know, but the man standing before him is a complete stranger.
“This is the protocol,” Derek replies. “In deference to you and your son, your position in this town, and your son’s youth and inexperience, I decided to follow it fully.”
John scratches his head. “Well. Thank you for that. I feel like I should say at this point that my son has never been on a date with a boy. A man. Or a girl! Anyone, really. I don’t know." He turns towards Stiles in exasperation. "Son, maybe you should say something.”
Stiles blinks at his father, finding it unsettling to see him so flustered.
He doesn’t have a problem that Derek is a man, or that he is probably so much older than him – Stiles knew that he wasn’t straight for a long time now, regardless of his total lack of experience. His main problem remains that he doesn’t know Derek. He knows nothing about him, aside from some general, available to the public facts.
“I . . . I don’t know you,” stumbles out of his mouth, uncensored, and Stiles feels his face burning. "I mean, I don't understand. . ."
Derek smiles at that, clearly finding Stiles’ clumsiness endearing. “Stiles, I liked you from the first moment I saw you and it was much before Scott’s party where we officially met. I know that you are right for me, as we werewolves always do. Please, would you have dinner with me, so that you can get to know me better? I already know a lot about you. You can decide later. No pressure.”
He likes Stiles? He knows a lot about Stiles? Talk about unfair advantage. Stiles feels pressured, and he hates that.
Stiles looks at John who raises his arms in surrender. “Don’t look at me. It’s up to you, kiddo.”
Stiles doesn’t want to go out with Derek. He doesn't understand why the man would want to do that in the first place, and the scariness of the situation far outweighs any possible interest Stiles might or might not have; on the other hand, he also doesn’t feel comfortable refusing. It would be impolite, to say the least. Stiles isn’t stupid, he knows it is a big deal to get an official offer from the alpha and that he should be flattered.
He feels guilty because he isn't. So. . . should he try and step outside his comfort zone a little? It's not exactly a bad thing to have his first date with an alpha, no less. He can go on one date and Derek can see for himself that Stiles is just a piddly omega and that he wants nothing to do with him. The alternative is to muster up some form of an official rejection right now and end this thing right here, right now. Stiles doesn't think he has the nerves for that.
So, he purses his lips and asks eloquently, “When?”
Derek's face lights up like a Christmas tree. “Tomorrow? If it's all right with you,” Derek suggests hopefully. “I was thinking dinner. If you’d like.”
This is so awkward. The man he knows nothing about, who claims that he likes him based on who knows what, is going to be Stiles' first date. So not the romantic dream he had been hoping for.
But, Stiles bites his lip and nods anyway; and so it is settled. After many polite greetings and expressions of gratitude from all sides, Derek departs, leaving both Stilinski men dazed and more than a little confused. It takes them a few moments to unfreeze from their spots.
John huffs. "I did not see this coming, son." He plops back into his chair. “How old is he anyway? I need another beer after this.”
Stiles goes into the kitchen and gets a bottle of beer from the fridge for his dad. He knows that John knows everything about Derek, but he indulges him anyway. His dad is trying to make a point that Stiles is already aware of. Stiles is aware of all the points. “I don’t know. Twenty-five? Twenty-six?”
John sighs. “He’s a lot older than you. And stronger than you. Do you even like him?”
Stiles shrugs. “I mean, like I said, I don’t know him. I've seen him once, talked with him twice, including this time. What can I like about him?”
John raises his eyebrows. “I don't know. He's good looking?"
"Dad!"
"Hey, don't snap at me! I'm trying here. He is the Alpha."
Stiles shakes his head.
John sips from his bottle. "So why did you agree to go out with him then?”
“Scott says he is a good person. And he is handsome,” Stiles manages to blush only a little while saying this.
"I knew it!"
Stiles smiles. “Maybe that's how dates work, maybe I will like him after ours.”
John puts his beer on the table. “Listen, son. I know you. I know how you. . . Just. . . I don’t think he’ll hurt you or anything like that, but in case he makes you feel uncomfortable, or scared, call me. Or anyone at the station. Look for the signs. I don’t want you to get hurt. He’s the Alpha, he should be the most stable of the lot, but, you never know.”
Stiles knows what his father wants to say. He knows that John isn’t a racist and that he has nothing against human-werewolf couples, and that the only reason he is saying this is because his father knows how soft, breakable, emotional and fragile Stiles exactly is. John is afraid for Stiles safety if he gets involved with someone as powerful as Derek, and Stiles gets that. But somewhere deep in Stiles' soul, he hopes for the exact opposite – that Derek’s power won't be the source of fear, but of protection and care that Stiles so desperately needs.
"Meanwhile, I'll look around for information on how to turn down alpha's official proposal, so that we don't get into too much trouble if you decide to refuse him."
Stiles grins. "You're the best, dad," he kisses his dad's cheek and goes up to his room.
---
Stiles wants to call Scott first thing in the morning and tell him all about his date with Derek. He wants to ask him if he knew about it, what he thinks about it, if he has any advice for him, et cetera; but, he ultimately decides against it.
The time of Derek’s arrival is approaching fast, and Stiles spends it in a jumbled mess of emotions and nerves, freaking out, and frantically searching for what to wear. He doesn't have time or energy to handle Scott’s input at the moment.
In the end, he opts for dark jeans and shirt, something as unpretentious and as invisible as he can find, wanting to remain exactly that, invisible. He really doesn’t like to stand out. He supposes everyone’s heads will be turning and everyone will be gossiping anyway, and he doesn’t like that.
Also, he doesn’t want Derek to think that he is having high hopes, or any hopes, regarding him. So he puts on his black skinny jeans, a dark grey shirt and his black converse, remembering not to use any cologne or aftershave since Scott always sneezes around him if he wears artificial scents.
When the doorbell rings, he runs downstairs and opens the door, slightly out of breath. Derek’s eyes focus on him, scorching. “Good evening, Stiles. You look lovely.”
No one's ever complimented Stiles before. Stiles doesn't know how he feels about it. He is inexperienced, but he isn't stupid. He has internet, he's watched the movies, he won't let Derek sweet-talk him into anything. But his body doesn't get the memo, because Stiles feels a rush of blood coloring his face. Oh, god, if Derek keeps showering him with compliments, Stiles can't handle that, he will spend the entire evening red as a stop sign.
He fidgets, unsure how to proceed, but Derek takes the charge. He takes his hand, as gently and carefully as that first time. He leans in, almost touching Stiles’ cheek with his lips. “I love it when you blush,” he murmurs, and then, without giving Stiles a chance to have a meltdown, he takes him down the steps towards his car.
Stiles does manage to let out a nervous giggle, and Derek looks at him curiously. “Come on. We have reservations at ‘Salvatore’s’.”
He opens the door for Stiles like a perfect gentleman, waiting patiently for Stiles to settle into the Camaro’s leather seat, and then he buckles him in himself, to Stiles' surprise. His neck and shoulder hover near Stiles’ face for a few moments, and Stiles forgets how to breathe. He lets himself have a few undetected moments to admire his tanned skin and incredible smell. He feels utterly betrayed by his body.
Derek Hale is definitely a very handsome man. Stiles feels his stomach churn and his limbs start to tremble with adrenaline. This is all so very new to him. But it is exciting, and Stiles can see why people like this sort of thing.
Derek closes his door and goes around the car to sit behind the wheel. He doesn’t start the car immediately though; he turns towards Stiles and touches his chin gently. “Hey. Don’t be nervous.”
Of course he can tell. He probably has a million ways to detect Stiles' emotions. Stiles resigns himself to being an open book for the alpha and stares at his front porch.
“I won’t lie to you, Stiles,” Derek whispers. “I like you very, very much. I’ll do anything you want to be with you. Anything.”
Stiles' blinks in shock and makes himself look at the man. After all, it's the least he can do after such declaration. He offers a watery smile. But, they're still in front of his goddamn house and Stiles suspects that by the end of the evening, he's going to get a marriage proposal at this pace. The Alpha does not beat around the bush, to put it mildly. He rushes and pushes, and the feeling of being pressured comes back with full force on Stiles.
“I won’t do anything you don’t want. You can trust me. Please, just don’t be afraid of me.”
“I. . . I’m not afraid,” Stiles says, blinking. "Much."
Derek leans towards him. “You’re not entirely honest right now, but I won’t fault you for that. Like you said, you don’t know me. I’ll change that soon, if you let me. I need you to trust me.”
“Okay,” Stiles murmurs. "It's just. . . Can we go slow?"
"Of course." Derek takes his hand and kisses his knuckles. “Thank you, baby.”
Stiles cannot move. He feels betrayed. Baby? How's that going slow? They haven't even spent half an hour together. They haven't even kissed yet! Surely this isn't how these things normally go. It's very unnerving.
Derek starts the car, and Stiles turns to look outside the window, ignoring his frantic heart. He didn’t expect so much conversation and revelations right from the start. Is it like this for other couples, or is it only for werewolves? He has to ask Scott about it. Although Scott is a new, bitten werewolf and probably doesn’t know much about it. This is Stiles' first date, ever. Stiles' first everything, really. He had a passing fascination with Lydia Martin throughout freshmen year of high school, before he switched to online schooling, but soon realized it was more about curiosity and admiration for how she kept her skin flawless and hair shiny than anything remotely romantic or sexual. He didn’t want Lydia to kiss him. He never felt desire for anyone in his eighteen years of life.
Until tonight.
Stiles' body and mind are out of sync tonight.
When they enter the restaurant, Derek keeps his hand at the small of Stiles’ back, and Stiles likes it, very much. His hand is as long as the entire expanse of Stiles’ back, and so warm that it makes Stiles’ skin tingle even through the shirt.
Derek pulls his chair out for him. The werewolf has manners, Stiles has to admit.
“I love this place, you’ll see. They have great seafood. And wine. Their cellar is amazing,” Derek says. When Stiles frowns with worry at the mention of the wine, the werewolf notices. “Ah. I almost forgot. No alcohol for you.” Stiles smiles weakly.
Derek leans towards him. “Stiles, I know how old you are. And I'm fine with it. Does it bother you? Our age difference?”
Before Stiles can answer, their waiter comes. Derek orders for both of them, and truthfully, Stiles is grateful. It saves him the trouble of deciphering the menu, and choosing. He never likes to make decisions, it is difficult for him for some reason.
When the waiter leaves, Derek raises his eyebrows at Stiles expectantly. “Um, not really. I don’t know.”
Derek rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Have you ever had a boyfriend before?”
Stiles looks at him in alarm and shakes his head. Does he have to ask such personal questions? Plus, John's already told him, and Stiles knows that he remembers.
“You really don’t know then,” Derek sighs. “For werewolves, age, gender, race, that sort of thing, are completely irrelevant. They're non-issues. We don't even think in that mind-frame.” When Stiles remains quiet, Derek takes a chance and covers Stiles' hand with his own, stroking it softly. The touch pleases Stiles immensely. But, at the risk of offending him, Stiles pulls it slowly back into his lap.
"I know I'll probably sound like my aunt Edna, but. . ." Stiles hesitates and starts scrunching the napkin. "You're the leader of the pack. Don't you want a nice. . . lady. . . werewolf. . . friend, to be your, you know," he pinches his lips in frustration.
Derek grins. "No, Stiles. I most definitely do not want a nice lady werewolf friend. I want you."
"I mean," Stiles looks everywhere but at his companion. "When you put it like that. . . I believe you, but. . ."
“You don't feel the same," Derek says.
Stiles is embarrassed, but he can't lie about this, so he shakes his head forlornly.
"It's all right, it'll come to you."
Stiles keeps his facial expression neutral, because right now, he wants to scream. Or possibly cry. Derek's over-confidence and condescending manner rubs him the wrong way and isn't helping at all with his turmoil.
"Tell me, Stiles, what do you know about me?”
Stiles clears his throat a little and almost starts to squirm in his chair, but he doesn’t. Derek’s repetitive caresses ground him. Stiles didn't even realize that his hand somehow ended in Derek's again. “Um, I know you live at that big house in the preserve. And. . . you have that big building downtown. . . where you work. And, um, you’re the Alpha.”
Derek chuckles, and Stiles smiles back at him. "So, more than an Eskimo, less than a lady that packs groceries at my local store." They keep smiling at each other and the fact that Stiles doesn't look away feels like a victory to both of them. "Please," Stiles quips. "Like it matters what kind of toothpaste you use."
The food arrives and they start eating in better mood.
But Stiles' nerves get to him again. What if it never comes to him, and he ends in a relationship where Derek wants him and he doesn't want Derek back? That would be awful, Stiles doesn't want that. He likes that Derek is handsome and everything, but Stiles needs. . . so much more. Tenderness, affection, understanding, respect. Love. He doesn't know if Derek can give him those things, and he would be risking a lot if he tried to find out. The feeling of helplessness overwhelms him and his throat constricts, refusing to work. So after a few bites, he drops his fork, nauseated, unable to take a single morsel of food. He starts fidgeting. He gets a feeling that everyone is staring.
Derek looks at him under his eyebrows. “Aren’t you going to eat that?”
Stiles flinches at the rebuke; he picks up his fork again. He takes another bite, chews, but he can't swallow. He struggles, his food stuck. He tries to wash it down with his soda and coughs.
Derek frowns at him. “You’re still anxious. You have no appetite because of that.”
Stiles starts sweating. He feels his heart rate go up, and his breaths turn uneven. “I want to eat, but I can't.” He wants to die from embarrassment.
Derek waves for the waiter in alarm. “Check, please.”
He immediately turns to Stiles. “Give me your hand. We’re leaving,” Derek says softly and takes Stiles' hand, stroking it in comfort. He seems to know that it calms him. “Come on, Stiles. Breathe for me.”
As soon as the waiter returns with Derek’s card, they leave their half-eaten meals and Derek takes him outside.
Fresh air feels like heaven on Stiles’ flushed face. They walk a little towards the nearby park, Derek supporting Stiles’ weight by holding him close to his body. They find a secluded bench and Derek pulls him on his lap. He cuddles Stiles against his body and Stiles accepts it. He has to admit that it comforts him. He doesn't have the energy any more to question or worry whether it's too soon or right.
When he looks at Derek’s face, he can see that his eyes are tinged with red and that his features have started to shift. Derek sighs in frustration. “Sorry. It’s because I felt you weren’t feeling well and I have this urge to protect you.”
“It’s all right,” Stiles whispers. “I understand. Please, don’t apologize.”
Derek grumbles a little. “I’m not scaring you?”
Stiles shakes his head. “It feels good. I feel good here, on your lap.”
Derek chuckles in relief. “I’m glad.” He keeps stroking Stiles’ back in comfort, and his features slowly shift back to human. “Do you want to go back home?”
Stiles nods.
“All right, darling. Can I see you again?”
Stiles nods again.
“Can I court you?”
Stiles lifts his head from Derek’s chest and smiles shyly at him. Derek smiles back, relieved. He cups Stiles’ face with his fingers and presses their lips together in a chaste kiss. “You are so precious. I thought I would never find a mate. I thought that someone like you could never exist. . .I don't deserve you.”
Stiles feels to weak to say anything, his head hazy and body exhausted. He buries his head in Derek's chest again and licks his lips, chasing Derek's taste on them. He is so tired, he can't think.
---
Stiles sleeps restlessly that night, tossing and turning until he gets all tangled up in the sheets. He can’t make up his mind about Derek at all. He thinks he should have never agreed on a date to begin with. It’s too much stress and anxiety for him, to even contemplate about being with someone like Hale. He doesn’t need that stress in his life. But, at the same time, when he remembers. . . and he does remember, frequently, his touch, his smell, his sweet words and promises, something warm unfurls in his stomach and fills him with unknown pleasure.
He’s barely woken up when there’s a knock on his window. When he looks up and sees Scott’s goofy smile through the glass, he smiles back at his best friend and gets up to let him in.
“Hey, buddy,” Scott greets him and jumps in. He plops on the chair in front of Stiles' desk, pushing Stiles' school papers aside so that he can lift his legs there. Stiles' house is like a second home to him, just like his place is like a second home to Stiles. John has been more of a father to him than his real dad, and Stiles loves Melissa like a mom.
“What’s wrong with my front door?” Stiles asks, stretching out on the bed.
“Werewolf now, remember. This is easier,” Scott huffs. “Sooooo," he gets this jovial expression on his face and eyes Stiles significantly. "I heard the news!”
Stiles rolls his eyes. At this point, probably everyone has.
“Don’t you roll your eyes at me. I want to know everything! I mean,” Scott swivels in the chair and spreads his arms, looking like he’s having an epiphany. “You have to know how big this is. Official courtship from the alpha? When I heard, and not from you, mind you,” he gives Stiles a reproachful look, “that was so not cool and we’ll talk about that later by the way. . . I flipped. Flipped, capital F.”
Stiles hugs his knees on the bed and doesn’t say anything.
Scott’s eyes bulge at him. “Well? How was it? What did you think of him? Did you accept it?”
“Kind of.”
Scott gurgles like he's choking on his own spit. Stiles looks at him worryingly before he remembers he's a werewolf now and that he'll be fine. “Kind of? Are you kidding me?! You can't joke about this. Did you or didn’t you? You have to take this seriously, Stiles. Please, you can’t disrespect him.”
Stiles sits up in alarm. “I’m not, I said I did, I mean. . . Actually, not so much said, I don’t think I used words as such, I. . . I think I smiled at him when he asked.”
Scott grabs his hair in frustration. "You smiled? I'm going to have a stroke."
“That’s why I said ‘kind of’, I don’t know if I should do anything official, like a release statement, or what,” Stiles’ voice tapers off. Scott's dramatics freak him out. “And I’m not sure if I should. Accept at all, I mean.”
Scott looks at him with a trace of pity in his eyes. "You don't know?"
Stiles doesn’t like it, but he knows he deserves it, he’s such a mess.
“Oh, buddy. Let's recapitulate. You went on a date, right?”
Stiles nods.
“So how was that?”
Stiles smiles shyly. “It was nice. I liked it.”
Scott grins at him. “There you go. Why are you not sure, what are you worried about?”
“That I’m gonna get hurt.”
Scott frowns. “Derek won’t hurt you. Physically or emotionally. He has fantastic control. Besides, you’re his mate, he’d sooner chop his own arm off than hurt you. You know that, right? Read up a little, it’s one of the strongest, most primal instincts of werewolves, to protect their own.”
“Yeah?” Stiles asks, biting his fingernails. Scott’s words mean so much to him.
“Of course. Plus, I’m here. I’ll be watching him like a hawk. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Thanks, Scott.”
Scott waggles his eyebrows like a clown. "Did he kiss you?"
Stiles smiles and promptly pulls his hands up to hide his face.
"Nice! I'm so happy for you," Scott says. Stiles believes him, because he has been Scott's faithful confidant for matters of love for years now. He remembers how happy he was about his friend's firsts.
Stiles finally manages to relax. “He’s taking me to the fair on Friday.”
“Second date already, way to go, buddy!” Scott encourages. “Now, let’s resume our game, I need to see if I’m better at it now with my new reflexes,” he says, grabbing the console and sticking his tongue out already. Stiles grins at that, and both friends leave their worries behind and indulge in some quality video gaming for the next couple of hours.
---
In the morning, a big basket arrives at their door, containing a bottle of whiskey for John and lots of fruit and candy for Stiles, courtesy of Alpha Hale. Stiles feels vindicated and wants to call Scott immediately to gloat, because his acceptance of the courtship was obviously perfectly clear and good enough, thank you very much. He picks out all the Hershey bars from the basket, deciding that he deserves an award.
The next day, it's a 20-pound packet of prime venison. Stiles has to spend the entire afternoon chopping it up and packing it into the freezer, but he doesn’t mind. He revels in the attention.
And then Friday comes. Derek picks him up, dressed in dark jeans, white shirt and his leather jacket, all warm smile and heated gaze, and Stiles realizes with sudden clarity that he wants to be with him tonight, he wants to let Derek hold him, he wants to revel in his attention and care. For the first time, Stiles can see the level of interest and curiosity surrounding the Alpha. Wherever they go, crowds part before them like the Red Sea, people whispering, giggling or straight up greeting and waving at them like they are celebrities. They let them cut the lines for the rides, they let Stiles have the biggest funnel cake (which he then can’t eat) and Derek holds his hand the entire time.
They are sitting at one of the outside tables next to the vendors and Stiles is picking at his cake, throwing furtive glances Derek's way. Derek catches them, of course. He is holding his chin against his hand, bright lights of the fair surrounding him in colorful halo, and Stiles thinks how he looks very handsome tonight. Derek smirks. "Penny for your thoughts. . ."
Stiles wants to ask him about his family. He wants to ask him about his relationship history, but he doesn't dare. When he really thinks about it, he realizes it would be best to let Derek tell him about those things at his own time.
"When you came to my house, then. . . You said that Scott's party wasn't the first time that you had seen me. When was it?"
Derek's expression closes off. Stiles drops his gaze, but after a few moments of silence, Derek starts talking. "It was six years ago. I remember the exact date. The time. The place. You must have been around twelve. . . I was eighteen. Your father arrested me, and I was sitting handcuffed to the bench near a police officer's desk. I wasn't guilty, I hadn't done what the Sheriff thought I did, but I didn't care. . . I didn't even try to defend myself. I was at a very dark place. I wanted to go to prison and let myself die there, packless, worthless. And then I saw you. You were looking straight at me through the glass door of the Sheriff's office, a serious expression on your face. I remember looking at your big, doe eyes and it felt like salvation. Then you pressed your face against the glass and got your nose and mouth all squished. . . and I laughed. I had no idea who you were until the Sheriff yelled at you to stop licking the glass because he was tired of scraping your dried up snot every time you came. I presumed you were his kid then. I couldn't stop looking at you. I knew what you were to me right away. . . half-instinctually, half based on the stories my parents used to tell me. And then it really hit me, the entire situation. There I was, at the lowest point of my life, finding out that I had a mate who was a child and who I couldn't have. . . and who was the son of the man who accused me of murdering my own sister."
Stiles gasps at his final words.
Derek looks at him with steel in his eyes. "Don't. You don't want to know. I don't want you to know. . . I don't want to sully you with my filth."
Stiles stares at him, unable to look away. He sees only him, they are alone in this warm night. Derek stretches his arm and touches Stiles' face, gossamer soft. . . Stiles shivers. "You know, you haven't changed much," Derek whispers. His fingers caress Stiles' cheek. "You are so beautiful. Your skin is clear like porcelain and soft as silk. . . and your mouth," Derek brushes his thumb across Stiles' bottom lip. "I want you so much."
Stiles' face bursts aflame. Derek smiles. "Although you being omega, so young and innocent, makes this endeavor of courtship more challenging, I love it. Your innocence is very precious to me. You blush so easily, an extremely rare characteristic nowadays. . . It tells me everything I need to know about you. And the fact that no one has ever touched you. . . and that no one ever will but me. . . makes me. . . " Derek can't finish his sentence. He's gripping the edge of the table, his knuckles white, and he closes his eyes in an effort to compose himself.
There's an entire picnic table between them, and Stiles feels equally ruined. Short, sharp breaths escape him and his body is on fire. He can't believe that Derek can enchant him so much, seduce him, with his words alone. At this point, he wants to throw himself across the table and let Derek do whatever he wants to him. "Derek," he pants.
Derek raises his finger. "A second more, please." Slowly, he calms. He stands up. "I'm going to get you some water, and then we'll walk some more around the fair."
And so, Stiles starts to think that maybe, maybe, he could relax and allow himself to have this. Everybody knows Derek, he sees that now. Everybody smiles at Stiles, just because he is with him. They walk, and Derek lets go of his hand only to hold him around his shoulders, pulling him gently against his warm body, kissing Stiles' temple and hair every few steps. He makes him feel cherished. He asks him all about his dad, Scott, school, and life in general.
When Derek kisses him on top of the Ferris wheel, Stiles kisses him back. It’s exciting, and he doesn’t freak out when Derek bites his bottom lip a little, swiping the spot with his tongue afterwards. His entire body thrums with adrenaline, stirring for the first time in mature desire.
Derek takes him back home at decent time. They stand together behind the bougainvillea in the front yard, Derek holding his both hands. Stiles desperately wants Derek to touch him.
“Tomorrow’s the pack meeting,” Derek says, so close to him that Stiles can feel his hot breath on his face. His mind is hazy and he can barely hear what Derek's saying. “Would you like to come? I would really like that. I want to introduce you to everybody.”
Stiles is not fond of parties and gatherings, but he feels that this is important if he wants to be with Derek. So he agrees. “Is there anything particular I need to say or do?”
Derek smiles and hugs him, gently, always mindful of their size difference. Stiles melts in his embrace, inhales his irresistible scent. “No. I’ll have someone pick you up, Scott probably, that’d be most convenient,” he murmurs and then lifts Stiles' chin and kisses him, licking into Stiles’ mouth for real this time. Stiles’ knees give out and Derek grabs him more firmly, groaning. “I can’t get enough of you. I want you, so much.”
Stiles flings his arms around Derek’s neck, small, gasping breaths bursting out of him. He doesn’t know what’s happening, he’s never experienced something like this before. “Do you want me, little one? I have to remind myself to take it slow, not to rush into anything. . . You’re so pure, so innocent. . . My little precious.”
Stiles buries his head in Derek’s chest and tries to calm down. He’s embarrassed, he knows that Derek can feel his desire against his body, but he makes himself stay there, lets Derek press them even harder together. “Soon, darling, and you’ll be really mine. All mine.”
Derek kisses him once more, soft, chaste press of parting lips, and then releases him. “Tomorrow?”
Stiles is all flushed and overwhelmed, and he needs all his willpower to part ways with Derek tonight. He somehow manages, nods and smiles, looking Derek in the eyes. “Tomorrow,” he promises, and then he runs inside his house before he does anything stupid, like beg Derek to come upstairs with him.
He has officially lost his mind.
---
Scott comes to pick him up around seven the next day, in his mom's car. The weather is perfect so the car windows are down. The road takes them outside of the city center, and it runs parallel to the woods until at some point Scott turns left. The asphalt cuts there and the earth road begins. Stiles has never been to these parts. Scott doesn't adjust his speed so Stiles bounces in the seat, trying to complain but Scott is too busy singing with the radio. When they arrive, Stiles presses his cheeks with his hands. "I think you've knocked out a few of my teeth," he whines, but Scott's already out, greeting Derek in some mysterious pack way that just includes a lot of intense staring, if you ask Stiles.
He takes his time getting out of the car because he is a little uncertain how to behave now, at Derek's home, in front of his pack. But, when he looks at Derek, the man has spread his arms towards him and Stiles nearly trips on his own feet before he throws himself in Alpha's arms. Derek sticks his nose where Stiles' neck meets his shoulder and scents him until his skin breaks out in goosebumps. "Come on, baby. They know you're coming. They're waiting."
The house is big and sturdy, and freshly renovated, too, because Stiles registers new furniture, shiny floors and fresh paint. The living room, or the pack room how Stiles instantly renames it, is filled with sofas, armchairs and bean bags. And filled with people. To his delight, Stiles realizes he isn't as nearly anxious as he expected - not when Derek's standing next to him.
“Stiles, this is Isaac, Erica, Boyd, Alison, Jackson and Liam. This is my sister Cora and my uncle Peter. You already know Scott. They’re my family. My pack. Pack, it is with great pleasure and honor that I can introduce to you Stiles, my mate.”
They all look at him with unbridled curiosity like he is a rare, tropical bird, and Stiles hovers between Derek and Scott, uncertain what to say or do. Then one by one, they stand up and shake his hand, human style. Stiles did not expect that. He realizes that they're doing it that way in respect to his species. He clears his throat. "Um, nice to meet you, everyone. Should I," he looks at Derek for help. "I don't know. Scent everybody now?" A moment of stunned silence follows, and when Derek starts laughing first, all werewolves dissolve into fit of giggles. Except Peter, who only smiles.
"You're cute," Cora tells him. Stiles blushes and hides behind Derek's shoulder. "I thought. . ." he whispers into Derek's shirt. Derek chuckles again and takes his face in his hand. "I know what you thought. It's all right, baby. It was very sweet. You don't have to do anything, just, let's sit, here," he says and takes Stiles towards one of the sofas.
“Well,” Peter speaks first, “that was lovely. So happy for you both. Congratulations to the happy couple. But now we have serious pack business to attend to.”
Derek glowers at his uncle, but he doesn't say anything, which probably means that it's true.
“Kate's up and about. My source has some new info,” Peter says casually, inspecting his nails. Stiles feels Derek tensing up next to him and he tenses up as well in response. “She’s been scouting biochemical labs,” Peter continues, “for a few months now. And when I say biochemical, I mean top security, maximum bio-hazard danger, biological weapon stuff.”
Stiles silently mouths at Scott, "who's Kate?", but Scott shakes his head and Stiles gives up. He tries not to listen, because this is some scary stuff.
“I talked to dad, but he thinks she’s in the area on accident and that it has nothing to do with us,” Alison adds.
“Yeah, right,” Erica snorts. “I don’t trust Chris as far as I can throw him, and besides, she sure isn’t searching the labs because she needs a new fertilizer for her daisies.”
"On our territory by accident? Fat chance. She knows our borders better than some pack members. She knows exactly what she's doing," Jackson says.
"It's one thing to know that the hunters are stocking up on wolfsbane. . . I know wolfsbane, I know to avoid it and how to handle it, but this is some next level shit that she's pulling," Isaac says.
Everybody starts chirping in, and the room gets loud. Stiles' head ping-pongs from one werewolf to another.
Stiles pulls Derek’s sleeve a few times to get his attention. He wants to tell him that he can search online the biochemical labs’ systems and find out what Kate’s been looking for through algorithms, when Cora says, “Guys, guys, she’s definitely found what she’s wanted. She’s been spotted near the southwest border. And we know Gerard's already there.”
“What does she want?” Scott asks naively and Peter smirks. “Oh we all know exactly what and who she wants, and because of whom she’s here.”
Derek snarls at that, fury and rage exploding from him, right across Stiles’ upturned face, who was still trying to tell him something.
Stiles recoils, petrified, and falls on the sofa opposite from Derek, whimpering.
The entire room turns silent.
Stiles buries his face in the cushions, covers his head with his hands, trying to hide from everyone, trembling and crying.
Scott drops on his knees in front of his friend, hugging him from behind, and throws a menacing look Derek's way before he starts talking softly into Stiles’ hair. “Hey, buddy. You’re okay, come on. Don’t cry, please,” Scott whispers, caressing Stiles’ back. “Come on, buddy, let’s go home, let me take you home.”
Derek almost starts to growl again, but Peter grabs him by the arm, as the only one who dares, and shakes his head. Derek’s chest is heaving, and when Scott brings Stiles up on his feet, walking him out of the house, Derek shifts completely and his eyes blaze red, but he doesn’t follow them.
When they get out of the hearing distance, he picks up the heavy mahogany table and smashes it against the wall.
---
Scott helps Stiles clean up and change, and then puts him to bed.
“You know he’s a werewolf, right? An alpha, no less. That’s what we do, we roar and snarl. He can’t help it. It’s like forbidding a rooster to crow or a dog to bark.”
Stiles’ face is still pale and swollen from crying. “You don’t snarl at me,” he whispers.
Scott rolls his eyes. “Well, it’s because I know it scares you. And he didn’t snarl at you, really. You know that, don’t you?”
Stiles clutches his comforter and nods. “I hate that I am so weak.”
“Don’t say that, don’t do that. Some creatures are sent on this earth to be strong and vicious predators, like lions and wolves, and some to be beautiful and lovely, like butterflies and humming birds. You’re the prettiest butterfly, Stiles.”
That elicits a small smile from Stiles.
Scott sniffs. "It's a touchy subject for him. You really don't know who Kate Argent is?"
Stiles shakes his head. "Who is she?"
"I can't tell you that, I'm sorry. It has to be him. But, he didn't tell you, and I don't understand why he invited you to the pack meeting without telling you some stuff."
Stiles turns his head away.
Scott sighs, and runs his fingers through Stiles' hair. ”Do you want me to tell him to take a hike and never come near you again? Because I so will if you want me to. He needs to learn how to behave around omegas, especially you.”
“No, I think. . . I should tell him that.”
“So. . . you’ve decided? You’ll end things between you?”
Stiles shrugs. “I should. I don’t know.”
“You know I’m on your side. I will always be on your side,” Scott sighs. “But, he thinks you’re his mate, buddy. Which probably means that you really are. I don’t know what’ll happen if you turn him down now. Something terrible, he may lose his mind. I haven’t learned about that part of werewolves’ nature yet.”
Stiles blinks at him. “Well, what should I do? He scared me, and I left, and I'm humiliated. . . I don’t want to see him right now.”
Stiles can't even think about how utterly pathetic and worthless he feels right now. And he's terrified of facing John, god knows what he'll do.
“Do you guys talk on the phone? Text?”
“We haven’t so far.”
“Well, he does have a phone. Can I give him your phone number? And I promise I’ll talk to him, too, make some best friend of the boyfriend obligatory threats.”
Stiles agrees, hesitantly. Scott stays a long time after that, caressing his hair. “I love you, buddy. It’ll all work out, you’ll see,” Stiles hears him say right before the land of dreams claims him.
---
John knows something’s wrong as soon as Stiles comes down for breakfast the next morning.
Stiles hates that with the passion of a thousand fiery suns. He grabs his cereal and milk and joins his dad at the table anyway.
John looks at him over his glasses and flips his newspaper. “Do I need to clean my gun and bring out wolfsbane bullets?”
Stiles shakes his head.
“Son?”
“No, dad, you don’t,” Stiles rolls his eyes and props his chin with his hand.
“All right. If you say so, I believe you. I won’t even ask what happened. I know you’re smart enough to handle dangerous situations.” John keeps staring at him and when Stiles doesn’t say anything, John adds, “Right?”
Stiles huffs. “Right, dad.”
“I told you a million times – we always have options. And we’ll always choose what’s best for you. School couldn’t keep you safe, we switched to online learning. If that alpha isn’t good for you, he can be alpha a million times over, I’ll fill his ass with wolfsbane bullets so fast he won’t know what hit him. Okay?”
“Okay, dad.”
“And I don’t care what mumbo-jumbo werewolf bullshit about mates and stuff he spews, you hear me? We’ll find you a nice boy to settle down with. Like Scott.”
“Dad! I told you a million times, he’s like a brother to me. I don’t feel like that about him.”
“I’m just saying. Any nice boy. Or no boy at all, who says you have to have someone? No one, that’s who. Only Valentine card sellers and stupid advertisements. Leeches, the lot of them. It’s all business, let me tell you.”
“You loved mom.”
John sighs. “I did, son, so much. I still do.”
Stiles picks at the tablecloth. “What if Derek’s right, what if I’m really his mate and I ruin everything by being too weak, or too stupid to see it?”
His father shakes his head and Stiles thinks that he gave him at least ten new wrinkles today. “I don’t know, son. All I know, that if it’s right, you’ll know it. You have to. Otherwise, there’s no point.”
They hug it out over the table, as usual; Stiles goes upstairs to do his homework and John goes to work.
He's sitting idly in front of his computer, trying to find inspiration to write an essay about Napoleon, when his phone pings with the incoming message.
Stiles frowns at the unknown number and he doesn't dare hope it's Derek.
>>>‘I’m sorry’
>>>‘it’s Derek btw’
>>>‘Scott gave me your number’
>>>‘I’m really sorry for scaring you, and for snarling at you, please forgive me’
>>>'it's all my fault'
Stiles gets all excited and jittery. He paces around the room, thankful, for he thinks he understands his father's words now. He knows now, and not with his brain, which still lectures and warns him, or his body, which doesn't think or do anything much except yearns and desires, but with his very essence, his soul, if you will, that he won't leave Derek, that he wants to be with him despite everything frightening or wrong with their relationship, that he most probably loves him. Love's not cerebral, or sexual, he realizes, but spiritual.
He starts typing out his response immediately.
<‘I forgive you, of course, but that’s the least of our problems’
>‘What do you mean?’ Derek sends right back.
<‘I got scared and freaked out, I cried for two hours. I can’t do that every time you do your alpha things’
A minute passes without any response from Derek and Stiles starts to fidget, but then several messages ping one after the other.
>‘Stiles’
>‘I wish I could promise to you I will never do it again’
>‘but it’s instinctual for me, sometimes I can’t control it’
<‘I know’, Stiles replies. ‘I will try, though. I can promise you that. I need to learn how to accept it’
Stiles sends a smiley face. He almost manages not to feel embarrassed by that, but then Derek sends a kissy emoji back.
Oh lord, they’re both too pathetic.
>'I can't tell you how terrified I was'
>'I thought that I lost you'
>'I'll never forgive myself''
Stiles' hand shakes, and he barely manages to type. He doesn't know what to say, because he doesn't want to say anything big over a text message.
<'I'm in too deep'
>‘Will you ever let me see you again? Please?’
<‘Probably’ Stiles texts back, honestly. That’s the best he can offer at this point.
>‘THANK YOU xxx’ Derek sends, and Stiles hugs his phone to his chest.
---
Stiles recovers over the next few days, secluded in his house and avoiding getting emotional. Derek texts him constantly, and sends crazy gifts to his house, like complete works of J.R.R. Tolkien, or a three-tier chocolate cake, to John’s utmost delight.
Scott comes over almost every day, plays games with Stiles and waxes poetic how Derek feels horrible about what happened, and he surely will never do it again because Scott’s read all literature on werewolf mating and they all say that mates would never hurt each other.
Stiles nods amicably and chuckles, but frankly, he is starting to think that Scott isn't a very reliable source on werewolf matters; and that whichever books on werewolf biology, history and tradition exist out there, they shouldn't be accepted as gospel and without involving critical thinking.
He misses Derek and he wants to see him, but he still feels that this interlude is beneficial for both of them. He manages to reassure Derek that he's not leaving him because Derek repeats that sentiment during each conversation, in one way or another.
Most importantly, Derek doesn't pressure Stiles, which is something that he hadn't been aware he was doing before. He must have realized that it bothers Stiles and he is patiently waiting now, leaving the ball entirely in his court. When Stiles picks up on this, he decides that it's time they moved things along.
<'Hey. My dad's working graveyard shift tomorrow. How do you feel about Netflix and popcorn here with me?
>'@!$%5&(6!!!*!'
>'WHAT TIME'
Stiles laughs. <'Eight?'
>'I'LL BE THERE'
>'I FUCKING LOVE YOU, YOU KNOW THAT'
Shouty capitals, what has he reduced his poor werewolf to, Stiles thinks, smiling.
He decides not only to make popcorn, but to also make his special peanut butter cookies for Derek. He rushes downstairs to see if he has all the ingredients or if he has to make a trip to the store. He rummages through the pantry and cupboards, finding all he needs, and leaves everything on the counter so that he can start baking immediately when it's time. He looks around the downstairs and suddenly decides to clean. He wants everything to be perfect. He vacuums, dusts and scrubs almost until midnight.
In the morning, he jumps out of his bed like electrocuted. He changes his sheets, blushing like crazy. Because if things start going in that direction, Stiles won't stop them. He wants Derek, he wants to have sex with him. Oh god, he might lose his virginity tonight.
Somewhere around midday, in the middle of him freaking out about what to wear, he realizes that Derek hasn't texted him the entire morning. He checks his phone, but no, no new messages. It unsettles him, because for the past ten days, Derek hasn't missed a single day to wish him good morning, to ask him about his night, and his plans for the day.
He thinks that he's probably excited about tonight, or just busy with something. They will see each other in a few hours.
But, it keeps bugging him, so he decides to text him instead.
<'I hope you're allergic to peanuts. So that I get to eat all the cookies myself:)'
Derek doesn't respond. Not right after Stiles sends the message, not an hour, or two hours later.
Stiles stops checking his phone, goes to the kitchen and focuses on mixing the batter for the cookies. When he arranges them all on the baking sheet, he covers them with a clean cloth and leaves them there for the batter to rest. He goes back upstairs to shower, but his stomach is filled with dread.
Something feels wrong. He washes his body absently, and he almost wants to cry because the dread has replaced his previous excitement. But he cleans himself thoroughly, and shaves, everywhere.
He dries himself up, dresses, and goes downstairs to put the cookies in the oven. They take only ten minutes to bake, so he stays next to the stove and takes them out when they're done.
Then he sits and waits.
Eight o'clock comes and goes. Stiles watches the old wooden clock on the wall without blinking. Time goes by maddeningly slowly.
At nine, he goes up to his bedroom. He checks his phone. No new messages. He sits on his bed for an hour.
At ten, he undresses himself and goes to bed in complete darkness, numb with fear and bitter disappointment.
He doesn't remember falling asleep, but he must have; something wakes him up in the dead of the night. He hears a hard thump outside his window and he sits up in his bed, alarmed.
It can't be Scott, he would never come at this time.
He tries to look out the window, but he can’t see anything, it’s pitch black outside. Something rustles again, and he gets up and comes to the window.
When he sees it’s Derek, he smiles in relief, his heart lurching happily in his chest. He reaches out for the handle to pull the window open, to let him in, but his mind registers that something is wrong.
He looks through the window again, into the darkness, and takes a good look at Derek’s face staring at him. Derek’s not smiling. He doesn’t look happy to see Stiles at all, and he should.
Stiles’ smile drops. His hand hesitates. He watches like in slow motion as Derek brings his hand to the bottom of the frame, and sees his claw flicking the window open with ominous ease.
Stiles steps back.
Derek slowly lifts the window open and jumps gracefully inside.
Something’s wrong.
“Derek,” Stiles whispers.
Derek doesn’t say anything.
First tendrils of panic grip him, and he slowly moves away from Derek. “Wh-what’s wrong?” he stutters.
That seems to piss Derek off, because his nostrils flare and he tilts his head to the side. He looks at Stiles like he would at a cockroach. “Someone was here,” he growls.
“What? Derek,” Stiles gasps, scared to death, thinking frantically what the hell Derek even means and if this is one more instance of regular alpha behavior that Stiles needs to get used to.
Derek snarls viciously, rattling the windows and the doors until they almost fall off the hinges.
Stiles’ eyes fill with tears and he feels panic consume him.
“Aw, are you crying again, little one? Did I scare you? I am so sorry, from now on, I’ll only WHISPER AROUND YOU,” Derek roars.
Stiles’ back hits the door and he collapses down, burying his face in his hands.
But Derek grabs him like a sack of potatoes and lifts him up, banging him against the door roughly.
Stiles’ head hits the hard wood and crippling pain explodes inside him. His vision starts swimming.
“WHO WAS IT, HUH?” Derek spits and snarls an inch from his face.
Stiles shakes his head, blind with tears, mute, and Derek slaps him across his face, hard. "You fucking liar."
His lip splits immediately and he falls down, sliding across the floor until the wall stops him. His mouth fills with blood.
He scrambles against the wall to make himself as small as he can.
“No one, you say. You think you can lie to me? How stupid are you?” Derek kneels next to him and pushes his head harder against the wooden floor. “I can smell it, you know. I KNOW that smell.”
Stiles feels his cheekbone splitting open. Blood flows from his mouth and face onto the floor, and Derek grinds even harder.
He’s going to kill me, a faraway part of Stiles’ mind thinks, but he can’t move, he can’t do anything.
He hears a wolf howling outside and it brings him out of the stupor, clears the fog in his mind a little.
Derek is back on his feet, prowling around the room, almost fully shifted. “My little one. My precious. You’re nothing but a whore like the rest of them. Who wants to destroy me.”
Stiles sees his backpack lying on the floor under the desk. He has wolfsbane laced pepper spray inside. If he could reach just one strap, he could pull the bag toward him without Derek noticing. But he can’t see well, one of his eyes is completely closed.
He tries anyway, straightening one arm slowly and pawing left and right across the floor in the hopes of reaching any part of the bag with his fingertips.
For a second he fails to be aware of Derek’s presence and then he sees Derek’s boot stepping on his arm.
“What do you think you are doing, baby?” Derek murmurs, and presses, and he doesn't even need to press much at all before Stiles’ arm snaps with a crunch and Stiles screams in agony.
Several things happen at the same time.
One, Stiles’ door bangs open, revealing John with a gun in his hand. It takes him a nanosecond to assess the situation and he shoots immediately, filling Derek’s chest with wolfsbane. Derek falls like a tree and in cosmic irony, his head ends up right next to Stiles'.
Two, Scott jumps into the room through the open window, in his shifted form, snarling like a beast; he presses his claws against Derek’s throat. Stiles sees Derek's blood trickling out of his wounds, and mixing on the floor with his own.
And three, before either Scott or his dad can reach him, Stiles finally passes out, falling into the dark abyss of unconsciousness.