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Derek is, for the first time in a long time, truly happy where he is, basking in the fact that Stiles and Lydia have given him a gift that he cannot begin to repay them for.
That doesn’t stop him from trying.
He flounders, finds himself lost when it comes to the idea of giving them something back, showing them just how much their gift means to him. He feels like he is forgetting something, that he should be doing something for them, with them, something that will make it all even, make it all right.
They are in the loft a month or so later when Derek finally brings it up. He and Lydia are sitting on the couch, her smaller form curled into the warmth of his shoulder. Stiles sits on the floor at their feet, leaning back against Derek’s legs as he plays some game filled with space ships and aliens and powers that glow blue like Derek’s eyes used to.
Derek watches with warmth swirling in his chest as the other two debate the science of space travel and A.I. and various other things on the game. His cock is half hard in his pants like it always is when Stiles is around, smelling sweetly like power and Pack and Derek.
“Tell me what you want.” Derek practically whispers the words but he knows that they both hear him. “Tell me how to pay you back. I’ll give you anything.”
His comment doesn’t destroy the mood. It’s still calm and comfortable and Lydia scratches her nails across his scalp in that way that makes him go warm and soft and comfortable even as she turns and laughs at him.
“You don’t have to give us anything Derek. Stiles and I did what we did because we wanted to, because we needed to.” Lydia says carelessly, nails working at his scalp absently like it doesn’t matter to her either way.
Derek can see the softness in her eyes, can smell the sweet gentle affection she has for both of them, the scent like a sharp bite of refreshing mint. Derek thinks he understands what she is trying not to say, thinks that she’s trying to tell him without words that he protects them and they protect him because that is what family does and that is what they are.
Stiles pauses his game, tosses the controller aside and turns so he’s kneeling between Derek’s spread legs just like he knows Derek likes him. The feeling of being at the center of Stiles’ attention is as electrifying as always.
“We already told you once, you’re ours as much as we’re yours. We’re Pack and Pack protects its own, makes them stronger, better. Pack makes us more than we were before. You told us that Derek so don’t forget it now.” Stiles tells him, low and soft like he’s trying not to hurt him, like he’s trying to take care of Derek, like he’s trying to be gentle. Derek feels his face flush, feels his fangs drop and his eyes burn red as his cock twitches and thickens in his shorts. He has that reaction every time Stiles starts talking about the Pack, acts like Pack, cares for him and Lydia in that persistent way that he does.
He’s hard so often now that he’s almost forgotten what it feels like not to want to fuck Stiles. He’s almost forgotten what it feels like to walk around without that heat, that need to breed Stiles until he’s sore and swollen and too exhausted to move running through his veins.
Derek sees the moment Stiles notices, because Stiles always fucking notices, sees his smile sharpen and go hot as his hands reach for Derek’s zipper. He pulls it down slowly and then slips his hand inside to cup the warm, heavy weight of Derek’s cock in his palm. He squeezes the bulge lightly and then works him free of his underwear until Derek can feel the cool air of the loft brushing against his skin.
“Tell me what you need, what you want from me. Anything. I’ll-I’ll give you anything.” Derek hisses out between clenched teeth, half begging, as he watches Stiles lean down and drag his tongue up the thick vein on the underside of his cock until he can wrap his lips around the head and suck lightly.
His hips jerk up and Lydia’s hand tightens in his hair, a prick of sharp pain that makes his eyes flutter closed as Stiles takes him deep into his throat with a single swift move. It’s as close to a religious experience as Derek has ever had and he feels a rush of gratitude for Lydia and the lessons she’d given Stiles on how to suck cock.
He’d walked in on it a few days ago, had went hard and desperate, eyes flashing and wolf roaring at the sight of Stiles’ mouth wrapped around a thick red silicone dick that Lydia had wedged tightly between her denim wrapped thighs. Her hands had been in Stiles’ hair and her voice had been low and husky as she praised Stiles, told him how pleased Derek would be with him, how much their Alpha would like it when Stiles finally sucked his cock. How proud Stiles would feel when he made Derek come in his mouth for the first time, how Lydia couldn’t wait to watch.
Derek had been on him in an instant, had ripped Stiles’ pants and underwear off and buried his face in his ass, had licked him out until he was open and sloppy and sobbing around the cock in his mouth even as Lydia cooed at him and petted his hair sweetly.
Derek had fucked Stiles then, hard and deep and desperate like the first time, had wrung moans and screams and sobs out of Stiles and low husky chuckles of delight out of Lydia. He’d dug his claws into Stiles hips until he drew pinpricks of blood, had laugh deep and dark at the way Stiles’ moans sounded, muffled by the toy in his mouth as his ass clenched down around Derek’s cock.
And when he’d come, it had been while he was buried so deep inside of Stiles that it had almost hurt the way Stiles had milked his knot and cried around the cock in his throat.
Afterwards, Lydia had ran manicured hands through both of their hair, had rubbed her hands down Stiles’ back in soothing patterns when Derek had laid him out across her lap on the couch so he could crouch behind Stiles and eat the come out of his ass.
The next morning Derek had woken up to a face full of red hair and Stiles’ mouth wrapped around his cock, hot and wet and oh so good. He’d buried his nose in Lydia’s hair where she’d been lying beside him, had taken in the scent of mint and ice and Pack and fucked Stiles’ throat until boy’s eyes were tearing but sparkling in happiness and dark desire.
Afterwards, so proud like Lydia had said he would be, Derek had feed Stiles ice chips and tea to soothe his throat.
Stiles has only gotten better since then, can take Derek apart with his mouth like no one ever has before as Lydia hums low, sweet songs in his ear and tugs at his hair.
When he finally comes Stiles takes it all like he always does, drinks it down and cleans Derek with his tongue before he tucks him back into his shorts. Stiles crawls up into his lap to kiss him deeply, careful not to jostle Lydia.
“You’re all I want Derek. You and Lydia and this Pack, this tie between us. That’s all I want. I want to share my Spark with you forever, want your hands on me and your cock in me, want to taste you and feel you and love you until we all die. I want Lydia here with us, I want her happy and at peace, I want her eyes on us when we fuck, want her hands in your hair when I suck your cock or on the back of my neck when you eat me until I want to scream. I want it all, want everything for us not from you. You don’t have to repay us or try to make us even. Just be here, stay alive and safe and let us make each other strong.” Stiles half whispers against his lips and Derek hears the soft sounds of agreement that Lydia makes beside them and he brings his arm up and wraps it around her shoulder, tugs her closer until they are a tangled mess of legs and arms and long flaming hair.
Derek hears them, hears Stiles, hears what they are saying to him and can hardly believe that he has this, that he has somehow managed to get lucky like this.
He swears he will keep his promise to Stiles and Lydia both or die trying, will be the best Alpha he can be for them.
He will not make the same mistakes he made before.
It takes Derek a while to work it all out, to figure out just what it is that’s bothering him. It’s the faint smell of blood and spiking power that lingers on Stiles and Lydia. It is the way that Stiles’ magic is fluctuating, sometimes barely there and other times roaring out of control, the way Lydia can break glass by whispering sometimes but then loses her voice altogether other times. It is the way the wounds they’d inflicted on themselves to give him their blood have not healed.
Once he notices it is as if a switch has been flipped in his head and he cannot get the thought of the still unhealed cuts out of his mind. He asks them about the marks, gets Lydia to bare her throat and tilt her head back so he can run the flat of his tongue across the still fresh looking cut, does the same to the incision on Stiles’ chest.
They both taste like blood and power, Lydia’s icy wind swept chill and Stiles’ burning Spark.
And they both taste incomplete, unfinished like a puzzle without all of its pieces, like something almost perfect but not quite there yet.
The answer clicks in his head, makes him dizzy for a moment at the sudden realization of just what he has to do.
He shushes them, tell them not to worry, that he’ll fix it, that he knows what has to be done. Despite what Lydia and Stiles both have told him Derek knows that he has to give them something, has to show them what they mean to him. He knows now that the urge is about more than guilt or gratitude or love. It is his turn to give something to them, his turn to offer them both something in exchange.
Despite what they say, he will give them something, something that will show each of them just how much they mean to him, just how much what they have given him means.
His wolf stirs, grins wide and sharp, all lolling tongue and knife sharp teeth in the back of his mind because he has an idea where he might start.
Lydia comes first because Derek has Stiles and Stiles has Derek in ways that she does not and he still feels guilty over everything that has happened to her.
He has to leave town to do it, has to do a lot of searching, a lot of digging to find just what he is looking for. He doesn’t like leaving Lydia and Stiles behind, doesn’t like not being there to protect them. The thought of them needing him while he’s gone eats at him but when he tells them he has to go and that he needs them to stay behind they are quick to set his mind at ease. They both agree to sleep in the loft while he’s gone, to stay at each other’s sides if only to make him feel better.
And the night before Derek leaves Stiles and Lydia corner him, push/pull him down onto the bed until his back is resting against Lydia’s chest and her hands are in his hair when Stiles slicks up his cock and sinks down on him. Stiles rides him until Derek is almost feral with the need to come, and Lydia tugs at his hair and croons in his ear how good he is, how he’s their Alpha and they love him and they’ll be waiting for him.
It makes it easier to go the next morning, to get into his car and drive away, because the night before was a perfect reminder of how much he wants to give them something back.
He’s dirty and tired with dried blood crusted around his ears and flaking off his side when he finally makes it back to the loft three days later.
Lydia and Stiles both are waiting for him just as they said they would be. Derek wonders briefly how they managed to get around their parents but he brushes the thought aside because Stiles’ face is anxious and Lydia’s that collected sort of calm she only gets when she is worried. Plus, he honestly never wants them to leave, wants them with him all the time, and he doesn’t really care what has to happen for that to be a reality.
“Jesus Derek did you get in a fight with a fucking chainsaw?” Stiles shouts, hands fluttering over Derek’s torn clothes, nails scratching at dried blood and fingers tracing over wounds that have already closed up. He probably should have taken the time to clean up but thoughts of them waiting for him had kept him moving without stopping.
“Sort of.” Derek smirks, amusement curling through him sharply as he leans down and kisses Stiles deep and dirty before he pulls away. He moves over to Lydia so he can run his tongue across the curve of her throat in a way that has become a sort of habit for him, a way to make sure she is healthy and safe and cared for.
“I have something for you.” Derek looks her directly in the eyes, sees the moment the seriousness he is feeling affects her too. He can feel Stiles beside them, watching them, but he doesn’t look away from Lydia, can’t because this is too important.
He holds his hand out to her and feels a swirl of vicious, dark, satisfaction and victory when she doesn’t even hesitate to reach out and grab it.
Derek turns to Stiles then, turns to explain that Stiles needs to stay here, needs to wait and see if Lydia calls for him because this, what Derek has done, is for her alone. Stiles smiles at them before Derek can say anything, and there is a sort of understanding, a sort of knowledge in his face as he waves them on.
“I’ll be here if you need me, either of you. But if it’s a pony and you don’t let me pet it I’m going to be pissed.” Stiles grins, sharp and bright and so glorious that he takes Derek’s breathe away.
“I’m not sure what kind of horses you’ve been around in the past if you think a pony did this to Derek.” Lydia shoots back, amusement and gratitude in her eyes as she arches a slender brow at Stiles.
“Hell with our luck I’m not dismissing the possibility of the flesh eating kind of pony making an appearance sometime in the future.” Stiles says as he flops down on the couch. “Beacon Hills can be uniquely shitty like that.”
“I doubt it, they tend to stay up north near Canada. They like the cold.” Derek tosses over his shoulder as he lets Lydia lead him back towards the door. He hears Stiles make a noise like a dying whale behind him.
“You’re fucking with me right!? Derek? Right? You’re not serious are you?!” Stiles calls out after them but Derek only laughs and keeps right on walking. It makes his chest warm, makes his heart ache sweetly that he can joke and play and pick with Stiles and Lydia, that he can be carefree like this even while covered in blood and bone tired.
They’ve given him that and this, tonight, is the first step on the way to making everything perfect.
Lydia and he don’t talk as they make their way down towards his car until they are standing at the trunk. Derek turns to Lydia, hands her the keys to his car and nods towards the closed hatch.
“What you’ve done for me, what you’ve given me….I can’t …. all I can do is this, try to show you, both of you what you mean to me. You’re first because it’s best that way and you deserve it. So what’s inside is for you, from me. Something I should have done a long time ago, something that is yours to handle as you want to.” Derek falls silent, watches as Lydia bites at the corner of her lip and then, with a decisive nod, steps forward and opens the trunk.
Derek lets his eyes fall closed for a moment, focuses on the way Lydia’s breath catches, the way her heart stutters and then takes off. When he opens them he sees the way her face is pale but her mouth is a wide slash of too red lipstick and viciously bared teeth. He’s pleased her, Derek can feel it in his bones. His wolf howls in victory at the knowledge that his first gift has been accepted.
“Get Stiles for me please, tell him to bring the book, he’ll know the one.” Lydia says to Derek softly as she closes the trunk again with a sharp snap and turns to face him. Before he can move Lydia reaches up and runs her hands through his hair again, leans forward and nuzzles against his stubble covered jaw, uncaring of the blood and the grime. “Thank you Alpha,” she whispers in his ear. “I knew I made the right choice with you.”
Derek feels the way his eyes flash Alpha red, feels a pleased rumbling begin in his chest as he leans down and noses at her jaw for a moment before he turns and jogs back up the stairs to the loft where Stiles is waiting.
He can feel Lydia’s eyes on his back and they make him feel stronger, make his shoulders stay straight and his movements even. He doesn’t want Lydia, doesn’t want anyone but Stiles, his mate, his match, but there is something about her, something about having her around that he craves. She is Pack and he wants her safe and happy and strong, wants her there with him and Stiles, wants her and his mate curled up close to him in the dark where they can protect each other.
One day, if Jackson ever returns or if Lydia finds another to fill the gap in her heart, Derek will test them, will put them through their paces and then ultimately acknowledge that his opinion has no meaning because Lydia is fierce and strong and able to make her own decisions.
Still he’ll go through all of the motions, because Lydia deserves the best, deserves whatever he can give her.
Until then he will do what he can, will give her what he can.
Starting with this, starting with now.
‘Besides,’ Derek thinks as he opens the door to the loft and steps inside and towards Stiles sometimes he feels like he’s always been moving towards Stiles, ‘it isn’t like Peter is of any use to him otherwise. He won’t miss the manipulation and the games if Lydia decides that she wants him gone for good. Hell he’d help her bury the body, would dig into the earth and wrap Peter’s corpse in wolfsbane ropes if it pleased her. It is the least he can do.’
It’s hours later when Lydia and Stiles stumble back into the loft, dirty and clothes rumpled but with wide, slightly dark smiles on their faces. Derek isn’t sure what they did, doesn’t know what’s happened to the shell of his uncle but he immediately notices the small swirl of red at the base of Lydia’s neck.
He’s up and in front of her in an instant and she tilts her head back for him again willingly. They’re both always so willing to bear their throats for him.
The cut on her throat is gone and in its place is a blood red triskelion seemingly tattooed on her skin. It’s his mark, their mark, and it’s on her throat, over the place she’d willingly placed a blade in order to turn him back into an Alpha.
“It showed up about an hour ago. I think it suits me.” Lydia states and Derek sees the insecurity in her eyes because this is more permanent than a bracelet, more permanent than a silver trinket.
“It’s beautiful, like you are.” Derek tells her, sees Stiles reach out and brush Lydia’s hair away from her face and smile.
“Well it’s on me so I don’t see how it could be anything else. Still I’ll have to keep it under wraps for a while and I have just the piece to do it with.” Lydia grins, a wide, sharp slash of lips and teeth, reaches into her pocket and pulls out the choker she’s taken to wearing. Derek doesn’t like the idea of her covering the mark, wants it visible at all times, but he understands that it is necessary, at least for now. There will come a day when she can bare her mark freely and Derek will rejoice when it comes. What he doesn’t recognize is the deep black oval stone that’s now set in the center of the choker. Looking at it makes him slightly uneasy, makes his wolf shift and rumble even as it shrugs off the emotion because Lydia is trusted, cherished, and faithful.
Lydia hands the chocker to Stiles and the lifts her hair up with both of her hands. Stiles places the necklace against the pale line of her throat, clasps it, and then moves away and back towards Derek’s side.
Lydia taps a finger against the jewel and there’s a light in her eyes, a dark dangerous thing that he recognizes.
The trunk of his car is empty the next morning, completely clean and free of all traces of Peter.
Derek doesn’t question it. Peter might have been blood but Lydia is Pack and that makes all the difference.
Derek stumbles upon his gift for Stiles on accident. He’s a town over, wandering through the stacks of a used book store when a tome in the very back catches his eye. It’s huge, the cover made from deep red leather, cracked and worn, obviously old.
What really captures his attention is the huge black iron lock on the front. He moves towards it like he’s being pulled, and when he wraps his hands around the cover it’s like being electrocuted, like having Kate’s cattle prod stuck to his stomach again.
Except it isn’t painful so much as jarring. The rush of energy feels like Stiles tastes. It feels like Stiles is inside of him, inside of the book, like a piece of Stiles is in there itching to get out, to be unleashed and set free.
Derek knows then and there that this book will leave with him one way or another.
He gathers a few other things, a few medical texts for future reference, a few of the trashy romance novels Laura had gotten him hooked on in New York, another book on thermodynamics for Lydia and a cook book that Stiles actually doesn’t own yet. He puts them all a pile and watches silently as the clerk puts the red tome in a bag without ringing it up, doesn’t even seem to notice that the book is there at all.
Derek puts the books in his trunk when he finally gets back to the car. Somehow he isn’t surprised to see the tome sitting in the passenger seat instead when he circles around to the driver’s side. He doesn’t say anything, just smirks and reaches over and pulls the seat belt down around the book so it won’t shift on the seat as he drives.
When he runs his finger tip across the cover again Derek could almost swear that the tome feels pleased with him, like Stiles does after Derek has fucked him stupid.
He gets to the loft a half-hour later and Stiles is waiting on him, pacing back and forth as Lydia faux-casually files her nails on the couch.
Stiles whirls around as soon as he steps through the door.
“You have it don’t you? I could hear it in my head, could feel it. I know you have it Derek, I need it please. What is it? I have to know.” Stiles sounds almost desperate and manic in a way that Derek hasn’t heard in ages. He drops the bag of other books on the ground, ignores the way Lydia hisses at him in absent displeasure at the act, and holds the red tome up in the air in his other hand.
Stiles freezes and then takes a step forward. His hands reach out towards Derek and the tome from across the room and Derek jumps in surprise when the book jerks itself out of his hand and then sails across the room and into Stiles’ waiting arms.
Stiles lets out a deep sigh as soon as he has the book and tension that Derek has always seen but never known the cause of melts from his shoulders.
“It’s like it’s a part of me Derek, a part of me I didn’t know I was missing until right now.” Stiles says dazedly, eyes glazed and face almost dreamy before he focuses and frowns, sharp and harsh. “But it’s locked, its power and knowledge sealed away and it needs me, wants me to open it. You have to help me Derek, you have to help me get it open. I need it open.”
Derek can’t deny Stiles anything he needs and he trusts Stiles, trusts him to know what is best for him, trusts him not to be overwhelmed and tricked by anything so quickly and effortlessly. He doesn’t know what he will have to do but he will do his best to get the book open for him.
As soon as he reaches the decision Derek knows what to do, knows it like he knew he had to give them something in return.
He moves forward until he’s standing directly in front of Stiles who holds the tome out towards him, iron lock and key hole facing upwards. Derek pushes up his shirt sleeve, lets the claw on his index finger lengthen and, with a quick seamless motion, slits his left wrist open to the bone.
The tear is deep enough that blood pours out in a steady trickle for a few seconds before his healing kicks in. It’s enough though, enough to cover the lock on the book’s cover.
The lock glows hot like it’s been super-heated and there is a sound like glass breaking, a bright flash of deep red light and then Lydia shrieks and Derek snarls as Stiles goes flying across the room towards the thick brick wall.
Derek rushes forward a split second before Lydia does, horror welling in him at the thought of how badly that kind of impact could hurt Stiles.
Stiles stops a foot from the wall, hovers momentarily in midair, and then sinks slowly back to the ground. Derek and Lydia are at his side instantly, hands running over him and checking for injuries when Derek realizes suddenly that Stiles’ has his eyes closed and that the book is gone.
“Stiles?” Derek whispers softly, a still clawed finger reaching out to tilt the boy’s chin up. When he looks up at Derek his eyes are glowing a brighter shade of amber than ever before, as bright as any werewolf or other shifter that Derek has ever seen.
“It’s inside of me now. I can see it, waiting for me to call it, waiting for me to need it, to need its power or protection. It loves me, loves us all.” Stiles’ hands scramble at his hoodie suddenly, the same deep red one with Derek’s name and mark on it, and when he drags it over his head and takes his t-shirt with it Derek has to suck in a sharp breath.
On Stiles’ chest, right where the cut had been, is a new mark. Like Lydia’s it looks like a tattoo, but Stiles’ is different. His mark is in the shape of an open tome in dark red ink, the pages embossed with tiny black triskelions. There are runes and shapes that Derek doesn’t recognize spilling out from the corners and winding out a few inches across Stiles’ chest.
Derek feels complete when he looks at the mark, feels like the puzzle that’s been bothering him for weeks now is finally finished, that they are finally perfect and whole.
He realizes in a rush what has happened, why he had been compelled to buy the book, to give Lydia Peter on a silver platter.
It was an exchange, an equal exchange of power, a contribution to the stability of the Pack from each of them, a strengthening of each individual in order to strengthen the whole.
They had given him a precious gift, had made him an Alpha again and given him a Pack. They had given him strength and power, safety and security.
It is only fitting that he does the same for them in return.
Derek isn’t trying to keep his shift in status a secret per say, he just hasn’t announced it this time.
He hasn’t felt the need to tell others he is once again an Alpha. He hasn’t seen Scott or Isaac, the only two who would be able to tell, and he has no desire to seek them out.
So of course Isaac is the one who finds out first, is the one who shows up unexpectedly at the worst time and disturbs everything, disrupts the warm balance of things that Derek, Stiles, and Lydia have achieved.
Derek is naked, cock hard and leaking as he watches Stiles writhe in front of him on the sheets of his their bed. Lydia is sitting in her arm chair, legs crossed and face flushed as she watches them, watches the way Derek works that same red silicone cock deep into Stiles, makes him twitch and moan and fight to get closer and further away all at the same time.
He can’t of course, not with the way he’s tied down, hands anchored to the head board with strong soft scarfs that Lydia had specifically bought and then personally tied with complicated and precise knots.
Derek is distracted, doesn’t hear Isaac’s footsteps or heartbeat, doesn’t hear the key in the lock or the door as it clicks open, can’t smell Isaac over the way Stiles’ and Lydia’s scents are flooding his senses.
“The fuck!?” Isaac practically screams and Derek jolts up and away from Stiles. He lands on his feet in front of his Pack, half transformed already, and a roar of challenge building in his throat as he prepares himself to kill anything and everything that might try to threaten what is his.
By the time he realizes it is Isaac, the beta not his beta, not anymore, is on the floor, huddled against the wall in a mirror image of that night in the police station when Derek had flirtatiously flashed Alpha red eyes at Stiles.
Derek forces himself to calm down, forces the Alpha down and back even as his wolf grumbles because he can hear Lydia untying Stiles behind him and he doesn’t appreciate the time he gets with them being interrupted. Especially not when he’s in the middle of training Stiles, not when he hasn’t had the chance to fuck the boy’s tight, hot hole yet today.
“What do you want Isaac?” Derek asks as calmly as he is able to, has to resist the urge to snarl and flash fangs again (terrifying wolf pouting is what Stiles calls it, a grin on his face and heat in his eyes; Derek normally chocks him on his cock around that time in order to shut him up).
“You-You’re an Alpha again? When? How?” Isaac splutters the questions out, eyes wide and sharp jaw dropped.
“This is the first time you’ve talked to him in weeks and he isn’t your Alpha anymore Lahey so why the fuck do you care?” Stiles snarls, sounding surprisingly calm for someone who’d only moments ago had been sobbing in pleasure and then just been caught getting fucked by a classmate. He moves to Derek’s right side, his rightful place, and Derek feels Lydia move to flank his left side. They are rallying behind him, his Pack, giving him their support in this, something so simple and yet complicated.
Derek stands tall and proud in front of them, unconcerned with his nakedness, proud of the fact that he has a mate to fuck and breed and that he has two gloriously strong betas at his back.
They might not be wolves but Derek has learned that wolves don’t necessarily make a Pack either and now he is their Alpha and he has no shame.
“Why are you here Isaac?” Derek asks again, voice even and steady but patience beginning to wear thin. Stiles and Lydia will have to go in a few hours, will have to go back to the houses that aren’t really their homes anymore, and they had made plans for after their session.
Stiles was planning to cook for them and then they were going to watch The Notebook together. Lydia had suggested the movie and neither Stiles nor Derek had cared, they could both see the memories in her eyes, the way Jackson’s shape seemed to circle behind her. Plus Derek has seen the movie a million times already, had watched it over and over again with Laura. He doesn’t mind doing it again for the only woman in his life now.
“I…uh…Scott was with Allison so I thought…I just…” Isaac looks lost and Derek feels a twinge of sympathy for the boy but it doesn’t last long, not when Stiles and Lydia stiffen behind him as one.
“You what? Thought since you had nothing better to do you’d swing by Derek’s house and see how he was doing? Just out of the kindness of your heart? After weeks of silence, of not having anything to do with him?” Lydia hisses out as Isaac slowly gets to his feet.
Derek sees the way Isaac’s eyes go wide and surprised, the way his eyes track from Lydia to Stiles and Derek knows that he’s looking at their marks. He knows that Isaac can see the mark on Lydia’s bare throat and that he is probably remembering what Derek had told him and Erica and Boyd about the triskelion. He knows Isaac can see Stiles’ Spark sign, can see the open-book shaped tattoo directly over his heart, the way the blood red symbols spiral out off of the pages and are slowly beginning to work their way over Stiles’ chest and shoulders. Derek and Lydia both like to measure the marks, see how much they growing as Stiles grows, as the Pack grows.
He sees the understanding dawn in Isaac’s eyes and knows immediately that he’s going to have problems because of this.
“He was my Alpha first so I have a right to be here.” Isaac glares at Stiles and Lydia, the self-confidence that the bite had given him roaring back into place for an instance.
“No Isaac, I wasn’t.” Derek says it softly but firmly, says it to head off the argument he knows is coming, does it to save Isaac more than anything.
It’s been weeks, according to Stiles and Lydia both, since Isaac, Scott, or Allison have had anything to do with any of them and Derek knows that now, after everything that has happened, his beta’s could rip Isaac apart easily. There’s no bond between them, not like there is/was between Lydia and Allison or Scott and Stiles.
“W-What?” Isaac stutters, face hurt and confused and Derek wishes it didn’t have to be like this but he can’t regret it because he has Stiles and Lydia now and he can finally openly admit his mistakes. They don’t expect him to be perfect on his own. Instead they tell him he’s perfect with them, that the three of them are just the right kind of broken to be perfect together.
“I turned you Isaac, gave you the bite because you wanted it and I needed it and I shouldn’t have done that. I turned you but I wasn’t your Alpha, not really, not when I was fumbling in the dark and you were suddenly obsessed with Scott. If we were Pack, true Pack, you’d have been here and I’d have been everything you needed me to be. It was my fault, I know that now, but it doesn’t change anything.” Derek says carefully, slowly but still strong, still in control and confident. Stiles and Lydia both have a hand on one of his shoulders and their touch is all he needs to stay that way.
He has two anchors now, two tethers to hold him down and keep him in place all at the same time, two sources of strength and control that make him stronger than he can remember ever being.
“So you don’t want me now? You have those two and now I’m not good enough?” Isaac asks Derek slowly, anger building in his face, sharp cut jaw hardening. Derek takes a deep breath, forces himself to focus on Stiles and Lydia behind him, on their scents and their heartbeats, to keep from forcing Isaac to leave. The loft, his den, their den, is for Pack only and Isaac … Isaac isn’t welcome, not now, not really, maybe not ever again.
“Don’t turn this around on him, don’t you fucking dare act like you’re some wounded pretty princess. Not when you left, not now that you have Scott.” Stiles spits and Derek hears his heartbeat rank up, feels the flaring of his Spark, the Spark they share now, and knows he needs to end this.
“I pushed him away Stiles, told him to go first. Our bond wasn’t strong enough to keep me from doing that, wasn’t strong enough to make him stay or come back, not like it is with you two.” Derek admits it freely because a part of being the Alpha he swore to be for Stiles and Lydia is refusing to take the blame for things he didn’t do and taking the blame for those he did. Lydia had stared him down and told him in no uncertain terms that neither she nor Stiles had any need or want for a martyr as an Alpha.
Isaac stares at Derek for a moment, just looks at him with wide eyes, and then he turns and heads for the door again.
“Leave the key Isaac, you don’t need it anymore.” Lydia is the one who says it, voice light and airy and completely at odds with the tension Derek can feel rolling off of her in waves, the slight, low humming sound he can just barely hear that he knows comes from her. He loves the way she cuts people to the quick, knows just what and when to say something that’ll tear a person down. It’s a skill Stiles shares with her and they both leave Derek in the dust because he’s always been a sarcastic bastard himself but the two of them are awe-inspiring.
Isaac stops, turns back and looks down at the key still clenched in his hand and then tosses it back towards them. The space is too far for any of them to catch it unless Derek darts forward and he knows that’s supposed to be an insult of some kind from Isaac but he honestly doesn’t care.
It doesn’t really matter anyways because the key stops in mid-air before it can hit the floor, rises until it is eye level, and then slowly floats towards Derek and then over his shoulder and towards Stiles. Derek knows that if he were to turn around right now Stiles’ eyes would be glowing, would be bright with his power, their Spark.
Isaac sees it too, but he doesn’t say anything, just thins his lips and leaves.
Derek knows it isn’t over, knows that the problems are probably just starting, that confrontation is brewing in the distance now. There’ll be a storm to weather now because of this.
He knows, he sees it, and his mind begins to click, begins to work on what to do. He’ll talk to Stiles and Lydia about it later. He knows they are better at planning than he is, smarter and sharper in those areas. He’s always been a more kinetic learner, forced to move while he studies, to have the absolutely perfect pens and paper, to draw pictures and do all kinds of other stuff to get information to stick.
Being pre-med had been hard but he’d been dedicated, with little else to focus on and Laura desperate for him to succeed.
So he’ll talk to them later, will let them plan and plot their future like moves on a chess board. He thinks that the two of them could change the world if they wanted to, if they ever really tried, and he would be the muscle, the clawed and fanged power at the forefront of their army, ready to burn or kill or save any and everything they wanted him to.
He pushes the thoughts away, turns and focuses on the two behind him. On Lydia, who looks angry and sad and pleased all at the same time, and on Stiles, on the way he’s still flushed, hand clutching the key as his chest rises and falls rapidly, Spark sign uncovered and Derek’s shorts riding low on his hips.
Derek reaches out, runs his hand though Lydia’s hair and leans down to kiss her gently on the forehead.
“Go put the movie on, we’ll eat after.” He tells her, watches her face deliberately clear as she smiles and turns towards the television that sits in front of the low slung couch.
Derek tugs Stiles to his side, turns and moves them both after her, still naked and still unconcerned. His body isn’t a secret from either of them and he feels no need to rush for his clothes. Instead he sits down on the couch, pulls Stiles down on his lap and buries his face in his mate’s hair as Lydia queues up the movie and then settles down beside them.
They watch the movie together and Derek fucks Stiles slow and deep and tender on the couch as Lydia watches lovers unite and fall apart and then reunite.
Derek wants her to have that, not the pain that comes from all of the drama, but that kind of timeless unbroken love, that kind of deep, sometimes dark possessive desire for another person.
He wants her to have that, what he has for Stiles and what Stiles has for him.
She’ll get it. Derek knows she’ll have it someday. By might or rite like the ascension to a throne Lydia will have what she wants, will take it if she has to break anyone who stands in her way.
Derek likes that about her, knows it’s what Stiles has always loved about her too.
So he knows that she’ll have what she wants one day, that she’s just biding her time and that when the day comes he and Stiles will be there with her one way or another, their eyes glowing with their shared Spark and ready to do what needs to be done for her.
He knows she probably won’t need their help but he also knows she’ll have it anyways.
But those are thoughts for later, just like the coming storm with Scott and the others.
So Derek threads his hands back through Stiles’ hair, pulls his mate’s head back and runs his teeth along the long line of Stiles’ throat as his hips thrust up again, forcing his knot further into Stiles’ willing body.
Stiles bites his lip, does his best to stifle his moan.
They don’t want to be too loud, don’t want to disrupt the movie for Lydia.
That would be rude.