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~
Oh, I was knocked to the floor
Never tasted as sweet
A poison as you have
You're an urge that can never be cured
~
The street is deserted, entirely lonely. Only the midnight wind howls over the dark streets, leaving a bizarre stillness in it's wake. There are no lights for miles anywhere, nor even stars visible above. The trees at the side of the cracked road are unnaturally silent. A lonesome, rusty street sign swings, creaking, advertising in faded colors the old fair grounds not far up ahead. Above, thin stripes of clouds cover the sky and form a ghostly circle around the full moon.
Silently a shadowy figure walks along the asphalt, following where it leads. His expression is stern, yet he drags his feet every few steps. There's a weariness around his eyes that speaks of late nights, sleep deprived travelling and more caffeine than blood rushing in his veins. He carries a simple duffel bag over his shoulder, tense in a way people sometimes are when they're done with the world, having seen more than their share of cruelty.
Heaving a sigh, a small, frustrated growl slipping right after unintentionally, the man lifts his bag higher onto his shoulder and glances up at the sky. He's freezing because he's tired and his last meal was two days ago, and he really just needs to reach the damn fair grounds already and see if the job offer still stands. He hopes it does. He doesn't know what he'd do if he had to leave again, doesn't know where to go at all anymore.
He sees the rusty road sign and keeps walking. There isn't anything else he can do anyway.
~
Stiles knows his father doesn't approve of his life choices but, well. Here he is, and here he has been for a while now ever since he turned 17. Ever since he fled a town he was done with, fleeing it's social constructs he didn't fit into anyway, and leaving all the people and their pitying stares behind.
Sometimes he misses his father, and his classmates; even Lydia Martin, who was the kind of beautiful that even got to you when she wasn't physically perfect on a Sunday morning. Not that Stiles ever got to see her like that, but it wasn't hard to see behind the doll mask she wore and see the brilliant genius she was, and hopefully would embrace in college. Stiles misses the people he was friends with, back in Beacon Hills, but for the past three years he never missed them enough to go back.
Beacon Hills never felt like a home to Stiles, for many reasons; not that the fair ground is what he'd call a home either, but it's as much of one as the house his father still lives in.
There aren't many differences between the life Stiles leads as a magician here or the life he could have led in that hell mouth of a town. Most are merely semantics.
Stiles still can't sleep in beds because the nightmares won't ever leave him alone long enough to even rest his head on a pillow in the first place, so it doesn't matter where his bed stands; fair ground trailer, teenage room, in the middle of the woods; it'd be cold and void anyway. And haunting memories of his mother whenever Stiles opens his eyes are in a town he grew up in as well as everywhere on a strange fair ground his mother told tales about. Memories have nothing to do with places and everything with Stiles’ mind.
The only difference is that at the fair ground, Stiles gets to show off his skills, his mother's heritage as he likes to call it. He's allowed, encouraged even, to embrace 'the spark' (it's more of a darkness) inside his chest. In Beacon Hills he was forced to keep a low profile, while still being shoved into lockers by school mates because he was the spastic kid with the weird, dead mother.
So really, of all the decisions he could have made, Stiles thinks leaving to be here was the best one available.
The people here are all weird and when they're drunk they're really freaky. It’s great because then it’s not obvious anymore how freaky Stiles himself is on a regular basis.
At least they never judge him when he has a particularly bad day and the stirring thing under his skin won't rest. They don't give him looks full of fear when he turns towards the wood and returns late at night, covered in blood, tired but content. They only ask him if he needs help hiding anything, but Stiles only ever smiles because seriously? He's not an amateur. He's been around long enough to clean up his own messes, hide the bodies and burn his clothes. His father IS a sheriff after all, Stiles grew up with the knowledge of crimes and how to not get caught.
But it's nice. It's nice to know that they would help him.
Stiles yawns and stretches. His joints pop after a long night of staring into the night and playing cards with the fair ground staff before they left to slumber peacefully, one after another. The sun rose half an hour ago and people are already a little busy, mostly with waking up. Stiles can smell the scent of breakfast wafting over to him from the food trailer and his stomach growls. He gets up and walks the few meters until he hears the morning chatter.
He sits down on one of the painted wood benches and is greeted with several acknowledging head nods, mumbled 'mornings' and a plate of eggs on toast.
“Rise and shine!” Erica tells him with sarcastic excitement when she puts down the food and Stiles gives her a wry smile. She knows that he didn't sleep, they all know, since he never does, but it hasn’t stopped them from using words that would make others think he did sleep, like a normal person.
“Thank you Erica, love of my life, goddess of mine!” Stiles replies and mockingly puts his hands over his heart. He bats his eyelashes at the blonde woman for added cheesiness.
Erica rolls her eyes, “You have to fight Boyd if you want to flirt with me.” Her voice is serious but her smirk is playful, mocking Stiles right back.
“If I can use my special tricks against him-” Stiles starts but is interrupted when Isaac stumbles into the small circle off their morning group, cheeks red and obviously excited.
“New guy! We got a new guy! A muscled guy!” Isaac smiles brightly and it should be illegal that a whole bunch of people is so shiny and happy this early in the morning, Stiles thinks.
When Isaac’s words and their meaning register, Stiles asks, “Mr. Phillips hired a new guy?”
Isaac flops down next to him, steals bacon from Stiles' plate and then talks while chewing, food pieces luckily not falling out of his mouth.
“Apparently a werewolf, too. That's great isn't it? I caught a glimpse when Mr. Phillips greeted him at the entrance earlier. The guy's seriously dark and broody. Scary as hell.” Erica hands Isaac his own breakfast and Stiles finally starts to dig into the eggs left on his plate.
“Sounds like he’s gonna fit right in. You know anything else about the new guy?” Stiles asks between bites but Isaac is too occupied to shove as much bacon as fits into his mouth to answer him.
“Well, he's hot, apparently.” Erica pipes up and Stiles turns to her. She stands at the portable kitchen but faces the open space of the food tent, her eyes roaming over two approaching figures. Stiles turns to them as well, expecting- Well, he doesn't know what he expected.
Mr. Phillips raises his arm and waves his hand in a somewhat abrupt movement. The smile he gives them is as fake as it has ever been. The director of the fair ground still gives Stiles the chills, even after three years of working and living here, what's with his ever lasting fake smile that never reaches his eyes, combined with a really bizarre collection of purple suits. Could the guy be any more of a stereotypical creep? Stiles doesn't think so.
“Good morning,” Mr. Phillips starts, his voice startling smooth and silent, yet easily heard, “this is Derek. He's going to help out for a while.”
Everyone around turns their heads towards the new guy. Stiles agrees with Erica after the first look because it's painfully obvious that the guy is incredibly attractive. But other than that Stiles isn't sure how he's going to get along with him. He seems exactly like Isaac described him, with a serious frowning problem added into the dark and mysterious mix he’s got going.
Stiles feels how his heart slows and something under his skin crawls closer, trying to reach out. He stills because no, he doesn't need new nightmares, he doesn't need to let what is left of his mother to seek the blood of the newbie.
Stiles is the first one to stand up from his breakfast and holds a hand out to the new guy- Derek.
“I'm Stiles, magician. Hi. I'd say welcome to the fair but we'll see about that.” He says and gives Derek a smile that's not as fake as the director's was, but it's a little bit more teeth, a little bit more danger than he usually shows. He can't help it.
Derek freezes for a moment, tenses visibly, and the thing under Stiles' skin purrs at the obvious recognition of being a threat. Then Derek growls at Stiles and ignores the offered hand. Stiles shrugs, but keeps his smile firmly in place.
The director raises both of his arms and makes a small shooing motion, “Now, now children, behave.” His voice is as smooth as before and Stiles rolls his eyes. Behind him Isaac bounces up and leans over Stiles' shoulder, not aware of how close Stiles is to, well, to letting it surface.
Isaac's grinning too, but it's a genuine grin, meant to welcome and to set at ease.
“I'm Isaac.” He says and walks around Stiles. Despite Isaac’s approach, Derek stops growling. He's still tense, but he actually takes Isaac's hand and shakes it shortly. Somehow that seems to break the ice and Erica steps forwards to introduce herself and Boyd, who had stayed hidden behind the kitchen counters to make sure the food doesn't burn.
They all end up standing in front of Derek, blocking Stiles' view. The director excuses him and leaves to do whatever the director of a fair ground does when he's supposed to eat breakfast, and Derek is left at the mercy of three excited puppies. They ask and try to interrogate him, but it’s a fruitless endeavor as Derek is obviously trained in avoiding answers.
Stiles keeps quiet. He watches for now, leans against the table and listens in on the conversation. Maybe the restless stirring in his veins, the spark (darkness) will calm down on it's own accord.
It's quite obvious that Derek isn't much of a talker, though. He remains tongue tied and only gives one word answers, masterfully avoiding direct replies whenever he can get away with doing so, but he seems more relaxed. At least the whole werewolf thing they all have in common seems to work to make Derek feel a little bit more at ease.
“Sorry for him.” Erica tells Derek and then points a thumb over her shoulder at Stiles.
“Hey, I'm nothing you need to apologise for! I'm awesome, okay.” Stiles speaks up and uncrosses his arms, steps closer to the circle that’s formed. Erica gives him a sharp smile while Isaac laughs, “You're a rude son of a bitch, Stiles, and you know it.”
“You're a smug little shit, Stiles.” Boys adds and wraps his arms around Erica's waist, grinning too, and Stiles feels ganged up on. He frowns to himself now, playing the part of being the annoyed shithead, and for a moment the corners of Derek's mouth twitch upwards into a near-smirk. Stiles huffs and rolls his eyes in exasperation. He IS awesome and now they have it coming.
“Whatever.” He says and then passes the newly formed pack of lone wolves by to leave the breakfast tent. When he's outside, the warm morning sun illuminates his profile and nearly blinds him, but he turns half way back, giving them all a somewhat feral smile.
“See if I leave you guys alone next full moon, like the polite and civilised person I absolutely am not. You know you're only allowed into the woods because I don't like wolf.” He knows he's putting on a show by flashing his pointy, sharp row of teeth, glistening in the morning light, but it's worth it. Erica seems startled and unsure if he's fucking with them now, playing the part, or if he's seriously threatening them.
“What does that mean?” Derek asks through clenched teeth. His voice is strained and when Stiles turns to him, he seems ready to jump at any provocation. Stiles tilts his head a little, staring for a few quiet seconds before he answers.
“I don't like wolf. Wolf is too chewy. It always tastes like a mouthful of bitter, crumbly and very dry chewing gum.” He makes a grimace at the thought and continues with, “Not even the blood makes it less dry. It's just bitter. I prefer sweeter things, like human children, but hey. There are not many children running in the woods on a full moon. Or any people at all. So, maybe I'm gonna chase you four anyway. Have you for a midnight snack.” His smile grows crazy, he knows; he's slipping, and Isaac actually cowers away a little.
“You know? Maybe. Just for the fun of it.” Stiles' voice is vibrating in ways his normal voice never does but he can't stop it now. He turns and walks away and cackles when Erica curses under her breath.
~
Derek keeps to himself, mostly, for about two weeks.
The three other wolves are nice enough, involve him here and there in evening chats but they leave him alone. Derek appreciates it; he didn't come here to make friends or form a pack. He came to work here and make some money to save when he gets back on the road again. His life is always about routine, a never ending 'rinse and repeat', not about pleasure.
If not for the annoying magician (what kind of name is Stiles, anyway? What kind of person willingly picks that as their nickname, too? How horrible must his real name be?) Derek's life at the fair ground would be calm stress free. He's got his own small trailer, an old, small thing that needed some cleaning before he moved in, but it's his space and good enough for him.
The work he does is good, too. It's nothing entertaining or challenging but it strains his muscles and makes him sweat, and when he eats with the others everyone talks about their days. They exchange stories and laugh over beers, and Derek feels at ease. He excuses himself not too early not too often and when he falls into his bed every night, he sleeps like a stone.
The nightmares still come around, here and there, but he's used to them. The stifling heat and the roaring pain are paired with screams that wake him; they’re old companions. When he has bad dreams Derek gets up and out of the trailer to breathe in the cold night air and he doesn't even feel weird for it, doesn't have to look out for anybody to catch him lurking. Not that he IS lurking but he's been accused of it before.
No, everyone at the fair ground is private enough to not ask him any questions and in return, Derek doesn't ask any either. He doesn't ask when Isaac screams in terror after accidentally locking himself in one of Stiles' magic boxes and nearly claws off Stiles' face when he's freed; he doesn't ask why Boyd's beta eyes are icy blue, and he doesn't ask about Erica's fear of colorful, bright, flashy lights.
Derek especially doesn't ask about Stiles' panic attack, though.
No one is very surprised when it happens, so Derek assumes it's Stiles' thing, the thing nobody knows the story behind; but apparently everyone knows enough to know how to handle it. When Stiles kneels on the ground one day, in the middle of the food tent when they all gather to make dinner, nobody approaches him.
Erica steers everyone outside again, says they'll have to come back in about an hour and everyone scatters. Derek looks back at the heaving form on the ground and is about to ask when Erica shakes her head and says: “If you want your head ripped clean off, go on and try to touch him or talk to him. If you'd rather keep your limbs where they are now...” She shrugs, “...You leave him be.”
Then she turns and follows Boyd who has been standing a few steps ahead, waiting for her, and when they're gone Derek takes one last look at Stiles on the ground. His arms are wrapped around his head which hangs between his legs and Derek can hear his heart brutally beating in his chest. He stares, he knows, for a few seconds. He's about to go his way, too, when Stiles snaps his head up and looks directly at Derek.
Above Stiles, the light bulbs of the tent explode in a flurry of lights and for a moment, Derek swears, Stiles’ eyes turn from amber into a luring sort of void everyone is eventually going to drown in.
Derek stumbles back, runs, and when Stiles is out of sight he doesn’t even know why he thought ‘a luring void everyone will eventually drown in’ but he remembers thinking exactly that, in a hazy sort of way that makes it sound like another person’s words.
Derek hides in his trailer for a while, trying to get this weird feeling of 'run, you fool' out of his chest. Eventually, Isaac knocks at his door to fetch him for dinner. They enter the tent and Erica and Boyd are already eating, the rest of the fair staff gathered around the place, too. Derek searches for Stiles and he doesn't even know why. He doesn’t even realize that he's actually looking for the young magician until Isaac nudges him carefully.
“He won't be around for a while, probably tomorrow.” Isaac sits down with Erica who hands him a bowl of some soup that smells delicious, and Erica adds, “Two days tops. He's gonna be fine.”
“Bloody, but fine.” Boyd agrees and gives Derek some pieces of bread to dunk into the steaming bowl.
Derek hesitates for a moment. His thoughts twirl around the comically freaky figure Stiles is before he sits down with the others. He's tempted to ask again but doesn't, digs into his food instead. Only when they're all done and chatting quietly before getting back to work does he say, “So, Stiles and blood. Should I refrain from doing some things?”
All three of the werewolves still before Erica clears her throat.
“Don't ask about his family and don't let him trick you with his cards, and you two shouldn't have any encounters that need stitching.” She seems serious enough but her lips twitch a little as if she's trying to stop a smile.
Boyd looks at her expectantly, apparently waiting for her to continue and when she doesn't he sighs.
“You're really not going warn him about the really dangerous Number One Thing To Not Do?”
Erica shrugs. “Didn't take him for that kind of guy.”
“What kind of guy?” Derek asks, confused and suspicious, flicking his gaze between the three of them. Isaac is still busy eating (the kid eats a lot and nearly every time Derek sees him), Erica smirks, and Boyd gives him a raised eyebrow.
“The kind of guy who let's himself be kissed by some fair magician. Under no circumstances should you let Stiles kiss you. And believe me when I say that he will try. He's a little shit like that,” he explains, and Derek's more confused than before.
He has noticed that Stiles is far from being unattractive. He has kissable looking pale skin full of moles, traceable but probably forming patterns, partly hidden under clothes and a long neck that has to tempt every werewolf. His hands are thin yet strong in what they do, talented when flipping coins and cards around and play tricks on everyone who watches.
Not to mention the cute nose and those bright eyes, the loud laughter and the messy hair that always looks as if Stiles has tugged on it and ruffled it just seconds ago. The way he keeps biting his lips when distracted, off into a world of thoughts, doesn't help much either.
Not that Derek has been staring or anything, on his lunch break, on several occasions, when Stiles has been practising his magic show in his own small booth, and Derek has been fixing equipment near by, nope. Because he doesn't stare at people like a creep. Because he doesn't lurk, alright?
So yes, rationally Derek knows that, if Stiles wants to kiss him, it probably won't be hard to convince Derek to let him. But he also knows that Stiles is a tease, and flirts with nearly everyone around. Usually it’s harmless compliments and cheesy pick up lines, but on a few occasions the flirting has turned dangerous, has turned into more of a threat to be eaten alive again.
It's terrifying to watch Stiles change. It's subtle enough, starts jokingly light so you can't prepare, and he catches everyone off guard every time. Derek's only surprised he hasn't been the target of any more threats in the two weeks he's been around.
After their first hostile encounter Derek had expected Stiles to keep behaving like the dangerous bastard he apparently can be, but that hasn't been the case. Stiles is nice enough, chats with everyone in between threats, but nobody seems to hold it against him. Maybe they all know something Derek doesn't, or perhaps Stiles knows things about all of them to blackmail and hurt them if they try to do anything against it. But whatever the case, Derek adapts.
Once Derek learns about the two faces Stiles has, after Erica tells him that Stiles is a good guy 60% of the time, and that the other 40% you just have to be cautious around him and stay on guard, Derek comes around to enjoy bantering over food with the magician.
Derek turns his attention back to Boyd, his own thoughts an intertwined mess.
“So, no kisses from Stiles.” He says, and he never would have guessed he’d be saying that one day. “Why again shouldn't I let him kiss me?” Derek's still wondering over the fact that Stiles would even want to kiss Derek because, as far as he knows, Stiles is all charm and flirt but never actually serious about it.
“He's... different.” Erica says and now she looks nervous. The smirk around her lips is gone, replaced by the same fear Derek experienced when he saw the void in Stiles' eyes.
“Not like us. Not 'werewolf or faerie, not human' different. He's a different different. A different kind of supernatural creature than we are.” She continues and plays with the hem of Boyd's shirt. Boyd looks concerned as well and Isaac actually stops eating.
“Yeah. Stiles is... quite something, that's for sure. Got shot once, right in the head, back in Iowa. We were travelling through a town, town folks didn't like it. They attacked me, us,” Isaac says, and his eyes are glazed over, clearly remembering.
“We just needed a few supplies but they practically chased us out of town. Showdown happened on one of the dirt roads; they had guns and one of them thought it a fun idea to beat me up. Stiles stepped in, in between me and them, and then...” Isaac shrugs helplessly.
“One of the guys panicked and shot Stiles. Head shot.” Isaac turns to look directly at Derek, still holding the now empty soup bowl, “He didn't even go down, just flinched backwards like a stringed up punching bag. Blood trickled down his forehead while the back of his head?” He makes a 'boom!' motion with one of his hands and grimaces, “It exploded. I had Stiles' brain matter on my shoes and some skull pieces got stuck in my hair. It was disgusting.”
Isaac leans back onto the table, stare directed at his hands before he continues.
“I screamed. Sunk to my knees in shock, sure Stiles would die, but then Stiles just blinked a few times. He stepped up to the very mortified town people and- Well. I don't actually know what happened then. I fainted.”
Erica leans over to Isaac and pats his arm and Derek thinks for a moment that it's pack touch, meant to heal and calm, but then he's reminded that those three aren't a 'real' pack. No wolf would acknowledge them as one, anyway. Derek thinks he should, though, because Isaac stills immediately and his heart rate goes down.
“I just know that, when I woke up, Stiles' skull was back in one piece and there was no bullet hole at the front.” Isaac shrugs again, turns his fingers into a gun and mimics shooting himself, while Erica finishes the recap of events.
“When we arrived, Isaac was still down and Stiles was whistling some tune neither of us recognised. He sat on the dirt of the road and looked peaceful as if he was at ease with himself and the world. It was weird. And then he smiled, all the way back to the fair ground trailers.”
Boyd nods his head. “It wasn't a simple smile though. It was the kind of content, creepy smile he only ever wears when he's back from the woods, covered in blood.” He adds, and his eyes are widened in horror, shivering because of images better forgotten. “They never even found any bodies of the people who had chased us out. They were reported missing, sure, but not murdered, because there wasn’t a single trace of a crime having been committed. They just...” Boyd snapped one of his fingers and shook his head slightly.
“They just disappeared.”
Derek looks between the three werewolves and a big part of him decides then to stay away from Stiles. For now. He knows that the magician isn't the easy flirt he pretends to be. He plays more roles and parts than any of them, and ever since the first meeting an underlying fear has been sitting in the pit of Derek's stomach.
His wolf tells him that Stiles might look like prey, but that he's the sort of predator you don't notice until you're caught in their trap.
For a moment they're all silent. It's a heavy sort of silence which follows after confessions no sane or normal person would listen to and not decide to run to the police afterwards. They all stay in their seats until Erica heaves a sigh.
“We don't know what he is. But we do know that he's the kind of supernatural force you don't wanna mess with while it wants to mess with you all the more. If he manages to kiss you, it'll be horrible. He’s caught all of us. I wasn't able to leave my trailer for four days afterwards.”
Derek stares at her but Isaac and Boyd both nod in agreement.
“The kind of dreams you have after he kisses you, they make you wish your regular nightmares would come back because in comparison, they're happy daydreams.” Isaac says with a voice laced with dread.
“The worst is that you don't know it's a dream until you wake up.” Erica adds again before she huffs and clears her throat.
“Enough of that now, you get the idea. Don't let him near or the blood he's stained with will color your hands quickly, too.” She puts down her food and Isaac gets up to get himself more. Derek himself stares at the remaining drops of soup and the bread in his hands. He doesn't feel very hungry anymore.
~
Stiles lies awake on his bed, watches the wind chime above him hanging still. It reflects the evening light coming through the old window of his trailer, the glass shards throwing white specks onto the metal walls of Stiles' home.
It doesn't move and makes no sounds so Stiles twitches one of his fingers, right to left, to summon a soft breeze. The wind chime catches, the glass hitting the metal sticks and surrounds Stiles with light, airy tones.
He knows why he can't sleep.
There are the screams inside his head, the sensory memory of blood splattering over his face and he remembers the day he turned himself. Messing with witchcraft after his mother died was probably not his wisest decision, but he had wanted to see her again. How could he have known that instead of her coming back the thing that had been locked inside her, that died with her, would return and take possession of Stiles?
It's locked inside his chest now. For a while, when his father was afraid of him, Stiles had tried to get it out again. But it never worked, and eventually Stiles gave up. There’s no use in fighting something that's as much part of you as your arm or brain. Nowadays he embraces the liquid darkness sliding in his veins and the power that comes with it, even though he keeps the claws and teeth behind walls, mostly.
It has the desire to surface and take over, but Stiles doesn't let it. It’s murderous nature influences him on a daily basis but he's the master, it's how this works. He plays host and doesn’t try to drag it’s sorry ass back to hell and in return he’s given supernatural abilities. Some days it turns restless and wants to hunt though, and consume whatever it can dig it's claws into. Stiles lets it, on occasion, when his defence runs thin and he deals with the aftermath as best he can.
He doesn't expect it to act up when he meets Derek Hale, though.
It's been a while since Stiles has had this much trouble keeping the thing under control, and it annoys him. Worries him, too. For some unknown reason Derek draws it up, out, and Stiles feels the immediate need to give Derek his special kind of welcome every time he's near. It goes so far that Stiles wants to rip Derek's chest open and crawl inside, look at his heart and get to know the wolf inside out.
Once he gets the last name from the director it isn't tough to figure out who exactly Derek is because everyone remembers the Hale pack, knows that only two of its wolves are still alive.
Stiles sighs and gets up. No use to stay in for the evening when he could be roaming the fair ground. It's too late for another show so he can’t even do that. The last one always ends around nine in the evening because, while the fair is old and known and makes enough money to stay as it is, Stiles' show is one for children, parents and young teenagers. All three of those don't go to a magic show that's in the night, really, even though Stiles has thought about offering a second version of his tricks: a darker version, with less illusions and more of the real stuff.
Something grotesque that might scare naïve children, and adults who don't believe in anything but their rationality. So far though, it's only an idea.
He steps outside and the sky above is covered in dark clouds. Behind it the sun's setting already, and it's light filters through whenever some of the clouds are ripped apart by the force of the wind. Some of the tents are dunked in twilight and Stiles starts walking towards one of the practice spaces, a round circle of dirt with benches and seats around to watch. It’s a lot like an arena in a circus.
He flips a coin through his fingers, plays with it and lets it levitate. It smoothly glides through his fingers, the golden surface reflecting light that seemingly shouldn't be there. The red tent in front of him isn't huge, but it's basically just a meeting room for some of the fair staff. Nobody really ever shows up here, though - not since Stiles started to use it for experimental tricks or calls to, well, a different realm. He does that sometimes: communicates with ghosts and spirits, scares his co-workers.
When Stiles enters the tent though, it's not empty.
Derek is there, and he's shirtless and he's doing what looks like a painful workout routine. For a moment Stiles stops to admire the view, but not for long; staring so openly could give away intentions he himself isn't sure about yet.
He hurries inside, towards the empty space where he usually trains, even though Derek being here means that he'll have to try some of the things later, when he's alone. When Stiles passes Derek, the werewolf jumps up from his push ups and eyes Stiles.
“This your tent?” Derek asks, frowning, and Stiles rolls his eyes.
“Just the tent I practice in.” He waves one of his arms around in what probably looks like flailing, “Usually nobody but me is here though. People never want to be where the real magic happens. They're scared of what they don't know.” Stiles explains and grins when Derek crosses his arms.
Stiles waits for Derek to say something else but the werewolf only shifts slightly on his feet. His eyes flick down to Stiles' free hand, the hand still playing with the coin. Stiles lets it slide around his fingers in a way that's bound to creep people out, the motion too fluid and surreal.
Stiles moves his wrist a little, flicks it around, and suddenly the coin is gone. One more 'tadaa!' gesture with his now empty hand for dramatic effect, and Derek's back to looking at him suspiciously. He glances between the now empty hand and Stiles' face. When neither offers any more explanation Derek drops it and turns to leave the tent.
“Not that I would use real magic around just anybody anyway.” Stiles says and Derek hesitates in his steps.
“Well, I do use my magic around here pretty often. Since people know, and don't care. All they need me to do is earn my fair share of money, then everyone's fine with it.” Stiles glances at Derek out of the corner of his eyes before pretending to look at his nails, clearing out dirt that's not there.
“Does my regular use of it draw what we all know is involved with me to the surface? Duh,” He shrugs, going for casual but it clearly has the desired effect on Derek as he turns his direction from leaving the tent entirely to picking up what seems to be his shirt, a towel and a water bottle. He's clearly still paying attention to Stiles, if the way his body isn't entirely turned away is any indication.
“But I've gotten good at handling whatever bubbles up.” Grinning widely Stiles stretches and bends a little, loosening muscles and raising his voice even though Derek can perfectly hear him.
“Wanna see something cool?” The question is mostly rhetorical. He's going to show off and impress and maybe, maybe finally set out the bases for his trap; instill some fear, woo Derek in a weird, twisted way.
Derek doesn't answer which is fair enough, Stiles thinks, but he wants to get at least a little bit more of a reaction than a frown. (Frowns aren't even real reactions, they're basically Derek's default setting).
“No? Not interested in a private magic show, Derek?” He asks, “I don't offer to draw a demon out into the open just for anyone.” Wondering if Derek will decline, he stands up straighter. Everyone else would very likely refuse. Self preservation is a thing nowadays, Stiles has been told.
He still doesn't get a reply from Derek, so instead of tempting he'll just demonstrate. He rubs his hands and cracks his knuckles before he spreads his fingers out and away from his body like a puppet player would when handling a show. Stiles lets his blood rush, enjoys holding onto what power is provided inside of him, and when it's enough he raises the tips of his fingers, barely a twitch.
With a popping sound several playing cards slide out of the sandy ground, as if they'd been hidden there before. Stiles is good at masking his magic, make it look like cheap tricks; no cards had been buried in the sand, but for everyone it looks like it. The cards fly up, stop short, before spinning around themselves, seemingly hovering in mid air. While the cards can be dangerous if out of control, Stiles' focus still is on Derek. The wolf sits in the stands around the training space, towelling at his face. He looks surprised for a split second, eyebrows raised.
Stiles grins, then moves his hands up, pretending to pull strings that aren't there. The cards start to fly in circles around him, slowly at first and then quicker, until they're a twirling mess around him. They duplicate with every round, motions fluid, and soon enough there's a sort of card storm surrounding Stiles. It grows bigger and Stiles giggles in amusement, lights up at the chance of indulging in what's forbidden.
Derek is tense. It's understandable, Stiles thinks, and flicks his hands again. The cards stop dead in their movements, still in the air, before they all turn one time and turn into glass and mirror shards, reflecting lights and illuminating the tent. Derek makes a surprised sound and drops his water bottle, probably blinded by a particularly bright reflection hitting him right in the face.
After several of the reflected light beams focus on Derek he jumps up from his seat and it's only another moment after that before he let's out a warning growl. Stiles chuckles in response and moves the shards still levitating around him to form a shield to stop Derek from coming any closer.
With every move Derek makes the shards move, too. They break off his attempts to get away, like a swarm of fish blocking any escape route. It doesn't take long for another growl to rise from Derek's throat, and Stiles rolls his eyes. He's not impressed with werewolves and their belief that a good roar can intimidate everyone.
Stiles drops his hands and for a second the shards stay where they are, floating around the werewolf, teasing, before they explode with a dazzling flash, accompanied by a clear, bell-like ring.
The glitter left behind falls to the ground and covers Derek in brilliant specks. Stiles snorts to himself, not even trying to hide his smirk because that's a hilarious view: A growling, furious looking werewolf with icy blue eyes, covered in sparkles, shaking his head to get rid of the gleaming mess in his hair.
“If the vampire guy and the werewolf guy from the Twilight movies had a love child, that'd be you,” he says, and ends up nearly choking himself on a laughing fit. If glares could kill Stiles would drop dead to the ground now, the metaphorical dagger stabbed into his back nearly a real sensation.
The rumble that erupts from Derek doesn't scare Stiles, but it comes as a surprise. When he stalks towards him, slowly dropping his claws and fangs in a controlled shift, Stiles even reels back slightly. It's only then that Stiles' brain catches up and he remembers that oh yeah, he has no reason to be afraid of Derek, no matter how pissed the guy looks. He feels a little giddy, his insides prickling with happiness at the aspect of playing with Derek.
Derek stops a few feet away and of course Stiles knows when an interesting show is about to start, he has learned as much on the fair ground. Never interrupt what might be the beginning of a beautiful relationship (or maybe murder but, hey, whatever), he thinks, and he’s more than willing to go along with whatever Derek's gonna do now.
It's obviously something dramatic, and Stiles is excited. But then, Derek straightens his back and huffs.
He doesn't shift back to his human form, though. Which, colour Stiles impressed, shows that the guy has at least a tiny little bit of a wish to defend himself in front of a threat. All of Derek's instincts have to be screaming at him right now, telling him that Stiles is unsafe above everything else, dangerous beyond compare. So the last thing he expects is for Derek to jump forward.
Stiles doesn't even move out of the way - where would be the fun in that? He pulls the magic inside his veins towards his skin, prepared but not attacking. He feels the rush, how his eyes cloud over and how they're flooded with the shadows of the void that's part of his soul.
Derek has one hand on Stiles' shoulder, but it does nothing to keep him in place. Black smoke arises from Stiles' skin, a small swirl, more show than a necessity, but he's nothing if not a good show man by now. What's a magic show without a little bit of smoke and a few special effects, anyway?
His shoulder is more of a moving impression by now, something incapable of being held down, and Derek's hand slides right through it, not able to grip onto anything solid. Derek makes an uncertain and deeply alarmed sound in the back of his throat, and then Stiles solidifies his shoulder again.
“Gotta try harder to get to me.” Stiles winks and abruptly catches Derek's wrist with his hand, holding it painfully tight. He tilts his head, delighted. Derek tries to get away but can't, and there is at least annoyance (if not fear) written all over his face. He doesn't stop to growl, tries to get free, and Stiles feels content. Derek isn't as scared as everyone else would be, Stiles just knows it.
Some of the black inside his veins seeps outward and sneaks onto Derek's skin and instead of a violent reaction, Derek only tries harder to get away. For that alone Stiles has to give Derek some credit; most people would probably either faint or scream if some blackish thing crawled out of someone and onto them.
Still, Derek should be able to sense the demon, nearly out in the open, so close to taking over, and should know that he doesn't have any chance at all to overpower it.
“Not giving in yet?” Stiles asks with a voice that's more supernatural than human. It has an immediate effect on Derek: he actually seems scared, eyes wide in what's probably panic. His muscles tense, still waiting for an opportunity to break free. Not that he can get away, really; Stiles is holding him in place for as long as he likes.
“The kiss wouldn't hurt you.” He continues with his normal voice, a little sweet, a lot mocking. He eases his grip but doesn't let Derek go. “It's just sensations and ideas, sometimes of what you think is your biggest nightmare.” Stiles shrugs and catches Derek's eyes.
“But not with you, no. I don't think it'd be your biggest nightmare. Why show you something you already have real life memories of, right?”
He waits for a reaction, but Derek's face stills. The growling stops, too, and the fangs even retract to the most part. Stiles is surprised. Control isn't what he would expect to surface at mention of the fire that caused the deaths of nearly a whole pack.
“Tore you apart, didn't it,” Stiles whispers, serious, and leans closer to Derek. “How did you put yourself back together, I wonder? Positive thinking? Or giving up your humanity and burning down that huntress' home, too?”
Derek jerks violently again but Stiles holds him where he is. His fingers are leaving marks on Derek's wrist and Stiles is satisfied by the spark of pain in Derek's eyes.
“Nah. You don't have the strength necessary for that.” He shakes his head and lets go. Derek nearly falls backwards with the force of him tearing away. “I'm just playing around with you. Don't let the trickster trick your mind so easily.” Stiles smirks and winks again before he yawns and cracks his neck.
“Why is everyone always so scared of me?” He asks in mock offense, placing a hand over his heart.
“I'm not afraid of you.” Derek spits out, and Stiles laughs.
“Then of my magic.” He replies but the werewolf only makes a displeased noise, rubbing his wrist where Stiles' fingers left imprints.
“It's not even real magic. It's just sleight of hand, cheap tricks.” His tone is hostile, and Stiles sighs.
“You know, I might just be a trickster, but my tricks are actually real magic. I can do a lot more than let glass fly and make lights flicker.” Stiles gives Derek another confident grin, “I'm like, the real deal. You'd do well to remember that I may not look like much of a threat but that to me?” Stiles puts one of his hands back into his jeans pockets while he flicks the other one, summoning the golden coin back, “Most people aren't more than a convenient way to pass some time. An amusement; ants trapped between glass, entirely unaware of not being free.”
Derek glares at him but Stiles stays unimpressed.
“Not everyone, though. There are exceptions.” His coin slides around his hand as he steps closer to Derek, “Sometimes I meet someone worth my time. Someone who stays for a magic show and ends up with glitter in his hair.” When Stiles reaches out with the hand the coin is in, Derek moves back, watching warily.
Disappointed, Stiles sighs. “Maybe the woods would be a better place for the this.” He motions between Derek and himself, fighting the urge to flash his eyes again. He manages to keep it down for now, presses the demon behind its walls. It's still too early in their relationship. Maybe one day Stiles will invite Derek for a hunt. “Maybe not.”
He lets the coin vanish in front of Derek's watchful gaze and grins, knowing that Derek's senses are telling him that Stiles is, against any better judgement, human.
“Want to grab lunch?” He asks and Derek gives him a raised eyebrow and a 'you're kidding, right?' look in response
“I swear I won't let any more glitter rain on you.” Stiles says. He hopes Derek will accept the invitation, but he doesn't really expect it. He has no reason whatsoever to be around Stiles, certainly not after what’s just happened.
“...Fine.”
Stiles smiles so wide it’s painful as he leads them out of the tent, his enthusiasm only dampened marginally when Derek puts his shirt back on.
~
Derek doesn't avoid Stiles anymore after that.
Their first lunch involved the mocking of Derek's food choices (“There's nothing wrong with a sandwich.” - “There is everything wrong with choosing a sandwich with cucumbers over bacon, what kind of werewolf even are you?!” - “The kind that doesn't want to die at age 30 because of a heart attack.”) and Stiles generally rambling about a lot of things, yet not telling anything of importance.
Derek quickly learns that that's what Stiles does. He doesn't just lead people on when he plays cards or makes a rabbit vanish in a hat, he also misleads them in conversations, changing topics and distracting with bright smiles and sarcasm.
Derek's more afraid of him than ever.
There is no real reason for Derek to be afraid of Stiles. He isn't scary, with his plaid shirts and flailing limbs. It's just. He can be a little freaky, sometimes.
Stiles has never actually harmed anyone working at the fair ground; however, on some days he has dark circles under his eyes, walks around with unnaturally pale skin, and when you pass him by you can hear him murmur in a language nobody recognises, before an empty gaze snaps towards you and makes you run for the hills.
It's quite unnerving how people start to give Derek things with less resistance than they used to, too. He gets most of the warm water when he showers, his pay check arrives on time and when he asks for an extra blanket one evening because the night wind sneaks through every single opening in his trailers’ walls, he gets the fuzziest and softest one. Even on pizza day, when Derek's already late for dinner, everyone makes sure to save him at least half of his favourite.
Other than that, keeping up with Stiles is quite a challenge for Derek. Stiles wields his sharp wit and a never ending flow of words like weapons, so people leave him alone. Not even Mr. Phillips questions any of his decisions. Stiles seems to hold a lot more power over everything than Derek anticipated.
So, when Stiles brings Derek lunch, or fetches him to go eat with the others Derek can't help but appreciate that at least for now, he seems to be someone... special, to Stiles.
If he makes sure to walk the route that passes by Stiles' trailer every night when he's done for the day, maybe to catch the magician for a chat or a beer, then that's merely because it's the quicker path and Derek is tired.
While he stays cautious, he comes to the conclusion that Erica, Boyd and Isaac exaggerated when they told him about Stiles' want for kisses; Stiles never even attempts to hug him (Derek isn't sad about that, he isn't, shut up).
He's on his way back, his muscles screaming for a time out, when he hears Stiles' voice calling his name, “Hey Derek!” Startled, Derek drops the bag of gummi bears he's been looking forward to eat all day and turns around to glare at Stiles.
“Whatcha doin'?” Stiles sing-songs and tilts his head to the side, not hiding his smirk as he eyes the bag on the ground. He's sitting in front of his trailer, under a tarpaulin that covers enough space for three old camping chairs and a small, open fire place in the middle. Stiles rests in one of chairs, a bottle with no label and something possibly poisonous to Derek in it and he just looks, waiting for an answer.
Derek keeps glaring.
“None of your business.” He growls and wants to leave (doesn’t want to leave) but when he tries to move his feet, they're heavier than usual.
An amused sound makes him turn his head. Stiles is drinking whatever is in that bottle and his free hand is playing with a coin again; another habit Stiles has. Derek knows by now that if the coin is out, the demon's close.
The coin is golden as it always is but now weird black lines cover it; black lines that don't stop at the edges of the metal but instead flow onto Stiles' skin. Derek is reminded of the incident in the tent those weeks ago.
From his posture to the smirk on his face, everything about Stiles screams trickster right then, and if Derek would be halfway sane, he'd run. As it is, though, he's pretty sure most of his sanity was lost when his pack burned alive. And that's why he's just slightly curious as to why Stiles (or barely Stiles) wants him to stay this evening.
While Derek searches Stiles' face for intentions, Stiles holds his gaze. His eyes are bright and gleam with amusement. Derek can sense the danger lurking right under Stiles' skin for the first time, excited yet not feeling scared, as he probably should.
He knows that there's something inside Stiles; or maybe not inside him but part of him, intertwined in so many ways that it's no longer a separate entity but merely another side to be seen. It's a presence incapable of being ignored, and at this very moment Derek realizes how much of something individual and unique Stiles actually is. It's nothing to fuck with; a kind of power he should never have taken lightly. Whatever the side's nature, it's clawing it's way out and calling to him. Derek feels it, and it's a sensation of dread washing over him like a wave.
“Sit down with me?” Stiles asks and Derek's wolf really wants to, to curl up around Stiles and be shown the sort of magic he saw glimpses of before. He doesn't even pick up the bag of gummy bears. He just moves towards Stiles, chooses one of the free chairs and sits down with a grunt. His muscles still ache after today's work, and he heaves a sigh that indicates how tired he is. His knee bumps Stiles', who's looking at him, head hanging back over the back of the chair while he licks his bottom lip.
“I really should get some sleep,” Derek mumbles, eyes tracking Stiles' tongue. “There a chance you can help with that? With your magic?” He eyes the spinning coin in Stiles' hand, before his focus returns to Stiles' face.
“Wouldn't you like to know?” The way Stiles looks at him sends shivers down Derek's spine and they're only 60% the good kind. Stiles' eyes glint and twinkle with mischief, and he looks wicked. Stiles has possibly the most stunning and terrifying eyes he has ever seen, Derek realizes; even when they're not stained with blackness.
The light of the open fire breaks inside them now, turning brown into honey, holding the promise of a truth, yet burning intensely like whiskey when it smoothly runs down your throat. Derek's feeling poetic tonight, apparently.
Stiles looks relaxed and at ease; like a wolf in its den, waiting for whatever is planned to finally snap into place. Derek waits until Stiles sighs and slowly sits up straighter. He's never looking away from Derek, one hand fiddling and fiddling the coin, and Derek knows something's going to happen tonight. He's not sure he's ready.
Derek feels torn, being the prey about to be ripped apart, yet excited about the prospect of finally being allowed to see. Everything inside him is screaming on high alert, in terror or in excitement or both: run. Even so, no force in the world could make him move away. When Stiles rises with a fluid, nearly elegant movement, Derek keeps still, petrified.
His body knows the way it knows that it needs to breathe that this, this Stiles, it's closer to the darkness under the skin, closer to being an evil entity than being the person Stiles probably used to be at some point. Stiles barely ever lets it show like this, Derek remembers. But he's a good actor. It's not possible to tell how far gone Stiles is, sometimes, if he doesn't want you to know. So right this moment it appears that Stiles wants Derek to see a glimpse more than usual.
Stiles steps up to Derek, pushes his legs apart to rest in between them before he leans over him. He puts both of hands on the chair's armrests to physically trap Derek and Derek flinches. Part of his brain notices that the golden coin is gone from Stiles' hand, wonders where it went and if it means anything.
Stiles leans forward until their faces are close enough for Derek to see his eyelashes in nice detail. Derek holds his breath when Stiles licks his lips, practically purring.
“What do I get if I tell you how I do my magic? Show you how I draw the darkness out? Show you my little dirty secret? Would you like that, vucari?”
Derek doesn't have enough air inside his lungs to reply, so he merely stares back into Stiles' eyes. They’ve gone darker, yet not black, conveying the impression of somehow being more alive. They're piercing, and they look right into Derek's soul. The chill that runs down his neck, shoulders and his back forces the rest oxygen out of his lungs, and Derek wonders if he's going to suffocate.
He wants to fight or run - to do something against this thing that looks like a defenseless human being but could probably snap Derek's neck with a mere twitch of his fingers. But he's immobile, and helpless. And he loves it because this is still Stiles.
Stiles bends up, takes the warmth of his body away for a moment before he climbs onto Derek's lap, settles his arms around Derek's neck. Stiles' fingers surely and deliberately press into Derek's skin and draw patterns Derek doesn't recognise but is horrified by anyway.
A sigh (possibly a half-moan) escapes Derek when Stiles massages his tense muscles in earnest, but otherwise he keeps quiet. Somehow he thinks it's the right thing to do to get whatever it is Stiles is offering.
When Stiles speaks again his voice is low, a soft whisper, so sweet and luring that Derek doesn't even feel threatened by it for a moment, the tone of it drawing him into a false safety. Rationally, he knows that he should under no circumstances relax with Stiles sitting in his lap, but...
But the way Stiles keeps massaging his neck with warm, nimble fingers, the way Stiles lazily grinds down on him, his hips shifting, hitching higher, it drives Derek to throw caution to the wind. Stiles' hands roam over Derek's chest, and, god, his voice. It's tempting, pleasant and promising, and Derek wants to get lost in it.
He understands that whatever spell Stiles has cast, whatever trap Stiles has set, he’s run right into it. If Stiles wants him dead or injured, Derek will willingly let it happen. Faintly he remembers Erica's warning. But if Stiles wants him out of his mind, he can easily pull him into insanity now. All he’d have to do is never stop touching him.
He won't put up a fight. Stiles holds him in his hands, easily holds everything that Derek is. He drags his mouth against Derek's skin, blows warm air out, leaving a trail of soft, barely there kisses over his neck and shoulder. When Derek thinks that he's probably lost his mind by now, Stiles' lips move and hover over his.
“Last chance to run, Derek.” Stiles whispers.
Derek leans forward and presses his mouth to Stiles' to silence him and any doubts.
It's their first kiss and it feels like poison, sweet poison drugging Derek. It's a soft touch, slow and sensual, and Stiles nips and licks his way into it, a hum at the back of his throat. Derek kind of falls away, out of his own head, right into a black void of sensations.
Stiles makes pleased little noises and lets them slide around Derek like a warm fuzzy blanket. They carry promises, giving Derek ideas of things to do, though at the moment Derek doesn't understand a word. Stiles hips press down firmly and Derek feels so loose and free and relaxed; drained, as if he has no worries in the world anymore.
Derek thinks, somewhere at the edge of his mind, that this probably is how sailors feel when they're being dragged underwater by a siren to be eaten alive, swallowed by the ocean and forgotten.
Stiles breaks the kiss, slowly, and Derek wants more. He tries to chase Stiles, to get what he craves, but Stiles snickers at him.
“How many kisses do you need, vucari? Is one not enough? What about just one more?” He whispers against Derek's lips, not quite touching them yet.
Derek wants to say yes, but Stiles holds his chest, holds him down with one hand, “One kiss from the devil is a tease. It gives you a buzz..." Stiles' voice is a soft sigh, but it sparks something inside Derek and suddenly he feels some kind of pain dragging at his insides again. It’s uncomfortable, and he can feel his consciousness surfacing again, through the haze and fog Stiles had lulled him into.
“Now, two kisses from the devil are a promise, can grant you a wish.” Stiles is close, so close that Derek could kiss him again, but he's not sure if he wants it anymore. The dark pit inside his stomach is jittery with nerves, and he feels hot all over, too warm and burning up and he can't seem to breathe properly, something blocking his lungs.
“But, three kisses from the devil, oh man," Stiles says and leans back. His voice is much deeper than it ever was before, vibrant and hungry, cutting strangely through the air, cracking like thunder in a dry storm.
“The third kiss seals the deal, vucari. Signs the contract and drags your soul right down to hell.” With these words a painful terror roars back to life, drags through Derek's body. Within a second he jolts awake, back to his senses and mind, and tries to throw Stiles off of his lap. But when he looks up, Stiles' grin is feral, crazy. His teeth are pointed, arranged in sharp rows, a long, forked tongue licking over them. His eyes are once again swept away by a darkness, a twirling void bubbling to the surface.
Derek shoves at Stiles, panic at the back of his throat, but Stiles' hand holding onto his torso isn't a hand anymore; it's a black, thin thing that's ripped right through Derek's shirt, now scratching delightedly at his flesh. Derek tries desperately to breathe and to get away when he hears the kind of half-chuckle, half-laugh that only belongs into horror movies and nightmares of monsters stalking you in the night, shortly before they launch and go in for the kill.
He needs to call for help, needs to get away. But when Derek glances around there is -
Nothing, anywhere.
It's just blackness, thick and unmoving, and the chair he sits on seems like hot metal burning through his clothes, smouldering away at the fabric, and the grass that was fresh and real under his feet moments ago now scorches where it touches, like droplets of acid.
He turns his eyes heavenward, expecting the sky to open up. When it doesn't, when instead there is merely a void, endless and swallowing everything, cold dread holds onto Derek's heart, squeezing tight and makes his stomach churn.
In the blink of an eye he forgets about the sky, or the grass, as he feels an unbearable pain sear up, and when he looks down, towards Stiles, he sees-
He sees Stiles' hand crawling inside his chest, leaving his skin with something red and bloody, heavily dripping, smearing onto everything-
Derek screams at the sight of his own heart, how it rests so peacefully in Stiles' claw, still pumping blood all over them both.
~
Jolting upright, neck throbbing with a singeing ache, Derek nearly falls out of the old plastic chair he sits in. His heart is racing when he looks around, confused and horrified. But there's the burned out fire, the tarpaulin, the grass... and Derek thinks 'a dream, just a dream' while his hands tingle with the memory of claws trying to get him free.
For a few minutes he stays seated where he is, not trusting his legs to carry him just yet. He closes his eyes and tips his head back to catch his breath, can't help but agree with Erica, Boyd and Isaac. Stiles' first kiss is a hell of a hallucination.
When the funny feeling in his stomach subsides, Derek leaves for his trailer across the camping grounds. He's tired and would like to get some actual sleep, but he notices that it's early morning already, the sun guiding him back to his place. The rational part of his brain has troubles accepting the implications of last night; the kisses of the devil, Stiles kissing him... It would imply that that's what Stiles is, the devil, and- Derek tries not to ignore that possibility. Werewolves exist, why shouldn't the devil be a demon inside a man working as a magician on a fair ground?
Derek scratches his chest where the ache is only slowly fading and the memories of his own heart in Stiles' hand make him want to hurl.
He skips breakfast.
~
The next morning goes without any incidents. A shower, breakfast (Erica and Boyd give him a look and Isaac shakes his head but neither say anything; Derek thinks it's probably the hickey at his neck that gave him away. As a werewolf he's not used to bruises, and he can't even remember when Stiles gave it to him) and he goes about his normal, routine work, and does his best to ignore the tight unease boiling in his stomach.
Around lunch, when he's wrapping up some long, damaged cables for the lights at the ferris wheel, he hears Stiles heartbeat before anything else. It's unique, not quite slow enough to pass as a human heartbeat, and when Derek tries to focus too intently on it, he swears it skips sometimes. It's a little bit hypnotic and Derek could pick it out in any crowd, drawn to it like a moth to a flame.
Stiles approaches him, hands buried deeply in the pockets of his jeans, and Derek isn't sure what he expects. He doesn't know why he expects everything to be normal between them, to be as always, but somehow he's convinced Stiles won't talk about what happened openly. So he turns around, usual frown drawing his eyebrows down, and he’s about to snap something when his eyes land on Stiles.
Stiles, who looks like the monster from Derek's dream.
There are black eyes and pointy teeth and black ink running through veins, seeping through white, paper-like skin. Derek nearly stumbles back, but then everything is gone again; the clouds above shift, and Stiles is bathed in sunlight. For only a split second both of the images seem to collide, there and overlapping, and Derek blinks hard. He wants to turn away to clear his head, but now he does trip over the cables on the ground and falls right on his ass.
Laughter reaches him, bright and nice and normal, just a human man in his twenties enjoying himself.
Stiles comes closer and kneels down in front of Derek, settling on the grass comfortably before he throws a sandwich onto Derek's chest. He grins when all Derek does is stare at him and then at the sandwich.
“I bet the others warned you, huh? You still wanted to know about my magic tricks and you can't blame me now for showing you some of it.” Stiles causally says and unwraps another sandwich carefully. “Oh and, yeah, you won't be able to forget any of it. Nobody 'forgets a dance with the devil.'” He says it amused, clearly quoting someone, but Derek is still frozen on the ground. He wonders if being defenceless in front of Stiles is going to be a habit.
“I'd say you should get used to the glimpses of teeth and black you'll see from now, but take your time. Isaac's kiss was nearly a year ago and he still reels back sometimes.”
While Stiles bites happily into his food, Derek sits there on the ground: stunned, scared and utterly confused.
Stiles eats and sips at the coffee he brought as well and Derek wonders when he became friends with the devil. Stiles looks at Derek over the paper cup, and there's a trace of uncertainty on his face, a nervous energy around him.
Derek shakes his head before he sits up and fumbles for the sandwich. “Avocado?” He asks with a raised eyebrow and opens the foil to take a bite. It's good; the food Stiles brings him always is.
Stiles shrugs, “You're the health freak here. I thought you'd prefer that over the egg-bacon ones.”
They're back to being silent when Derek reaches for the second coffee cup next to Stiles, and he wonders if what he saw was Stiles' doing; if Stiles wanted him to experience the pain and terror in the dream.
They continue to eat quietly, but after his next bite Derek realizes that Stiles is still waiting for some sort of judgement from him.
“Why'd you have to rip my heart out?” Is the first thing that comes to his mind because, as horrible as that was, it hardly was the worst thing Derek ever had to experience. He raises his head to look at Stiles before he can chicken out of this conversation, and Stiles looks up at him in surprise.
“So that's what you saw?” Stiles asks and Derek nods, chewing slowly.
“You climbed onto me. You wanted to kiss me, but then you didn't.” He says and Stiles nearly chokes on his coffee.
“I didn't? That's new.” Stiles frowns and Derek doesn't even want to know what he's thinking about.
“I wanted you to, though, so I kissed you.” He catches a piece of avocado that’s slipping out of the sandwich, watches Stiles tearing at the wrapper from his food. He looks startled.
“You said something about the three kisses of the devil, about a deal. Then you ripped my heart out.” He sums it up neatly, and wonders if that's how their friendship ends. He can't really believe someone like Stiles is willingly friends with people who enjoy hallucinations even though they're painful and brutal. But Derek did enjoy it; some part of him, anyway. Maybe it’s time to rethink his life choices.
Stiles looks amazed, both of his eyebrows raised, and somehow that makes Derek feel better. Apparently Stiles didn't plan on giving him a nightmare but is happy about Derek not freaking out on him entirely.
“That's... new, too.” Stiles says, “I haven't used the demon, or the void inside me quite as intensely in a long while. It's presence usually just causes nightmares that start out enjoyable and then...” Stiles makes a vague motion with his hand and half-shrugs. “Fuck you up.”
Derek doesn't feel fucked up any more than usual, so he keeps silent.
“It's what it does, what I do, you know. I tempt and lure with the first kiss.” Stiles bites onto his lips, his voice hushed again as if everything he says is going to be more dark secrets.
“Not that anyone ever wanted more than the first kiss.”
“I want more.” Derek blurts, and realizes that it's true. He feels it in his core, in every cell: Afraid, but definitely caught, on the hook. He wants to embrace what Stiles offers, and to explore himself as well. He wants this to be a give and take situation. But for that he has to bet it all, give it his everything, too.
Whatever Stiles had showed him, he remembers the moments of pleasure, of contentment that were promised before the pain started up. Good and bad can go hand in hand, but Derek thinks that maybe, if they do this together, good and bad will lose their meaning for them.
It's a calming thought. Maybe it is a devil inside of Stiles that vanishes into the woods at night, but Derek only wants to be allowed to come along. He doesn't want to be scared anymore; he wants Stiles to show him the kind of world in which Derek doesn't have to worry so much.
Stiles stares at him, stunned silent.
Derek says, “It felt good at first. It was... calming. And warm. I liked that.” and Stiles keeps staring, eyes wide and unmoving, but the surprise fades and his gaze turns calculating and suspicious.
“I ripped your heart out,” he says bluntly, and Derek shrugs.
“It's not like that's the worst thing that's ever happened to me. And if it would make you feel better, I can rip your throat out. With my teeth. Make it even.” His mouth twitches slightly to hint at a smirk, and the way Stiles visibly relaxes again shows that it was the right thing to say.
“I doesn't bother me to be afraid of you.” Derek looks for the words, and Stiles waits, “You're not the kind of danger I can't deal with. You're more interesting than scary; I don't want to run away from you, I want to run with you.”
Stiles' hands lie on the grass around them, slowly ripping out a few blades and letting them drop. His focus is still on Derek's face, though he doesn't reply.
“If that makes any sense.” Derek adds, nervous himself now. Why isn't Stiles saying anything?
“If you really want a second kiss, Derek, you need to know that there's no going back.” He finally says. His voice is deadly serious and weirdly vibrant in a way that indicates a supernatural power coming closer.
“It's a door, kinda. A door inside a house you live in, but you can always ignore that one door. No need to even look at it. But if you do, if you decide to open it, no key can lock it up again.” Stiles explains, the cool wind blowing away the grass blades resting on Stiles' hand.
Derek thinks he understands: go big or go home. So he asks: “What are you, exactly?”
Stiles squints and scratches at his neck, musing over it before he replies.
“The devil?” It sounds unsure and then he shakes his head. “A devil. I'm me, I'm a part of the entity that the devil is. The devil isn't one person, not in the way people think it is. It's more like a shadowy thing that creeps around. It's not a someone the way you’re someone. A faithful person who believes in God would call me the devil, and yet I'm not the only devil. The presence of the devil is at many places around the world at the same time. It's a different concept of being than humans are used to. Does that make any sense to you?” He asks and grins slightly.
Derek shrugs and fights off his own smirk. “Things that make sense are overrated.” He pauses, then: “So do you do evil things?” He feels a little bit stupid asking like that, but he has to start somewhere to understand Stiles better.
Stiles nods and shakes his head in one weird motion. “Depends on your definition of 'evil'. Did I kill people before? Yeah. Even when I didn't, like, have to or got a soul out of the deal? Absolutely. Did I cause one of two cases of insanity? Possible. But who can blame me? It's a lot of fun to drive people crazy.” Stiles flicks his eyes up to Derek and he can see the gleam in them, the one that promises wicked, plot-y things.
“Am I the cause for mass destruction and war? For all of human suffering? No.”
“Will you kill me?” Derek asks and it's the more important question, for him. Somehow he doesn't believe that Stiles would even seriously injure him anymore, not after their first kiss. Not after Derek has shown his acceptance of who Stiles is. And Derek killed people too. His hands are bloody and he’s no one to judge. Not in the world they choose to live in.
Stiles takes his time to reply, and cocks his head to the side. The way his gaze never wavers makes Derek feel like a drop of blood under a microscope. It's not entirely unpleasant, though.
“...I thought about it.” Stiles confesses, “But after last night, I don't think I’ll follow through with it. Your interest isn't one-sided.”
Derek lets out the air in his lungs. He didn't even knew he was holding it, but now he feels light-headed while he tries to sort through his mind, to reply with the right words.
“Why did you try- What changed your mind? Why did you show me?” They're both done with their food now, wrappers and empty coffee cups lying by their feet. From behind the tents and trailers they can hear the fair getting busy, calliope music tingling through the space. Children's laughter gives the impression of normalcy and fun family time. It feels as if they're in a completely different world, hidden here, talking about unreal demon possession.
“Honestly?” Stiles grins, and it's the nice grin from the human part, non-threatening and easy.
“You seemed like the kind of guy who could use a freaky hallucination. I don't know. I think I just wanted to see how you'd react to it. Boyd punched me in the face when he saw me the next day, and Erica even stabbed me,” he confides.
“I wanted to see if you would let your guard down around me even though you've been warned absolutely not to. I really wasn't expecting the twist at the end of it though, makes the whole encounter a lot more interesting. Makes you a lot more interesting, Derek.” He shifts forward until his knee touches Derek's, and the pressure sends a shiver down Derek's spine. Again, it’s more excitement than fear.
Derek nods slightly. “I was terrified.” He admits, remembers seeing his own heart leaving his chest and feels a tight ball in his stomach. It's still not the nicest memory.
“It-” Stiles shakes his head in frustration, "No need for pretend anymore, right? Not it, I do that. Terrify people, that is. Believe me though, I had no intention to really hurt or scare you. Yet.” Back is the mischief on Stiles' face, and Derek gets a thrill out of it.
Raising an eyebrow, he challenges: “You want to scare me?”
Stiles laughs and smirks and, oh shit, there are the pointy sharp fangs again: several rows of thin, long, very deadly teeth.
“I want to twist you, and possibly chase you. Through my woods. Show you my favorite places.”
Derek can feel his wolf stir, restless, craving, and before he can stop it a deep, pleased growl escapes him, vibrating up from his chest. Stiles chuckles delighted with his reaction and stands up, stretching his arms above him. Derek's eyes are glued to patch of skin revealed between Stiles' shirt and jeans, pale and soft-looking and-
“Sadly we can't do that now. I have work to do, my next show starts in a few minutes.” It snaps Derek out of the haze and when he looks up at Stiles, his senses are a lot more at ease. Stiles seems to be a very normal 24 year old human being. Derek nearly believes it, even after their conversation. It still confuses Derek how Stiles can switch, one part weaving into another so seamless. He wonders if it will get easier with time for him to catch everything that Stiles is.
“But, you know, if you really want this,” Stiles points a finger between them, “You should come find me this evening. Around eight, I'm gonna be in my trailer. If you show up, I won't question your decision again. I will take your presence as the final answer. So be sure if you show up; no take backs this time.”
Stiles waves a goodbye at Derek before he wanders off and disappears between the tents.
-
Derek spends the rest of the day thinking about the offer. It's not hard to admit that he wants to be involved with Stiles, wants to be shown everything; but there's a tiny voice screaming at him not to play with the fire again. Last time he did, it cost him his entire pack. Now, however, he doesn't have a pack; he only has work and colleagues, and maybe friends in Erica, Boyd and Isaac.
It’s his life, and Derek thinks that for once, he should be selfish enough to not only ask for what he wants, but also claim it. Especially when it's offered so willingly.
And he likes Stiles: the flailing, sarcastic idiot he got to know over shared dinners, and the thrill that comes with another predator so close by, hiding in plain sight. Derek likes it. He loves the idea of Stiles being something new, something supernatural. Something so strong and independent, even stronger than werewolves. He likes the idea of knowing Stiles and his secrets, and his wolf preens at the thought of working together. He wants nothing more than for Stiles to know him the same way.
He hasn't had a pack or a bond in a long, long time - not since the fire. It's a feeling of turning wrong once, of drifting on waves of misery and loneliness, or of being lost in dark woods in the middle of nowhere and constantly fighting the panic. Being a lone wolf is more holding everything you feel at bay and never giving into rage or mourning than anything. Most nights he doesn't let it bother him too much, but now that he's been allowed... something again, he can't just ignore the chance that it might be special. He has a chance to form a connection that probably would last a lifetime and he can’t throw that away simply because a demon ripped his heart out in a dream. Maybe it was a metaphor for something else between them, maybe it wasn't; Derek doesn't even care, really, and-
-and it hits Derek like a baseball bat in the face. He's not in love with Stiles, because that would be absurd at this point, but he can see himself falling. Happily so.
He's always had a thing for people with that crazy gleam, with the power to destroy him; Kate and Jennifer both are proof enough. But those two, they simply were insane. Human insanity might be appealing at first, but it doesn't hold.
Stiles though, Stiles is- Stiles is exciting, and tempting, and apparently the devil. Is it insanity, really, if he's always been like that? If the murder and the tricks are Stiles as much as the panic attacks and sleepless nights?
Derek wants that. Derek wants Stiles near, close enough to see everything. Curiosity kills the cat, they say, but they also say that satisfaction brings it back. And curious Derek is; past the point of no return, where he wants Stiles' and his scents mingled, wants Stiles to be with him, wants him to accept that Derek isn't going anywhere without him. He wants them to be together in every way possible, and it scares the shit out of him. He has a wish to claim and possess and, if not for Stiles wanting the same, he would feel bad about it.
He grins to himself, sure that Stiles will be delighted to know that Derek decided to indulge in his darker desires with him. Stiles would also be delighted if he knew that Derek calls their relationship a 'darker desire'.
Exactly on time, eight in the evening, he knocks at Stiles' trailer door.
Above him, the clouds shift. They're heavy with rain, grey and doom-laden. The sun's not bright today, dimmed, as if it knows to better hide from what's about to happen. As if doesn’t want to be a witness of the start of something so calamitous.
~
Stiles opens the door and Derek is greeted with the biggest and most joyful smile he's ever seen Stiles give anybody. Stiles holds out one of his hands and Derek grabs it, sure of himself now. He's softly tugged into the inside, into the warmth, and he feels a last resigned spark of 'you'll die here' inside of him. It dies away the moment Stiles pushes him against a wall, intertwines one hand with Derek's, while the other on sneaks onto Derek's throat, squeezing to hold him in place.
Stiles looks somewhat ferocious and wild, but only for a moment. Derek understands why - he feels pretty giddy himself.
The expression on Stiles' face fades away and leaves behind another kind smile. It’s huge and honest, filled with so much glee, and Derek knows he made the right decision. He knows it with a certainty he never knew anything with before.
Stiles strokes his thumb over Derek's neck, squeezes only a little bit more before he backs away and away, and away, and Derek only now notices how the one room trailer seems to be a lot bigger on the inside than you'd guess from the outside. He feels confused for a second but then he shrugs it off; he should have predicted that Stiles would have a trailer that defeats the laws of physics.
Derek follows Stiles. He can already feel the whispers from his dream starting up around him in the dark. The table and the bed, the few pieces of furniture, it all kind of goes fuzzy around the edges, spirals away, and is gone in the blink of an eye. The last thing to be sucked away is the door. It should feel like doom to Derek, that his way out is gone, but instead it feels like elation. Finally, Stiles in front of him is the only thing Derek can see. And what else should he have eyes for, anyway?
The tight coil inside Derek loosens. With every step Stiles takes, tugging him along, all the heavy weight of being responsible for people's deaths falls away. Stiles smiles, and this time when the sharp teeth break out, Derek watches in fascination. There's no fear anymore, just admiration and affection inside his mind. Stiles' hand in his transforms, too; fingertips turning black, bending slightly into long and thin barbs, the darkness creeping up the skin of the wrists and stopping there to twirl around in what looks like a lightning scar.
Derek watches as Stiles' eyes dim and are overshadowed by black swirls, but they never quite swallow all of the beautiful brown as it has happened before.
All of a sudden furniture is back, materializes around them; a fluffy, soft carpet under Derek's feet, and a huge bed with red bed sheets standing in the middle of a room that has no corners, just an open void around them.
Stiles tugs Derek closer to trace a leisurely hand up Derek's arm, shoulder and neck. He sighs contentedly, as if he’s been wanting desperately to touch Derek and is relieved to finally satisfy the craving.
Derek wants to lean into the touch, but it's light like feathers ghosting over him. When he tries to increase the pressure Stiles hums and squeezes Derek’s hand tightly. It feels to Derek as if Stiles holds on for dear life. He continues to take a step back, pulls Derek along and before Derek knows it, they're moving in small circles. They're dancing (he's dancing with the devil) gently, bodies pressed closely together, and Derek doesn't feel separate anymore.
Even with Stiles' second hand on Derek's shoulder it's clear that he leads, and Derek lets him. This is not about who leads, though; not about establishing any roles. This is for their entertainment, to celebrate the bond they'll forge. They go around and around for a few silent moments before Derek can't keep his smile in anymore; his wolf wakes, happy and alive, and he knows his eyes turn into an icy blue. He drops his fangs as well, not quite embracing the beta shift but not staying entirely human, either.
He scoops Stiles into his arms when they turn again, gives him a tight, bone crushing hug before he puts him back down. His grip is firmer when he resumes the dance; a little quicker, assured and energetic.
Stiles is laughing, delighted, joy obvious on his face as he lets himself be swept around. Derek swears that there was no music when they started but there is now, and he smiles back at Stiles, giddy with emotions of devotion he hasn't felt in years. Stiles can’t seem to stop his giggles and breathless laughs, and Derek is grateful that his company can make someone else so happy.
“I think I might be falling in love with you.” Derek says, twisting them around in a sweeping arc, catching Stiles before he could have stumbled. He presses in close to bury his nose against Stiles' neck, breathing in deeply for the first time. The scent of wet earth, woods, and something on the edge like rough smoke and fog floods his senses. There's a balmy note to it as well, a tang of sweetness, and Derek thinks Stiles' scent easily the most amazing thing he's ever smelled.
“That's the plan, vucari.” Stiles laughs against Derek's hair, nosing along his skin. Derek's wolf, Derek himself, rumbles happily as Stiles slides his arms around his back to hug him close.
Stiles rubs his cheek against Derek's stubble and makes a very pleased noise, then buries one of his hands in Derek's hair, holding on, carding his fingers through it softly. His other arm circles around and rests on his back for a moment, stroking the firm muscles beneath, before it slips under the fabric of his black henley. Derek moans, a small sound escaping his lips, and Stiles huffs contently at the skin contact. Staying close, Derek rubs his nose over Stiles' neck like Stiles did in the dream, scent marking him.
He leaves kisses, too, and while they're chaste at first, they quickly involve more tongue and teeth, leaving several bruises in their wake.
Stiles whines and moans as if it's the best damn thing in the world.
Pushing his own hands up, claws out, Derek drags them over Stiles' shirt, cutting it here and there before Stiles manages to shrug it off over his head and get rid of it for good.
Derek takes a moment to watch, to admire, and he unconsciously licks his lips. He lifts his hands to slide over soft skin before he shrugs out of his own shirt, falling unnoticed to the floor. Stiles' touches his chest, hands roaming and stroking and just touching, a frustrated sound at the back of his throat while he presses circles and patterns into Derek's skin.
Derek laughs when Stiles mumbles, “What are you, photoshopped?” and slides one of his hands back into Stiles' hand to hold it while Stiles explores. He leans down and nips at Stiles' collarbone before rubbing his stubble over the soft skin of his chest, licking and wanting to taste every inch of what he's allowed to claim.
One of his claws drags up and down Stile' side and Derek should stop it, be careful. But then Stiles pushes against the sharp edge until it draws blood, hissing and moaning at the pain.
Derek growls, tempted to lick away the trail of blood when Stiles laughs breathlessly.
“I don't think you need to hold back, big bad wolf.” He smirks at Derek, who grins back and digs in another one of his claws. Again, this beautiful sound escapes Stiles' mouth and it's like a drug in itself.
As if hit with some invisible force, Stiles drops both of his hands away from Derek, and brings some space between them. Derek growls and follows quickly, tugging at Stiles, wanting him back against him.
Stiles hums, as if that is exactly the response he intended to provoke, and whispers against Derek's ear: “Ready for a second kiss, Derek?”
Looking up, Derek's breath hitches. Stiles' eyes are as pitch black as the void surrounding them. He nods carefully and Stiles' smirk widens when he puts both of his hands on Derek's face, tilting his head back slightly, staring intently into Derek's blue beta eyes. He leans in.
“One kiss is a tease, to draw you in,” he whispers. “The second kiss is a promise, Derek.” His smile grows dangerous, “So tell me, what is it that you want me to promise? What's the wish you want fulfilled?”
Derek's first response is a growl, and then he flashes his eyes. Stiles nods, understanding, as he leans in for the second kiss.
It's less slow and easy, not quite as tentative as the first one, but involves just as much tongue and some teeth. Derek groans, the sound being ripped out of him. Stiles' lips are so sinful in what they do, how they move and slide, soft and warm, and just perfect.
And that's when Derek can feel it, feels it the moment the kiss deepens: the rush inside his blood, inside his very being; the power that surges through his body like an electric shock.
When Stiles breaks the kiss, he doesn't need to see himself to know that his eyes are no longer icy blue but red, dark and deep and stained with blood.
He never explicitly wished for being an Alpha. There’s no need for that kind of power if there is no one to protect, but… Now that he's here with Stiles, he’ll need more power (and more control) to be the best version of himself that he can be. If he doesn't believe that for his own sake, he at least now wants to be worthy of Stiles. As a mated Alpha, he can be.
Stiles smiles sweetly at him, and Derek asks, “Did I sell my soul to you just now?”
Stiles laughs. It vibrates between them like it did before in his dream, more devil than human, but Derek loves that he's trusted enough to been shown this side so freely now.
“Quite possible,” Stiles answers, his tone light and teasing. He moves his hand down to undo Derek's jeans. “We should continue this conversation in bed.”
He pulls Derek towards the king sized bed and sits down on the edge, effectively trapping Derek between his legs and tilting his head to look up at him. It's a stunning view and Derek doesn't ever want to miss it.
“You could still try and bolt. It's not completely too late yet,” Stiles murmurs while he moves one of Derek's hands to his mouth and kisses his knuckles, a soft brush of lips.
Derek watches him, and he thinks he knows why the devil ripped his heart out before, and why it doesn't feel like a threat anymore. Derek's heart doesn't belong to himself alone now. He's sharing it with Stiles.
Leaning forward into Stiles' arms, Derek moves his free hand to cup one pale cheek, his thumb stroking over those plush, red lips. He smiles.
“One kiss to draw me in, hmm? One more kiss to hold me, close and tight. And a third kiss to keep me. That's how it works, right?” Stiles nods, and he seems uncertain, careful, as if he still expects Derek to run. Derek can't believe that this is the devil, that this is Stiles, and that all of this is his life, finally.
He bends down, his breath ghosting over Stiles' lips for a moment before he kisses him for the third time.
Derek feels ice and fire exploding inside him, feels a force tugging and ripping into him. Pain sears through his cells, spears his insides and it feels like breaking and rearranging bones. Everything seems to bend and twist. All Derek can really focus on, however, are the soft lips moving under his and the long fingers still carding through his hair.
The world seems to open widely, endlessly, shaken in it’s very foundation, and when Derek's senses stop freaking out, Stiles is staring at him with a fond expression of awe. Derek smiles back down, feels his face heat up, and he can't believe that he's blushing now of all times.
He slips onto the bed, sweeping Stiles back into his arms, and moves them up until Stiles' head rests on the pillows.
“Do you trust me, Derek?” Stiles asks, sharp fingertips digging into Derek's throat.
“I do now,” he replies as he settles more firmly over Stiles, covering his body with his own.
“One kiss for your tummy,” Derek chuckles and licks his way over Stiles' chest, sucks at his nipples before placing kisses wherever he can reach. Stiles shudders and moans under the attention.
“One kiss for your cheek.” Derek presses his mouth softly against Stiles' neck and cheek, switching between playful bites and butterfly light touches. Stiles catches his eyes, holds his gaze, red staring into black, sparking a gleam that shouldn't be so pronounced in the dark void.
“And one kiss for the devil inside of both of us.” When Derek leans down, Stiles meets him halfway in a crushing kiss. It's perfect, searing, burning. And finally, finally the chase between them is over.
The void around them expands and swallows them whole. While the devil laughs, Derek breathes freely for the first time in his life.
~
Stiles can't sleep.
The thing is, a lot like Stiles used to, Derek seems to believe that he's not a cuddler. It's just, well, Derek totally is, and who would have guessed that? Not that Stiles is complaining. He's more than satisfied with Derek lying on his chest, dead to the world in his sleep.
Above them, the wind chime with its glass shards is still and Stiles watches it again, like he usually does when he's unable to get rest. However, this is different; tonight, he isn't restlessly haunted by screams. He's afraid, scared to lose what he’s just gained, and every blink feels like too much of a risk. What if Derek doesn't stay? What if fate, or whatever else exists, takes him away from Stiles again?
Stiles isn’t usually the type of guy who wants to cuddle, doesn't care about that special kind of contact. But if Derek likes the physical contact so much, he won't let go.
Stiles really doesn't mind. He thinks he actually slept a handful hours after they resurfaced into this realm, and apparently sharing a bed with a werewolf even keeps the nightmares at bay. No vivid memories of tortured souls, no flashing images of demons tearing at him. Stiles wonders if Derek's presence calms his devil so much that he actually got to sleep peacefully for once.
Derek takes up more than his fair share of space on Stiles collection of blankets and pillows, and he keeps touching Stiles constantly. It's driving him a little crazy, in many ways, but Stiles is pretty sure he enjoys it more than that he's annoyed with it.
Stiles fidgets, shakes off the dark void with sharp teeth when Derek moves. He changes his position so he's star-sprawled over Stiles, both arms holding him tightly.
It's totally not as sneaky as it feels.
Stiles sits up a little bit and looks down at Derek in the darkness of the room. He strokes through his hair, Derek's body language open and content in a way Stiles admires. The trust Derek shows him makes his insides feel very strange, but he feels assured in their relationship. Derek should look vulnerable the way his throat is bared right now, but he’s clearly unafraid. Even asleep in the devil's arms, Stiles thinks, Derek Hale radiates reliance.
He feels himself smiling. He’s a little dizzy and jittery, limbs weak, and the faint sense of hysteria that comes with sleep deprivation mad love washes over him. He can't help it, can't help the fluttery, tender feeling in his chest whenever he catches a new glimpse of the kind of person Derek is.
But Stiles deserves to sleep, okay? He does.
He pokes Derek in the side experimentally. Derek frowns in his sleep, but doesn't wake up or even stir.
That's kind of insulting, but also promising.
Stiles carefully pushes Derek back to untangle them. When that's done without an angry alpha werewolf trying to rip his throat out for disturbing his sleep, Stiles flops onto his side, grabs for the pillow, lays his head down, and happily sinks into the mattress. He sighs contentedly as he settles Derek against him again, wholly and happily aware of Derek wrapping around Stiles even while deep in dreams. The light-headed hysteria tries to bubble up, but Stiles stomps down on it; he doesn't actually want to wake Derek up. The guy deserves his sleep as much as Stiles does.
Stiles likes that Derek is here, likes that he can just reach out and touch Derek at any given moment now. He doesn't know how long it will take for him to believe that Derek's staying with him, but he thinks that if anybody deserves his faith, it's Derek. Of the three kisses, Derek initiated two; it's so much more than Stiles could have hoped for.
Stiles thinks that every day they're going to spend together from today will make it even more apparent how well-suited they are. Derek had admitted earlier in bed that Stiles' scent is the most breathtaking thing he’s ever encountered, easily addicting; but when it's mingled with Derek's own, it's the closest feeling to home he’s ever experienced.
Stiles smiles at the thought, and decides that they should probably hunt soon to celebrate. He's sure Derek will love it.
He presses a soft kiss to Derek's forehead before he settles into the pillows and, to his surprise, falls asleep.
Neither of them wake up for a while.
~
The dirty path in the woods isn’t entirely empty. It feels lonely at this time at night, the midnight wind blowing coldly through the trees. It doesn’t dampen the moods of the two men walking side by side, a sense of dangerous excitement passing between them.
There are no lights for miles around, nor even stars visible above them, covered by clouds. The trees surrounding them are unnaturally silent while they walk, follow where the track leads them. Neither of them are tired, having slept enough hours, wrapped around each other in the comfortable warmth of a wolf’s den.
One of the men points at the treeline, spotting movement, and the other one huffs before rolling his eyes. He growls, though, and raises his glance towards the sky. He can’t see the full moon but he feels the tug inside his stomach and slowly lets his fangs drop. He’s jittery. It’s been such a long time since he got to run on a full moon with his pack. But when he turns, he’s met with a smile and an encouraging hand on his shoulder.
Their prey can’t see the ground. They’re only a bunch of careless, drunk teenagers, running and stumbling through their woods. Could it be any easier? With the noise they make, anyone would be able to track them without much effort.
The two men keep walking, bumping into each other as they go. There’s no need to hurry anymore, not really. This isn’t a chase, not a race between them; it’s a hunt, and the two men hunt together.
~
Some people say that it's just another gossip story, a new ghostly legend to scare children with; the staff that works at the fair grounds however, the regulars, not the summer people who help out part time, they know better.
They know, and on full moons they stay inside their trailers, lock the doors. And when they catch the sight of red eyes and black smoke, moving shadows, they turn around in their beds and cover their heads with their blankets.
It's just talk, the people in the town say at daylight, merely a new story to lure in people to spend their money at the fair. An attraction, like the ghost ride or the magic show. But when it's late and someone passes by the fair grounds at night, they all walk just a little quicker, drive a little faster to get away.
They can't help it really, the cold seeping into their bones, the sense of doom running down their spine; because legend or not, the thought of the Devil and the Big Bad Wolf hunting in the woods together, as mates?
That doesn't sound like the kind of fairy tale with a Happily Ever After.
~
How many kisses do you need?
One for your tummy
One for your cheek
One for the devil inside
Of me
~
THE END