our lives are changing lanes

grimm
Summary:
There's a lot of screaming going on inside the first house Stiles visits. He isn
't really worried, because it sounds like kids, but then the door opens and hi,
says his dick, because the dude in front of him is gorgeous, built like a god wi
th a face like thunder. Stiles wants to lick that solid jaw line. Hold the fuck
on, says his cop brain, because the dude's got kids hanging all over him; one's
on his back, skinny legs looped around his waist, and another two hanging off on
e arm, toes barely brushing the ground. There's a tubby toddler clinging to his
leg like a koala, and he's got a baby tucked into the crook of the one arm that
doesnt have kids hanging off it. Stiles' mouth drops open.
"How many of those kids did you kidnap?" he asks before he can wrangle his brain
into submission.
The man gives him a look that says what the fuck is wrong with you and snaps, "Y
ou think I'd subject myself to this on purpose?"
"Oooh," says one of the kids hanging off his arm. "I'm telling Mom."
Notes:
For 1001cranes.
This fic is for Amanda and is one hundred percent inspired by a conversation we
had on Twitter last fall about her Sims - Stiles was a cop and Derek had a bazil
lion kids.
Thanks to Qhuinn for her beta & cheerleading work, and thanks to Becky for the g
orgeous graphic she made! Thanks to everyone else for their enthusiasm and encou
ragement along the way - I really hope this fic lives up to all the hype.
Title is a line from "Reptilia" by The Strokes.
Warnings: Brief un-negotiated [choking] kink, someone has to stick their fingers
in someone else's bullet wound, a car crash, hospitals, let me know if I missed
anything else!
(See the end of the work for more notes.)
Work Text:
"Dad," Stiles says impatiently.
"Stiles," his father says mildly, not looking up from his paperwork. He doesn't
say anything else, knowing full well Stiles will make his displeasure known in s
ome way or another; he doesn't need to ask.
Stiles does; he flings himself into the chair across the desk and says, "Dad. Ca
nvassing, really? I'm not a rookie anymore."
"I think you are," his father replies, circling something on a report. "You're o
nly our second-newest hire."
"I've been on the force for three years!"
"And you'll be a rookie until we hire four more people or you've been here two m
ore years, whichever comes first," his dad says. "Just because you've been here
for a while doesn't mean you stop doing legwork, son."
"You do know that's a predominantly werewolf neighborhood, don't you?" Stiles as
ks, frowning.
"Yes," his father says patiently, "which is why Scott's going to go with you. He
'll wait in the car while you ask the questions. You won't come to any harm."
"Right," Stiles says sarcastically. "Which is why you're sending me out with the
muscle."
"Exactly." His father closes the folder in front of him and gives Stiles a long
look. "You got anything else to complain about?"
"The soda machine doesn't have ginger ale and no one ever brings in donuts," Sti
les says resentfully, getting to his feet. "I hate this job."
"You're well on your way to becoming a bitter old cop," his dad says, waving him
out. "I'm proud of you, son."
-
"What do you think about starting a bagel day?" Stiles says as he and Scott head
toward the far side of town.
Scott narrows his eyes at the road, tapping his fingers against the steering whe
el. "What do you mean?"
"I mean like we get everyone on a list and every Friday it's someone's turn to b
ring in bagels and juice and stuff. Don't you think that'd be nice?"
Scott thinks about it. "You know people would end up forgetting it was their tur
n and then people would get pissed because there are no bagels and people not on
the list would always try to mooch - "
"Ugh," Stiles sighs. "You're completely right."
"It was a nice thought, though," Scott says consolingly, and Stiles grins over a
t him. Scott's been his partner since the day Stiles joined the force. He honest
ly couldn't believe they never met sooner; they both grew up in Beacon Hills, bu
t Stiles went to Beacon Hills High and Scott went to the private school up the h
ill and their paths never crossed. Scott's a werewolf but that doesn't bother St
iles in the slightest; half the kids he went to high school with werewolves. Bea
con Hills has the highest concentration in the state; it's what he grew up with.
They're just people with some, uh, extra talents.
"You ready?" Scott asks, turning down Pine Street. There are a lot of werewolf f
amilies in this neighborhood; there's a private elementary school for werewolves
down the block.
"Yeah, dude," Stiles says. "You can drop me here. We'll do this block and then g
o down Quincy Ave, you think?"
"Sounds like a plan," Scott agrees. "Scream if you need me."
"Harr harr," Stiles says and slams the door when he gets out. He walks up the dr
ive to the first house on the block, a split-level ranch painted in soft tones o
f yellow and white, and knocks on the door. It's opened after a moment by an old
er woman, who narrows her eyes at his deputy uniform.
"How are you doing, ma'am?" Stiles asks politely. "I'm Deputy Stilinski from the
Sheriff's Department. Do you have a moment?"
The woman's eyes flick to Scott sitting in the cruiser and her eyes narrow furth
er, but she nods.
"We've had some reports of an arsonist in the neighborhood," Stiles tells her. "
Trash cans lit on fire, mailboxes and so on. Have you noticed anything going on
lately? Anyone suspicious? Unfamiliar?"
The woman shakes her head, eyes flashing gold in the sunlight. "Haven't seen any
one around," she tells him. "There's always kids hanging around in the park afte
r dark, though."
"That's helpful," Stiles says, pulling out his notebook. "Which park?"
-
Stiles goes to forty houses, talks to forty people. He gets slobbered on by dogs
, doors slammed in his face, holds one baby while the mom puts clothes in the wa
shing machine. He drinks three glasses of water, has four cups of coffee, eats a
donut, cookies, and a brownie because he doesn't like saying no to people. He a
nd Scott stop at a 7-11 for lunch and he pees for two minutes straight. People c
omplain to him about kids driving too fast on the road, dogs barking at night, p
eople running stop signs, people jaywalking. One lady tells him about how her ne
ighbor lounges on the back deck naked and Stiles takes a surreptitious look out
her back window; the fence is ten feet high, so unless this lady is pressing her
face up against empty knotholes in the wood, there's no way she's just casually
spotted the dude. No one offers any help at about a potential arsonist.
After lunch, they turn down Spring Street. It's quiet out there, the further fro
m the center of town they get. The houses are getting bigger and further apart,
big front lawns with shady trees. Stiles wishes he could afford a house out here
but there's no way in hell that's happening, not on a deputy's salary.
"Any chance you want to take over?" Stiles asks hopefully.
Scott shakes his head. "It's hard for werewolves to trust others. We're better o
ff if we stick with you."
"Because I don't smell like a threat?" Stiles inquires sourly.
"Well," Scott says, elbowing him in the side. "At least you've got a gun."
There's a lot of screaming going on inside the first house Stiles visits. He isn
't really worried, because it sounds like kids, but then the door opens and hi,
says his dick, because the dude in front of him is gorgeous, built like a god wi
th a face like thunder. Stiles wants to lick that solid jaw line. Hold the fuck
on, says his cop brain, because the dude's wearing a white tank with what look l
ike scorch marks and he's got kids hanging all over him; one's on his back, skin
ny legs looped around his waist, and another two hanging off one arm, toes barel
y brushing the ground. There's a tubby toddler clinging to his leg like a koala,
and he's got a baby tucked into the crook of the one arm that doesnt have kids h
anging off it. Stiles' mouth drops open.
"How many of those kids did you kidnap?" he asks before he can wrangle his brain
into submission.
The man gives him a look that says what the fuck is wrong with you and snaps, "Y
ou think I'd subject myself to this on purpose?"
"Oooh," says one of the kids hanging off his arm. "I'm telling Mom."
"You go right ahead," the man tells the kid. His eyes - and god, they are gorgeo
us - snap back to Stiles. "Can I help you?"
"Uh," Stiles says, thrown the intensity of his gaze. "I - I'm Deputy Stilinski.
With the Sheriff's Department."
"I can see that," the man says, rolling his eyes so hard his retinas look like t
hey might detach. "You've got a name tag."
"I - right." Stiles is flushing; he can fucking feel it. He's a cop, dammit. Peo
ple don't get to make him blush. "We're trying to track down an arsonist. Do you
have a moment to talk?"
The man's expression flattens at the word arsonist but he nods and steps back, a
n invitation to come inside. Stiles glances over his shoulder at Scott, who's pl
aying around on his phone. Draw Something, probably. Isaac's been kicking his as
s and Scott is weirdly competitive. He waves at Stiles without looking up: all c
lear. Stiles rolls his eyes and steps inside, shutting the door behind him.
"Just give me a moment to deal with these ankle biters," the man tells him, and
turns down a hallway with all his passengers protesting loudly at the nickname.
Stiles watches him pass through a sunny room that's probably the kitchen. He ope
ns a back door and all the kids drop off him, racing outside with shouts of glee
. The man bellows after them, "No snack until you've all shifted back! Sammy, I
mean it!"
"Isn't 'ankle biters' a little, uh, offensive?" Stiles asks, when the man comes
back down the hall. He's just holding the baby now; it's peacefully asleep, thum
b tucked in its mouth.
"It's okay when I say it," the man replies, crooking a finger at Stiles and lead
ing him into a living room cluttered with kids toys.
Stiles gapes at his back. "Is that a joke?"
"I don't joke," the man says flatly. "You want to tell me what's going on, or do
I need to call the cops?" He drops onto the couch.
"I am the cops!" Stiles winces; he's sounds like he's five. The man squints at h
im.
"Thought that was a costume." He sounds smug.
"If you've got a lot of dudes in fake cop uniforms coming to your door, I probab
ly shouldn't know about it," Stiles retorts. The man's lips part and his cheeks
go pink. Stiles bites back a triumphant grin; chalk one up to him. "Anyway," Sti
les says, pulling out his notebook, "we've been getting reports of someone in th
e neighborhood setting fires. Anything you can tell me about it?"
"Not unless my ex got released from jail," the man says. Stiles looks up from hi
s notebook, wondering if he's joking, but his stony face is serious.
"Oh," Stiles says. "Their name?"
"Katherine Argent," the man tells him, and Stiles writes it down dutifully. The
name sounds vaguely familiar, but he's having trouble placing it.
"Anything else?"
The man shrugs. It's an impressive gesture and Stiles is definitely not staring.
"Uh," Stiles says dazedly (because fuck it; he is staring). "Well. Thanks. For y
our help. I'm gonna give you my card, in case you hear anything else." He drops
it on the table and desperately thinks call me.
"Sure," the man says dismissively. He doesn't get up from the couch. Stiles lets
himself out. He can hear the kids in the backyard, screaming with laughter.
He canvasses twenty more houses before giving up for the day and riding back to
the station with Scott so they can go over their notes.
"Sounds like it's probably going to be those kids who hang out in the park," Sco
tt says. "Like ten people mentioned them."
"Yeah," Stiles says absently, flipping through his notes. He spots the name he w
rote down at the hot guy's house. Katherine Argent. He taps it. "Dude, is this l
ady's name familiar to you?"
Scott leans over and goes kind of pale. "Stiles," he says quietly. "She burned d
own the Hale house."
"The Hale house?" Stiles repeats, his mouth falling open. He didn't know all tha
t much about the case, as he'd been across the country at Northeastern, just abo
ut to graduate around the time it happened, but he knew that eight people had be
en killed, and his dad had worked overtime for weeks. "Oh, shit, that was Derek
Hale that I talked to?"
Scott's eyes widened. "Wait, he was in one of the houses you canvassed?"
"Yeah, out on Spring Street."
"Well, it wasn't her," Scott says. "She's serving life, dude. No parole."
Stiles sucks on his teeth. "Shit, that's awful. He was so casual about it."
"That's kind of just the way he is," Scott says, getting to his feet. "He doesn'
t show a lot of emotion."
Stiles is just about to ask Scott if he knows Derek - how he knows Derek - when
his dad appears at their desks and asks, "How's the investigation going?" which
is how they end up sitting in the cruiser at the edge of the park later that nig
ht, watching for their young suspects. Scott's eating a hamburger but Stiles ski
pped dinner; he's still feeling overfull from the several pounds of baked goods
he consumed that day.
"Man, who even lights mailboxes on fire?" Stiles complains, tapping his fingers
on the arm rest. "That's so fucking dumb."
"I dunno, kids?" Scott replies. "Didn't you ever light things on fire?"
"No," Stiles says scornfully, then thinks about it. "There was one year where I
went around smashing people's pumpkins on Halloween. It's not really the same th
ing though, is it? I mean, I wasn't putting lives at risk."
Scott shrugs. "They're not thinking, obviously."
Stiles makes an irritated noise, followed by an indignant one when Scott jabs hi
m in the side. "Hey, look who it is." He points and Stiles follows his finger to
see a man jogging along the edge of the park, disappearing and reappearing in t
he pools of light cast by the streetlights. It's Derek Hale, the hot dude from e
arlier. Stiles is almost angry at how distressingly good-looking he is in runnin
g gear. It just isn't fair.
"How do you know him, anyway?" Stiles asks Scott, because he forgot to ask at th
e station.
"Allison," Scott replies, smiling at his wife's name. "She - well." His smile fa
des a little. "She's Kate Argent's niece, so she knew Derek before - before all
that happened, and she stayed in touch after, because they always got along. We'
ve had him over for dinner a few times. He's not really social, but." Scott shru
gs. "He's an okay guy, I guess. My daughter likes him."
"He's a were, though, right?" Stiles asks, watching Derek pause in the shadow of
a tree, thinking about the way all those kids had clung to him. He could probab
ly lift Stiles easily. Stiles licked his lips and tried not think about all the
sex positions that were possible with that kind of strength.
"Yeah," Scott nods. "Beta. Oh, hey, look - " He points again and Stiles looks ac
ross the park to see a small group of teenagers slinking across the grass, mostl
y keeping to the shadows. "There are our hooligans."
"Yeah, but are they are arsonists?" Stiles asks, squinting. "Your night vision's
a thousand times better than mine, dude. Are they carrying anything?"
"Doesn't look like it," Scott replies, frowning, "but they could just be using l
ighter fluid or alcohol as a starter. That'd fit in a pocket."
"True," Stiles agrees. His eyes slide back over to Derek, who hasn't moved from
under the tree. "Dude, Derek's watching them too."
"They must not be weres," Scott says. "They should have noticed us or him by now
."
"Or they're just stupid."
"Or they're just stupid," Scott agrees, and they fall into silence, watching the
kids head for the center of the park, congregating around a bench. "Dude, are t
hey going after a bench?"
"The thrill of small-town life," Stiles sighs, adjusting his belt. He sees flame
flicker in one of the kids' hands. "You - oh, fuck!"
"What?" Scott exclaims, swinging his head around.
"Dude, lights on - Derek's going after them - go, go, go!" And it's true; Derek'
s taken off across the park, headed right for the kids, who haven't noticed anyt
hing. Scott swears and twists the ignition, hitting the lights at the same time.
They take off across the park, cutting over the grass and over curbs, swerving
around trees. By the time they get to the center of the park, the bench is in fl
ames and Derek's caught three kids by their collars. He's glaring after a fourth
who managed to escape his grasp and disappear under the jungle gym.
"I'm on that one," Scott says, barely getting the cruiser into park before he's
out of the car and fading into the night. Stiles sighs.
"Thanks," he mutters. "Let me take care of the mad werewolf." He gets out of the
car and approaches slowly, raising his hands peacefully as Derek turns to glare
at him, his eyes glowing blue. "Hey. Mr. Hale, right? Would you mind letting th
ose kids go?"
"Fire is not a game," Derek snarls. Stiles winces; now that he knows that this i
s Derek Hale, he totally gets why he'd be mad about arson, but -
"It's not," Stiles agrees, "but these guys are like thirteen - "
"I'm fourteen!" one of the kids protests. The others shush him.
" - and you're a full-grown werewolf and they're human and there are laws - "
"I know that!" Derek snaps. "If these idiots were werewolves, I would have beat
them to a pulp."
"Just let them go," Stiles says soothingly. "I'm gonna pretend that I didn't hea
r that."
Derek curls his lip, but releases the kids. Stiles nods his thanks and says to t
he teens, "Sit on the ground and put your hands on your heads for me. We're goin
g to wait until my partner gets back."
The kids do as they're told; they mostly look relieved to be away from Derek, wh
o folds his arms over his chest and glares at them. Stiles puts his hands on his
belt and watches them. He wants to say something to Derek but the only thing th
at comes to mind is want to have dinner sometime? and it's not really appropriat
e for the situation, he thinks. Scott comes back a couple minutes later, trottin
g across the dark grass with the last teenager jogging along in front of him, ha
nds cuffed behind his back.
"Hey, Derek," Scott says cheerfully, pushing the kid down onto the grass next to
his friends. "Thanks for your help, but I think we've got it from here."
Derek shifts. He doesn't look pleased, but he nods, rolling his shoulders before
jogging off into the night. Stiles watches him go regretfully. At least he gets
a nice view of Derek's ass before it disappears into the darkness.
-
It's a long night, but things quiet down in the days following. There are other
small cases across the county, nothing exciting; old lady misplaces her jewelry
and thinks someone stole it, dude gets too drunk and falls down some stairs, kid
gets lost in the woods, kid gets found. Stiles, however, cannot stop thinking a
bout Derek Hale. He lies in bed at night and puts a hand down his pants and sham
elessly thinks about Derek's broad chest and his tight ass and his stupid ears a
nd stupid rabbit teeth and his gorgeous eyes until he comes on his stomach with
a tense groan. It's not fair, he thinks dazedly, his legs tingling. Derek's prob
ably married. He's got like a billion kids and one of them's a baby - he's gotta
have someone popping those out for him. Stiles groans into his pillow. He is so
fucking gone.
During his lunch break, he looks around guiltily and slinks into the records roo
m, where he flips through Kate Argent's court transcripts. It's worse than he kn
ew - three of the eight dead were children, and half the group was human, all me
mbers of the extended Hale family. His heart hurts just reading the tearful test
imonies. Derek's parents - the alpha, Talia, and her human mate - were both kill
ed in the blaze, as well as two of his kid siblings, both humans, and an aunt an
d uncle and their kids. Stiles thinks about how much losing his mom hurt and the
n tries to imagine that pain times eight. He can't even fathom that much loss. W
orse is how fucking nonchalant Kate is through the whole thing - she pleads guil
ty with a grin on her face, openly admits burning down the house with everyone i
nside. She says she thinks werewolves are monsters, sub-human, insinuates she's
done it before to other families. He has to put the file back in its box and sit
outside in the sun for a while because he might puke otherwise.
The last place Stiles expects to see Derek is at the grocery store, which is stu
pid, because everyone needs food. He doesn't know why it's so surprising when he
rounds the corner of the chip aisle and there's Derek standing in front of the
yogurt. Maybe because it's so normal, he thinks. The last time he saw Derek, he
was fuming about some teenage arsonists. Now he's just standing under the blue-g
reen light of the yogurt display and he looks tired. One of the little kids from
the house is standing next to Derek - a little girl, dark-haired just like him.
He's got his hand on the back of her head, face turned slightly to watch her as
she talks, gesturing at the yogurt with her little hands. Stiles can hear her f
aintly, announcing all the flavors she's tried. It makes Stiles' heart ache a li
ttle.
He's twenty-six, and as much as he tries to tell himself he's way too young to s
ettle down, somewhere in the back of his mind he'd always thought that he'd be m
arried by now, with a nice house and kids, maybe. Instead he's got a cramped one
-bedroom apartment and an ungrateful cat named Oscar. It's so easy to imagine hi
mself in that life, though; waking up to the same face every morning, sneaking k
isses while they watch movies with the kids. Hell, even arguing over stupid shit
sounds amazing. Stiles groans quietly to himself, listening to Derek and his ki
d have a dispute over yogurt.
" - not getting the one with the candy, Sammy," Derek's saying. "You can get the
one with the granola."
"But Daaaaaad," the little girl wheedles, using his arm to swing herself around
in circles, "everyone at school - "
"Nope," Derek says simply. "Granola. Grab five for me."
The little girl sighs but does as she's told, leaning on her tiptoes to reach th
e correct selection. Stiles should move, he realizes. He could step up next to t
hem, pretend to be totally engrossed in the myriad flavors, and then totally, co
mpletely nonchalantly notice them. Yeah, he thinks, and takes a couple steps for
ward. He didn't time it right, though; they're already done with the yogurt and
turning his way. Derek pauses when he sees Stiles, his hand coming up to catch h
is daughter by the back of her shirt. She skids to a halt and frowns up at Stile
s, looking unnervingly like her father.
"Deputy," Derek says politely. He appears to think for a moment and adds, "Stili
nski."
"Stiles, please," Stiles tells him hopefully. At least Derek remembered his name
. "I'm off duty, Mr. Hale."
Derek watches his face for a long moment and Stiles tries not to shrink under hi
s inscrutable expression. His eyes are beautiful and like, way too intense; Stil
es feels like they're boring right into his soul and Derek's going to be able to
suss out exactly how Stiles feels about him, if he's not reeking of it already.
Scott says werewolves can't really smell emotion, but arousal isn't really an e
motion, more of a physical state, and Stiles can feel his palms getting sweaty.
"Call me Derek," Derek says finally, and Stiles relaxes like he's passed some te
st.
"Thanks for your help the other night," Stiles tells Derek. Derek nods, a quick
jerk of his head. Stiles shifts his weight nervously. He's quickly realizing he
doesn't actually have anything to talk to Derek about, but he doesn't want to ju
st walk away. "Uh," he says, nodding at Derek's daughter. "Where's the rest of y
our gang?"
Derek frowns faintly before his expression clears. "Those were my sister's kids,
" he says. "I've just got the one." He nudges his daughter. "This is Samantha. B
e polite, or he'll arrest you."
Samantha looks Stiles up and down, clearly sizing him up. "He's not scary." Dere
k snorts like he agrees. Stiles narrows his eyes at him and receives the eyebrow
raise of the century in return.
"Thanks," Stiles tells Samantha. "I wish I could say that this was the first tim
e someone's told me that."
Derek snorts again - Stiles wants to tell him it's not cute but it is, kind of -
and says, "Sounds like you need to work on your imageStiles." Stiles tries not t
o pretend like that doesn't send a thrill up his spine, the sound of his name ro
lling off Derek's lips. The ghost of a smile rises on Derek's face and Stiles wo
uld swear, swear Derek knows what he's doing to him. Derek says, very mildly, "W
e've got to get going."
"Oh, yeah," Stiles says, hurriedly stepping aside. "Uh. Nice to see you, Derek,
Samantha."
Derek nods, pushing his daughter along in front of him. She glances over her sho
ulder at Stiles and sticks her tongue out at him. Stiles resists the urge to ret
urn the gesture and is glad he does, because a moment later Derek looks back at
him as well and Stiles swears he smiles before he turns back around. Stiles bite
s back a grin before he turns down the pet food aisle; Oscar's out of food and h
e gets cranky when he's hungry.
-
Stiles doesn't see Derek again for two weeks. He's getting antsy, trying to thin
k of a way to get Scott and Allison to host some sort of dinner and make Derek c
ome without sounding like he's obsessed. He isn't. (Probably.)
It's an accident. Like, a complete and honest accident that Stiles has nothing t
o do with. The call comes over the radio and Scott and Stiles are the nearest un
it out on patrol. Neither of them recognize the address; it's far out on the edg
e of town, a huge house with a bunch of cars parked in front. Scott stiffens as
he climbs out of the car and mutters, at Stiles' raised eyebrow, "Alpha."
Stiles frowns up at the house as they walk up the drive. "Looks like they're hav
ing a party." There are only four alphas in Beacon Hills and he's completely bla
nking on who lives where. Scott knocks on the front door and it's swung open by
a dark-haired woman with an exasperated look on her face. To Stiles' surprise, s
he's got Derek's daughter in her arms. Before Stiles' heart can even start sinki
ng, because this has to be Derek's wife or girlfriend or baby mama or whatever,
Scott straightens and says, "Alpha Hale!"
Stiles blinks. Alpha Hale. That would make this Laura Hale, Derek's sister. Thos
e were my sisters kids. Oh. He relaxes minutely, then remembers they're here on a
call. "Hi, ma'am," he says. "We got a call about an intruder."
"Mm," Laura says, looking him up and down. Stiles is disconcerted to find Samant
ha eyeing him in the exact same fashion. "Yeah," she says finally. "You better c
ome in before there's a bloodbath. No need to call for backup," she adds, turnin
g to show them into the house. "Not as long as you get this old creep out of my
brother's sight in the next five minutes."
"Huh?"
"Old creep," Laura repeats loudly, like she thinks Stiles is deaf. "Breaking int
o my house." She clicks her tongue loudly, as if to say the nerve of people, rea
lly.
They come into a large room that, judging by the couches and the huge television
, is probably a family room, to a strange tableau. Stiles is surprised to see Is
aac standing at one end of the room with an old man in what looks like a very ge
ntle headlock. In the middle of the room, four kids sit on the couch. One of the
m's holding a baby; Stiles thinks they're the kids that were at Derek's house th
e other week, which makes them Laura's. They don't seem at all perturbed by what
's going on around them; the chubby toddler in the middle's brushing a doll's ha
ir.
Across the room, a huge dude, a dark-haired girl, and a blonde chick have their
arms wrapped around Derek, whose eyes are glowing blue. He's fighting against th
em, snarling soundlessly. Laura rolls her eyes and points to the old man.
"That dude," she says, "is the one who broke in and I want him gone."
"I have every right to see my granddaughter," the man says, his voice muffled by
Isaac's arm.
"You're wrong," Laura says simply. She sounds bored, like she's had this convers
ation a million times. "Derek's got full custody and you've got no rights, actua
lly. This is a great example you're setting for her, actually. Real responsible.
"
"All right, all right," Stiles says. "Officer McCall, you want to do the manhand
ling? I'll take statements. You want to press charges?" he asks Laura.
"Sure do," she says sweetly, and the old man sputters something, sounding outrag
ed. Scott takes over for Isaac, beaming. Laura watches Scott tug him out of the
room before she sets down Samantha, who immediately goes trotting over to her fa
ther. Stiles watches Derek bend and scoop her up before turning to Laura, pullin
g out his notepad.
"So what was all this about?"
"That loon," Laura says, rolling her eyes - and it must be a Hale thing; Stiles
doesn't think he's ever seen anyone roll their eyes that hard before - "is Sammy
's grandfather, Gerard Argent. We were just trying to celebrate her birthday whe
n apparently it struck him as a great idea to come busting into a house full of
werewolves to try and see her." She purses her lips, glancing over at Derek. He
glowers back, his arms tight around Samantha.
"All right," Stiles says evenly, but his pulse is pounding in his head because i
f that man was an Argent and he's Samantha's grandfather, that means that Kate A
rgent is her mother and that - He sucks in air between his teeth. That really su
cks. "Has this happened before?"
"Not here." Laura bites her lip and calls, "Der? Can you come over here for a se
c?"
Stiles forces himself to remain casual, greeting Derek with a nod. "Hi," he says
. "You all right?"
"Fine," Derek says shortly.
"Derek," Laura says, and there's warning in her voice. "Deputy Stilinski wants t
o know about Gerard."
Derek's lip curls, but he inclines his head.
"Has this happened before?" Stiles asks again. He looks at Samantha. She wrinkle
s her nose at him and tucks her head under Derek's chin.
"I've seen him on the street," Derek says slowly, in a voice wrapped in anger. "
Not often. But enough."
"You've seen him in town?" Stiles asks, frowning.
"No," Derek snaps. "Outside my house."
"Oh," Stiles says, making a note. "If it's happened more than once, we can proba
bly stick him with stalking charges."
"Will he go to jail?" Derek asks, frowning.
"Depends on the judge," Stiles replies. "Do you want him to?"
"I - " Derek shuts his mouth and bends, setting Samantha down on the floor. He g
ives her a gentle push in the direction of the children on the couch and she tak
es the cue, dancing over to the couch. Derek straightens and jams his hands in h
is pockets. "He scares her," he spits furiously. "He hates our kind. To him, she
's just a thing that should be his." Laura reaches out and puts a hand on Derek'
s shoulder. He casts her a dark look, but doesn't move away. Stiles feels uncomf
ortable, like he's intruding. He's seen a lot of bad things since joining the fo
rce, but these tense moments with family members never get easier.
"Okay," Stiles says gently. "We'll take him in, build a case. I'm guessing he's
probably got the funds to get out on bail, so what you can do in the meantime is
get a restraining order against him. If he violates it, we can arrest him again
and, depending on the terms, he could go to jail immediately. Does that work fo
r you?"
"Yes," Derek says heavily. Stiles watches the way his eyes slide over to the cou
ch, where Samantha has joined Laura's children.
"Okay," Stiles says again, his heart aching a little. "You can file that at the
courthouse. I'd do it on Monday, first thing. We've got Argent, so I'll get out
of your hair. Sorry your party got interrupted."
Derek meets his eyes for the first time since Stiles entered the room. He doesn'
t say anything, but there's gratitude there. Laura bumps her shoulder against he
r brother's and says, "You want some cake for the road, Deputy Stilinski? It's r
ed velvet."
"Sorry," Stiles says somberly, "I'm allergic to chocolate."
Laura grins, catching the lie, and Stiles decides he likes her; she seems like t
he type of person who doesnt puts up with anyone's shit, just like his dad. He en
ds up walking out to the patrol car with a tupperware container full of cake. Sc
ott's waiting in the front, Gerard glowering in the back. They bring him back to
the station.
"Hey," Stiles says, as they head to their desks, Gerard safely locked up in a ho
lding cell. "Are you related to him?"
Scott rolls his eyes. "Never met him," he says. "Allison and her dad don't have
anything to do with that side of the family any more. Even before Kate - well. A
llison told me she hasn't seen her grandfather since she was like ten."
"Huh," Stiles says, settling down in his chair, then brightens as he remembers.
"Oh, hey - want some cake?"
They share the cake as they fill out paperwork. It's really good.
-
He sees Laura before he sees Derek again. It's a week after the call to the Hale
house. Gerard's out on bail, but Stiles checks the system and sees that Derek h
as indeed filed a restraining order against him. It makes him feel a little bett
er.
Stiles is coming out of the dentist, his teeth aching. They always get after him
for not flossing enough, even though he does, twice a day. He wonders if werewo
lves need to go to the dentist. If they lose a tooth, does it grow back? Do elde
rly werewolves need dentures? He has a hard time imagining it. Would they need a
special set with fangs for when they shift?
He's halfway across the parking lot when he sees Laura Hale coming out of one of
the other shops in the plaza, a massage therapy place he knows Allison goes to
sometimes. She spots him as he spots her, and a frown clouds her brow, momentari
ly making her look like Derek's female doppelganger, before her expression clear
s.
"Deputy Stilinski, right?" she asks. "Didn't recognize you without your uniform.
"
"Day off," Stiles shrugs. He's wearing skinny jeans and an old Beacon Hills High
sweatshirt, which makes him look about seventeen, but it's comfortable. "How ar
e things going?"
"Better than they were," Laura says warmly. "Did you enjoy the cake?"
"Oh, yeah!" Stiles grins. "I've got your tupperware in the car, actually. I've b
een meaning to drop it off. It was really good; thank you."
Laura follows him over to the jeep and leans against the metal as he bends into
the back, searching for her container. "Are you new to the force?"
"I've been here three years," Stiles replies, straightening. He hands the plasti
c to Laura. "I grew up here, though. My dad's the sheriff."
"I guessed as much," Laura smiles. "Stilinski isn't a very common name."
"No," Stiles agrees. He puts his hands in his pockets and shifts, a little uncom
fortable. He doesn't actually know Laura, after all, even if he's got a major cr
ush on her brother.
Like she's reading his mind, Laura says, "I couldn't help but notice the way you
watched my brother the other night, Deputy."
"Oh?" Stiles asks, trying for casual. "And how's that?"
Laura smiles slow, showing her teeth. It's not an entirely friendly look. "Like
you're interested in him."
"I - " Stiles swallows, knowing she'll hear any lie. "Might be."
Laura doesn't move. "All right," she says, but Stiles knows better than to relax
. "He deserves to be happy and you seem nice enough. I'm going to warn you, thou
gh - you hurt my brother and I'll make your life hell."
"Are you - did you just threaten an police officer?" Stiles splutters.
"Sure did," Laura says sweetly. "He's pack and my brother. That's an over-protec
tive double-whammy." She taps her fingers against the Tupperware. "Good luck woo
ing him, Deputy."
"W-wait," Stiles says weakly as she turns to leave. Laura pauses, casting him an
arched eyebrow over her shoulder. Stiles sighs. "Do you have any tips?"
Laura grins and says, "You're a cop. Follow the clues."
-
The jeep breaks down in the parking lot of the gas station. Stiles goes in to ge
t his customary post-Friday shift curly fries and six pack, and when he comes ba
ck out, the stupid thing won't start. Stiles groans quietly. It's already nine o
'clock in the evening, which means all the garages are closed, and he's had the
shittiest day; he'd had to arrest a fucking pregnant sixteen-year-old girl for s
tealing prenatal vitamins. She'd cried the whole way to the station and Stiles h
ad felt like crying along with her. Not the best way to end the week. All he wan
ts to do now is go home and drink and watch Dexter.
Stiles heaves a huge sigh and gets out of the car. He's halfway inside of it, le
aning over into the hood, but he's not much of a mechanic. He can change the oil
without getting it all over himself, but that's about the limits of his skill,
and he really can't tell what's going on here.
"Everything okay?"
Stiles jerks his head up so fast he slams it against the hood. He falls back aga
inst the side of the car, clutching at his head. "Ah, fuck!"
When his eyes stop watering, he can finally focus on his interrupter. He's horri
fied to see it's Derek, standing there with his hands in his pockets and an expr
ession on his face like he's trying not to laugh. "Sorry," he says to Stiles.
"No, no," Stiles says quickly. "I was hoping to get bruised today; it's okay."
Derek screws up his face and repeats his earlier question: "Everything okay?"
"Yeah," Stiles sighs. "I just - my jeep's acting up. Won't start."
"Want me to take a look?" Stiles raises his eyebrows and Derek explains, "I work
part-time as a mechanic."
"I - oh. Thanks. If it's no problem."
Derek shrugs his broad shoulders and Stiles steps aside so he can lean in. He wa
tches Derek root around and licks his lips nervously. He isn't mentally prepared
for this encounter, not after the day he's had. The silence is getting to him,
though, like it always does, so he asks, "How's your daughter doing?"
"Fine," Derek replies, his voice muffled.
"Argent been hanging around?"
"No," Derek says, straightening to frown at Stiles. "I'll rip his face off if he
does."
"You really shouldn't say things like that to a police officer," Stiles admonish
es gently.
Derek quirks an eyebrow at him. "Aren't you off-duty?"
"Yeah," Stiles agrees, "which is why I'll tell you I have no sympathy for people
that fuck with kids. You have to be careful when you're building a case against
someone, though. The defendant's lawyers will look for anything to make you loo
k like a bad person. You want everyone on your side."
Derek regards him for a long second, his face neutral. "Are you on my side?"
Stiles blinks, his cheeks warming. "I - yeah. I told you. I don't like people wh
o fuck with kids."
Derek watches him a moment longer before nodding and waving his hand toward the
Jeep. "Your radiator's cracked, I think. You'll have to have it towed and get it
repaired."
Stiles sighs again. "Figures."
"I can put in a call and have it towed to my garage," Derek offers. "I've got ti
me in the morning to take a better look."
"I - you don't have to do that," Stiles says, flustered. "I can take it to the s
tation garage." He doesn't really want to, though; the station mechanic, Greenbe
rg, has no idea what he's doing, and Stiles' Jeep is precious to him.
Derek shrugs again. "It's not a problem."
"Well...thanks."
Derek nods, and Stiles stands there awkwardly while Derek pulls out his phone an
d calls a towing company. He seems familiar with whoever answers, which makes se
nse considering his line of work. Stiles sticks his hands in his pockets, wishin
g he'd changed out of his uniform back at the station. Derek hangs up the phone
and says, "They're sending someone out. Should be about ten minutes."
"You really didn't have to do that, but thanks," Stiles tells him. "I can probab
ly handle it from here."
Derek leans against the side of the car next to him. "I can give you a ride home
."
"You don't - "
"I know," Derek says, cutting through him. He looks at Stiles, his eyes serene.
"Call it a thank you for dealing with our shit the other week."
"That's my job," Stiles says uncomfortably.
"So's this," Derek responds, nodding toward the car.
They fall into silence, watching the cars at the pumps come and go.
"Um," Stiles says after a while, "can I ask you about Samantha?"
"Depends."
"Okay," Stiles says slowly. "Her mother - "
"Kate Argent," Derek says shortly. "Gave up all parental rights when she found o
ut Sam was a werewolf. She's in jail. You knew that," he adds. He doesn't sound
angry. Maybe tired. He's probably had this conversation hundreds of times and St
iles feels guilty. It's like when people used to ask where his mother was. He sh
ould have thought about it.
"Yeah," he says quietly. "Cop. Sorry. I put it together when your sister said Ge
rard Argent was her grandfather. Does Samantha know?"
Derek shakes his head. "I told her Kate's in jail. If she ever wants to go visit
her, that's her choice, but I won't be taking her there."
"Oh," Stiles says.
They fall back into silence. The tow truck rolls in a few minutes later and Stil
es signs a receipt, then grabs his beer and curly fries and follows Derek to his
car, a sleek black Camaro. The car seat in the back is at odds with the rest of
the car's image. Stiles has to stop himself from snorting.
The ride to his apartment is quiet except for Stiles directing Derek down the ri
ght streets. It's not entirely uncomfortable, but Stiles tries not to talk. He a
lways ends up putting his foot in his mouth in situations like these, and he rea
lly doesn't want to fuck things up with Derek so, probably wisely, remains quiet
.
As they pull up in front of Stiles' apartment building, Derek says, "I'll take a
look at your car in the morning and give you a call later, all right?"
Stiles narrows his eyes at Derek, warning, "I'm trusting you to not fleece me. I
'll remind you right now that I'm a cop."
Derek snorts. "I'll keep that in mind."
"You need my number?"
"I've got your card," Derek reminds him.
"That's my desk number," Stiles tells him. "Can I give you my cell?"
"I'll report you if you start harassing me via text," Derek says stoically.
Stiles claps a hand over his heart, wounded. "I would never!" It's not like he's
got an ulterior motive for getting Derek's number. Ha. Ha. Ha. Derek raises an
eyebrow at him, but graces him with his number when Stiles gets his phone out. H
e shoots Derek a text that says hey and hears Derek's phone buzz somewhere in th
e car when it arrives.
"Well," Stiles says, suddenly awkward. "Thanks again for everything."
Derek inclines his head. "Not a problem."
"You - " Stiles breathes in. "You want to come up? I've got beer." He lifts the
six-pack hopefully, belatedly remembering that werewolves can't get drunk off re
gular alcohol.
Derek watches him for a moment , his expression unreadable, before shaking his h
ead. "Sorry," he says. "I have to go pick Sam up from Laura's."
"Oh, yeah, right," Stiles says, even as his heart sinks. He wishes he was a were
wolf; what would Derek be smelling like right now? Regret? Irritation? Dislike?
He's probably grossed out by the way Stiles smells like nerves and sweat. "I'll
talk to you later, then. Thanks for the ride."
Derek lifts his fingers in a short wave as Stiles clambers out of the car. He ta
kes the stairs to his apartment at a run, trying to release some of his nervous
energy. If he drinks the entire six-pack in one sitting and then jerks off furio
usly, well, only Oscar's there to judge him.
-
Scott has to come pick him up in the cruiser. It's a quiet morning; they meander
around town with no real purpose. Stiles finally tells Scott about Derek and hi
s stupid teenage crush. To his great credit, Scott doesn't tease him; he just ta
ps his fingers against the steering wheel and says, "He's a tough case, dude. I
mean, Allison knows him better than I do, but I don't think he's dated anyone si
nce Kate."
Stiles sighs. "I don't really blame him, I guess."
Scott gives him an encouraging grin. "Don't give up, man. I think if you keep ch
ipping away at him, you might be successful."
"I hope so," Stiles says doubtfully.
His phone buzzes around one. It's a text from Derek. jeep's all set. pick up whe
never you want.
Stiles grins and texts back, his fingers flying over the screen. thnk u so much!
!! i owe u!
you don't owe me anything. This text is followed a minute later by another: your
spelling is worse than my six-year-old's. that's saying something.
Stiles snorts and responds, shut up, im not supposed to text while im on duty.
Derek doesn't respond for a few minutes. Stiles wonders if he doesn't want to en
courage bad behavior, or if he's just not interested in continuing the conversat
ion, but then another text comes through. i'll let you get back to work, then.
"Noooooo," Stiles groans.
Scott shoots him a look. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Stiles says petulantly. He doesn't text Derek back, as much as he wan
ts to; he's not going to pester him. He has a feeling that Derek wouldn't take w
ell to that sort of behavior, and Stiles is an adult. Most of the time, anyway,
except on Saturdays when he watches Adventure Time in his pajamas. But Derek doe
sn't need to know that (yet).
Scott drops him off at the mechanic when their shift ends at five. Stiles looks
around surreptitiously as he walks through the garage, but doesn't see Derek. Hes
a little disappointed.
"Evening, deputy," the woman behind the desk smiles. "Blue Jeep, right? It's sit
ting out on the lot. Let me grab your keys."
Stiles accepts them with a sigh. "What do I owe you guys?"
She smiles. "Not a penny."
Stiles blinks. "Excuse me?"
"Derek did the repairs on his own time. You don't owe us anything." Her smile go
es a little sly, like she's fishing for information. "He must like you, for him
to come in on his day off and fix your car."
Stiles stares at her, his cheeks flushing. "Yeah," he says, backing toward the d
oor. "Guess so. Uh. G'night!" He almost trips leaving the office, but thankfully
manages not to knock anything over in his mad rush to get out to the jeep. He d
oesn't know what he's expecting to find when he climbs in - a note, maybe, some
kind of confession - but it's just his messy car, always smelling faintly of cur
ly fries. He sits there for a minute, though, heart still pounding. Derek came i
n on his day off to fix his car for free. That's way more generous than an almos
t stranger needs to be. He texts Scott.
is derek particularly generous? or nice?
not really, Scott replies. why?
Stiles doesn't respond. He sits in his car and gnaws on a fingernail, tapping hi
s foot against the floor. He sends Derek a message.
you have to let me pay you back somehow
no, is the immediate response.
Stiles bites at his lip. Owing people doesn't sit well in his stomach. Even if D
erek says he doesn't owe him anything, even if it would have cost like ten bucks
to fix the thing, Derek still came in on his day off and spent time working on
something Stiles could have just as easily let Greenberg bungle. He takes the pl
unge before his nerves can catch up.
let me take you to dinner.
He hits send and almost immediately wishes he could take it back. Theres no way D
ereks going to accept; they hardly know each other, and their interactions always
seem to end in awkward silence.
He watches his phone the entire way home, nearly running over a couple of kids o
n the crosswalk before he tosses it in the backseat. His phones silent all the wa
y through dinner. Stiles tries not to stare at it, but his eyes keep slipping ac
ross the living room to where its charging on a side table, the screen flat and b
lack. He starts over-thinking things. Derek replied immediately to the first tex
t he sent; he had to have seen the second. Dereks ignoring him. Stiles has fucked
up.
Im obsessed, he tells Oscar, who yawns widely and curls up in his lap.
When his phone finally does light up, Stiles restrains himself from jumping up.
He waits until he needs to use the bathroom, then casually wanders over to his p
hone. Theres no use putting on the act; hes the only one there, but it makes him f
eel marginally more in control of his life, especially when he picks up his phon
e and sees a simple all right.
Stiles allows himself exactly one fist pump before sedately texting back when ar
e you free?
tuesday.
Tuesday. Stiles likes the finality of that. Its refreshingly solid after the cons
tant I dont knows and its up to yous of plan making with the rest of his friends.
Stiles grins and texts back tuesday it is, then.
-
Tuesday afternoon, Stiles gets hit by a car. It's stupid, really. It's actually
really stupid, and he doesn't blame his dad for laughing until he cries when he
hears that Stiles was trying to move a turtle out of the road so it wouldn't get
hit and Stiles got hit instead. It's funny. Stiles will probably laugh about it
when he's not in a drugged up haze, and also after his broken ribs heal, becaus
e even breathing kind of hurts right now.
"Sadly," his dad tells him, "I don't think this qualifies you for any sort of aw
ard for injury in the line of duty," and walks out of the hospital room chucklin
g. Stiles tries to glare after him but, what with the concussion and all, he's k
ind of having trouble focusing.
Scott comes in after his dad leaves, chewing on his bottom lip and looking like
he's trying to hold back a shit-eating grin. Stiles sighs and waves a hand. "Go
on," he says. "You can laugh."
Scott collapses in the seat next to the bed, grinning helplessly. "Sorry, dude,"
he snorts. "You just looked so shocked. You and the turtle."
Stiles flips him off and asks, "Is the turtle okay, at least? I nearly died for
that asshole."
"Yeah, he wandered off while the paramedics were loading you up," Scott grins. "
You're the hero of the woodland community, I'm sure."
"Hah," Stiles says weakly. He'd really like to take a nap, but he got bitched ou
t by a nurse for trying earlier.
"You're going to have to cancel, you know."
Stiles blinks at Scott wearily. "Cancel what?"
"Your date with Derek."
"My - oh, shit!" Stiles shoots upright, then groans when his ribs flare with pai
n in protest. He sinks back against the pillows, moaning. "Nooo, fuck, dude, I h
ave to go! The plan's finally falling into place, and I - "
Scott laughs. "He's going to understand! It's not like you're blowing him off fo
r no good reason. You got hit by a car."
"I can go!" Stiles protests. "I'm fine!"
Scott laughs even harder. "Dude, have you seen yourself? You got into a fight wi
th the pavement and the pavement won."
Stiles scowls, but when he gets released an hour later and Scott drives him home
, he finally gets to take a good look in the mirror and - it's kind of true. The
left side of his face, where he hit the road, is swollen and scabbing and just
starting to darken with bruises. The entire left side of him, in fact, aches and
throbs. He's going to have a really impressive collection of bruises in the mor
ning. Stiles sighs, because he can't go to dinner like this, not with his eye sw
ollen shut and still half high off the medication.
i'm really sorry, but i have to cancel tonight, Stiles texts Derek. got hurt at
work today.
He's not expecting the almost instantaneous response of are you all right?
Stiles fights back a smile because it makes his head ache, but replies, i'll be
okay, just drugged up. you don't want to see me high.
do you need anything?
Stiles is sorely tempted to say yes, his head full of images of Derek sitting by
his bedside, holding his hand, feeding him soup, kissing his forehead. no, he t
exts back, exhaling regretfully. scott's going to take care of me.
Which is true, even though Stiles wishes it wasn't. Scott comes back twenty minu
tes later with pizza and beer, even though Stiles isn't supposed to drink while
he's on his meds, and just as Scott's setting everything down on the coffee tabl
e, Stiles hears back from Derek. okay. get some rest. we can reschedule.
"Hey," Scott says, and Stiles lifts his eyes from his phone to see Scott grinnin
g at him. "So I probably shouldn't tell you this, but when I was waiting for the
pizza, Derek started blowing up my phone with texts about you."
"What?" Stiles asks, his heartbeat picking up. "No."
"Yes," Scott says firmly, plunking himself down on the couch next to Stiles. "I
know this whole date was just supposed to be a platonic thank you sort of thing,
but he was worried. I think he likes you, dude."
"Don't get my hopes up," Stiles groans, reaching for a slice of pizza. "He's lik
e, impossible to read."
"That's partly a werewolf thing," Scott says. "It's a lot harder to hide your fe
elings from other werewolves, so you end up with people who are very open, or ve
ry closed off. But believe me, dude, he wouldn't have even bothered asking if he
wasn't actually concerned."
"Hm," Stiles says noncommittally. There's a heavy warmth settling in his stomach
, though, hopeful and comforting.
-
Stiles is on desk duty until his ribs heal; he's no use as a partner if he can't
run, or if he might injure himself further in an altercation. He understands th
at, but it still sucks, and it's boring as hell. He mostly spends his time on th
e phone with all the people who've been warned they'll be arrested if they keep
calling 911, so they call the non-emergency line instead. He's sitting at the fr
ont desk three days after his accident, chin in his hand as he listens to an old
man trying to convince him that the government's planted cameras in his kitchen
, when Derek walks through the station doors.
"We'll send someone over to check it out as soon as we can," Stiles lies to the
old man, and hangs up without another word. "Hi."
Derek leans against the counter, eyes flickering over Stiles' face. "Hey."
Stiles licks his lips, suddenly awkward. His face is no longer swollen, but he's
still heavily bruised, and there's a long scrape that runs from the side of his
temple to his chin. "What can I do for you?"
Derek shrugs with one shoulder. "Figured you'd probably be here," he says. "Just
wanted to check on you."
Just wanted to check on you. Stiles tries to tamp down on the swelling of his he
art, but it's pretty much useless. They're not friends, technically, yet Derek s
topped by to check on him? He wants to sing. He wants to kiss Derek on his stupi
dly handsome face. "Thanks," he says hoarsely, and limits himself to that, becau
se he might burst out with a whole slew of inappropriate things otherwise.
"So what happened?" Derek asks, gesturing toward Stiles' face.
"Oh." Stiles' cheeks go red, because the story is no less embarrassing now than
it was three days ago. He decides to leave out the bit about the turtle. "I got
hit by a car."
Derek frowns. "Someone hit you on purpose?"
"No, no," Stiles says hurriedly. "I was in the road, and the lady was distracted
. She just clipped me; it wasn't like I got run over or anything."
Derek's expression clears. "All right."
"I'm sorry I had to cancel."
Derek snorts. "You got hit by a car. You get a pass this time."
"This time?" Stiles repeats hopefully, and Derek's face goes a little soft aroun
d the edges when he nods. "Well," Stiles says nervously, shuffling papers around
on the desk. "Well, then." He squints up at Derek. "Are you busy? Tomorrow nigh
t, maybe?"
One side of Derek's mouth lifts slightly. "I'm sure I can find a babysitter."
"Okay," Stiles says, fighting back an idiotic grin. "Cool. Um. I can't do much,
but maybe I could make dinner - " He cuts himself off at the way Derek's smile f
ades. "Uh, no? Did Scott tell you I'm a terrible cook? Because I'm not - "
"No," Derek says quickly. "That's fine. I was just thinking it'd be nice to get
out of the house. I don't get the chance very often."
"Oh!" Stiles blinks. The phone rings, but he ignores it. "We can do that! What k
ind of food do you like?"
"Anything," Derek shrugs, then seems to reconsider. "Not Italian. Too heavy."
"No pasta? Sacrilegious," Stiles declares with a grin. "I'll figure something ou
t then text you, okay?" He gestures at the phone, which is still ringing, with a
sigh. "I should probably, you know, do my job."
"All right," Derek says with a faint smile. "I'll talk to you later."
"See ya," Stiles waves. He's about to pick up the phone when there's a soft coug
h from behind him and he twists around to see his father standing in the doorway
to his office, looking smug.
"Working hard, son?" the sheriff asks, folding his arms across his chest.
"How much of that did you hear?" Stiles sighs.
"Door was open," the sheriff replies. "All of it. I'm very happy you've landed y
ourself a date, but try to limit the flirting to your lunch break next time, all
right?"
"Yes sir," Stiles agrees, the tips of his ears going pink. He turns back to the
desk and picks up the phone. The old man at the other end of the line tells Stil
es he's pretty sure he's just found government cameras hidden in his tool shed.
Stiles slumps over the desk with a sigh.
-
The following day, Stiles gets off his shift and goes home. He takes a shower, t
hen dithers in front of the closet for a while, not sure how formal to be. This
isn't a date, technically; it's Stiles thanking Derek for fixing his car. Even i
f that isn't something Derek usually does for other people in the first place, e
ven if Derek stopped by work yesterday just to check in on him. He isn't going t
o assume anything until it's actually spoken out loud and agreed upon, because h
e's made too many mistakes in the past, and he's really holding out on this to b
e real.
He finally settles upon a navy button-up and khakis and heads to the restaurant
to meet Derek. He can feel his palms getting sweaty as he drives and it's - it's
kind of silly. At the same time, though, maybe it's not? Stiles is good at talk
ing, good at listening, good at being that guy that everyone likes and gets alon
g with. But the deeper connections? They're hard for him. He can make friends wi
th the snap of a finger, but keeping those friends longer than a few months is a
lot harder. Here in Beacon Hills, the only people he's really got are his dad,
Scott, and Allison. Lydia's back on the east coast, and he's not sure how Isaac
feels about him - and that's it. Three people and a cat.
He can't remember the last time he went on a date. It's been at least six months
, probably longer. His last serious relationship was, fuck, back in college, and
even that was nothing to be proud of; just like friends, he can't seem to keep
a relationship going much longer than three or four months. It's discouraging an
d a little depressing. He's trying really hard not to get his hopes up about Der
ek, but it's so hard not to when everything seems to be falling into place.
Derek's waiting in front of the restaurant and fuck, he looks good, dressed in a
white dress shirt and dark jeans. It's not fair how devastatingly handsome he i
s, no, no, no, or how kind he looks when he smiles, like he's smiling at Stiles
right now.
"Hi," Stiles says, his cheeks going red at the way his voice is high and breathy
.
Derek doesn't seem to notice. He lifts his eyes toward the restaurant sign and s
ays, "This the place?"
"Yeah," Stiles says, following his gaze. "I - no, wait, this is totally differen
t! When did this happen? This used to be a steakhouse."
Derek shrugs. "I don't mind. You want to try it?"
"Sure," Stiles says deliberately. "I don't mind an adventure."
They head inside, and Stiles quickly realizes that it might be more of an advent
ure than he thought, because this place is fancy. Not like suit-and-tie fancy, b
ut all the ladies are in nice dresses, and the dude are all wearing sports jacke
ts, and even though he knows he looks good, he still feels out of place. If Dere
k feels the same, though, it doesn't show; he thanks the hostess when she shows
them to a table, and raises his eyebrows at Stiles when Stiles stays standing a
moment too long.
"This okay?" Derek asks, raising his eyebrows.
"Yeah," Stiles breathes, sliding into the other side of the booth. "Totally. Tot
ally. I guess this - this isn't the type of place you'd go with your daughter."
Derek snorts quietly. "She gets impatient," he says. "It's a virtue we're workin
g on. If we go out to eat, it's to fast food places where she doesn't have to si
t any longer than ten minutes."
"My dad could sympathize with you there," Stiles tells Derek ruefully. "He and m
y mom could never take me anywhere. I'd be bouncing off the walls in five minute
s. I was on Adderall until college," he adds, at Derek's raised eyebrow.
Derek snorts again. "I pity your parents."
Stiles laughs as the waiter comes over and introduces himself. They order drinks
and then that fish out of water feeling comes back as Stiles stares down at the
menu. "Is this French?" he whispers to Derek, who's frowning down at his menu l
ike it's personally offended him. "I don't know what any of this stuff is."
"I don't either," Derek admits. He gives Stiles a grim look. "Adventure, right?"
"Right," Stiles says as the waiter comes back over with their drinks. He reaches
for his glass and manages to knock over his water instead, flooding their table
. "Fuck! Jesus, I'm sorry!" The thunk of the glass hitting the floor has several
heads turning in their direction. A woman at a nearby table leans forward to wh
isper something to her companion, who laughs. Stiles can feel his cheeks flushin
g red. "I'm sorry," he tells Derek again. "I'm totally floundering here, dude."
Derek slides out of the booth, stepping over the puddle of water. Stiles watches
him nervously, wondering if he's done such a disastrous job that Derek's done w
ith him, but all Derek does is reach out and curl his fingers around Stiles' wri
st, tugging him from the booth. "Come on," he says quite gently, and tows Stiles
out of the restaurant. The night air is cool on his hot face.
"Sorry," Stiles tries again, but Derek shakes his head, turning left and heading
down the street, his hand still around Stiles' wrist. Stiles looks down at thei
r hands, his mouth dry.
"Glad that happened," Derek says, quirking one side of his mouth up. "That place
was a little stuffy."
Stiles breathes out. "Yeah," he agrees, relief flooding through him. "What now?"
"I think there's a diner around the corner," Derek says, glancing over at him. "
Is that more our speed?"
"Hell yeah," Stiles says cheerfully. "Give me all the greasy comfort food."
Derek laughs, his fingers squeezing against Stiles' skin before finally dropping
away. Stiles misses the contact almost instantly, but he doesn't try to go afte
r it; he knows how some werewolves - hell, some humans - feel about touching oth
er people. Stiles would have guessed by Derek's guarded exterior that he's one o
f those werewolves, but maybe not.
Their second attempt at dinner goes a thousand times better than the first. The
diner is bright and warm and crowded with people Stiles knows from his patrols.
He sees Derek nod at a few people and smiles to himself as they settle down into
a booth.
"Is this better?" Derek asks, nodding his thanks as a waitress sets mugs of coff
ee down in front of them without prompting.
"So much better," Stiles grins. "You think?"
Derek nods, lips quirking up.
"So you work as a mechanic part time," Stiles says, eyeing the menu. "Do you hav
e another job?"
Derek shakes his head. "I stay at home," he says, "watch Laura's kids a couple d
ays a week. She used to watch Sam in return while I worked, but Sam's started sc
hool now, so." He rolls his shoulders in a shrug. "'s quiet."
Stiles smiles. "You really love her, huh?"
Derek shifts slightly, keeping his eyes on the menu. "Yeah. I never - never want
ed her to think she was unwanted. Family and pack - it's important." He smiles,
soft and fond and private. "She came home the other day and said she wanted to j
oin the soccer team. I never would have gone out for something like that. Sam's
strong." He glances up at Stiles and his cheeks go red. "Sorry," he says, sudden
ly gruff again.
"No way," Stiles says, waving a carefree hand. "I think it's awesome, dude. I be
t you're a great dad."
Derek looks down at his menu, the tips of his ears going red, and Stiles grins.
They order their food and talk and it's easy, so easy. Stiles doesn't know why h
e was nervous. He tells Derek about living on the east coast while he was in sch
ool, and stories from the police academy, and Derek tells him about the big outi
ngs the pack does - a retreat in Idaho, a vacation on the gulf of Texas. Stiles'
plate is empty in front of him and he doesn't remember eating his hamburger and
fries. Across the booth, Derek's leaning forward against the table, his face so
ft, and Stiles thinks about how easy it would be to just lean forward and close
the distance and kiss him. He doesn't, though, as much as he wants to, because h
e's still not sure if this is just dinner or a date.
The waitress drops their check off with a cheerful, "Take your time, sweethearts
," and Derek picks it up before Stiles can touch it.
"I'll pay," Derek says, pulling out his wallet.
"What, no!" Stiles protests, trying to grab at the bill, but Derek jerks it out
of his reach. "I'm supposed to be thanking you for working on the jeep!"
"It was my idea to go out," Derek replies smoothly, pulling a few bills out of h
is wallet. "You were going to cook for me."
"I don't mind paying," Stiles sighs.
Derek looks up at him and smiles faintly. "Guess you're in my debt again."
Stiles' breath catches in his throat at the insinuation. "I - yeah." A smile - a
really gleeful, terrible, frightening smile, he's afraid - forces its way onto
his lips. "I can deal with that."
He wants to write a poem about the way Derek's eyes crinkle at the corners when
he smiles. Stiles could kiss him then; he nearly does, but Derek's getting to hi
s feet before he can work up the nerve. They step out of the diner and Stiles is
vaguely surprised to see there's still light at the edge of the horizon. Is thi
s what it's like to be an adult? God, he's turning into his dad.
"Where'd you park?" Derek asks, shoving his hands in his pockets.
"Down that way," Stiles says, jerking his head toward the street.
"I'll walk with you," Derek says casually, and Stiles grins.
"Did you forget I'm a cop?" he teases. "I can protect myself."
"Fine," Derek retorts. "If you don't want my company - "
"Let's not be hasty," Stiles says quickly, spinning on his heel to head toward h
is car. Derek falls into stride next to him, the long lines of his body relaxed.
Stiles makes himself remain calm, but inside he's almost dancing in his skin be
cause dinner was a success; it wasn't awkward, and Derek seems to like him, and
he feels good, but he's got to make sure before he can make a fool of himself tr
ying to go further. When they reach his car, Stiles leans against the side and s
ays, "I know this was just supposed to be me thanking you for fixing the jeep, b
ut do you want to do it again? Soon?"
"Yes," Derek says without hesitation.
"Oh, good," Stiles sighs, and relaxes completely when Derek steps into his space
. Derek hovers there for just a moment, one of his hands rising to brush against
Stiles' cheek before he closes the last few inches between them and kisses Stil
es. Stiles closes his eyes and presses himself into Derek, letting Derek's kiss
consume him. He can't help the small, needy noise that escapes him when Derek pu
lls away, but he doesn't go far, breathing warm against Stiles' cheek.
"Do that again," Stiles mumbles and Derek laughs, a soft hah of air breezing acr
oss Stiles' skin.
Derek straightens, his hands slipping to Stiles' sides. Stiles wants to keep the
warmth in his eyes there forever. "I'm free on Monday."
"Okay," Stiles grins. "Cool. I can't do anything strenuous," he says, gesturing
at his ribs, "but maybe we can get drinks or whatever."
Derek nods, his eyes falling to Stiles chest before rising back to his face. "Ca
n I?" he asks, lightly resting one of his hands against Stiles' bruised chest.
"I - what?" Stiles asks. Derek's eyes settle halfway shut, his breathing even. S
tiles' knees sag a little as warmth fills his torso and residual pain from his r
ibs he hadn't even noticed fades away. "Oh," he says languidly, watching black l
ines trace the flow of Derek's veins, running up his forearms and disappearing u
nder his shirt cuffs. "Doesn't that hurt?"
"Not for long," Derek says, pulling his hand away. Stiles sighs at the loss of h
is touch, but the pain doesn't return, which is a small miracle.
"Thanks," he tells Derek a little dazedly, head fogged.
Derek nods and leans in for a second slow kiss before he steps back, up onto the
curb. "Drive safe."
"I will," Stiles promises. He climbs into his car and sits there for a moment, w
atching Derek head back down the street in his rearview mirror. He sits there fo
r a moment longer, breathing deeply as the last of the haze from Derek healing h
im fades from his head. He thinks about Derek kissing him and starts grinning. H
e grins all the way home, heart hammering in his chest. He's still smiling when
he falls asleep, the memory of Derek's lips against his, and the warmth of his h
ands a heavy, comforting weight on his chest.
-
On Monday, Derek texts him first. you still free?
Stiles, who's still on desk duty, texts back yes! did you have something in mind
?
yes, Derek responds. i'll pick you up at nine.
Stiles grins. what are we doing?
nothing you have to dress up for.
That's all he gets until eight, when Derek texts him that he's outside and he go
es downstairs to find Derek waiting in his flashy car. He can't help noticing th
at the car seats been taken out of the back and croons as he slides inside, "Oooh
, you gonna take me to Makeout Point?"
Derek gives him a flat look. "If you want your father knocking on the window."
Stiles laughs. "Nah, dude, he's managed to permanently weasel his way out of nig
ht shifts; we're safe. He'd just roll his eyes anyway. I can't even tell you how
many times he walked in on me in uh, compromising situations when I lived at ho
me. You think he would have learned to knock, but no."
"Maybe later, then," Derek says lightly, a smile hovering around the corners of
his mouth. Stiles laughs, and he keeps laughing when Derek pulls into the drive-
in theater. Derek gives him an unimpressed look.
"Really?" Stiles snorts. "How old are you?"
"If you think I'm going to pass up the chance to see a movie rated higher than G
, you're wrong," Derek retorts, handing the attendant in the booth a couple of b
ills.
"Oh, dude," Stiles says, suddenly contrite. "How many princess movies have you s
een in the last year?"
Derek winces as he pulls into a spot in front of the screen. "Too many," he says
, sounding rather mournful.
"All right, I'll give you this one," Stiles says, unbuckling his seatbelt. "I'll
even buy the popcorn."
"My hero," Derek says dryly, but he follows Stiles out of the car and down the d
irt path to the concession stand.
It's weird, Stiles thinks, how at ease he feels around Derek. Sure, the first fe
w times they spoke it was kind of awkward, but it was almost like the experience
at that first restaurant was a test and once they'd passed that, things were fi
ne. Of course, it's only their second date, but the easy way Derek curls an arm
around his waist as they stand in line makes it seem as though it's been much mu
ch longer. It feels nice to have someone to lean against; it's been a long time
since Stiles' had that.
Derek snorts when Stiles orders popcorn and curly fries, but obligingly points t
oward the Junior Mints when Stiles elbows him and demands he choose something sw
eet. "Does the sheriff's department consider this a healthy diet?" Derek asks as
they walk back to the car, arms laden with junk food.
"You are severely underestimating my metabolism," Stiles says derisively. "And i
f my dad had his way, the station vending machine would only serve Oreos and Sni
ckers."
"Glad you're focusing on the important things," Derek retorts. "Not like, say, t
he safety of the county." He opens the door to the Camaro and pops the seat forw
ard.
Stiles pauses. "So are we not going to pretend that we're not going to end up ma
king up halfway through the movie?"
"No," Derek says, sliding into the back. "I'm twenty-eight, Stiles. I know what
i want."
"Oh," Stiles says, brightening. "Cool." He hands Derek his food and slides into
the back next to him, leaning forward to shut the door. He waggles his eyebrows
at Derek suggestively. "You gonna make a man out of me?"
He's startled by the look Derek gives him then, a slow, predatory grin. It sends
a shock of heat right down to his groin. "Don't test me," Derek warns, leaning
forward. Stiles stills, thinking Derek's about to kiss him - but he just yanks t
he box of Junior Mints out of Stiles' hand and sits back, looking smug.
"You tease," Stiles complains lightheartedly, digging into his curly fries as tr
ailers start playing on the movie screen.
The back seat is not uncomfortable, but it's small and they've both got broad sh
oulders. Stiles doesn't care, because he eventually ends up tucked into Derek's
side with Derek's arm around his shoulders, his fingers idly scratching through
Stiles' hair. Stiles is usually fidgety, always seeking a new position, but the
weight of Derek's arm is good, grounding. He can hear Derek's heartbeat even ove
r the sound of the movie coming through the speakers, steady and solid. He can s
mell Derek too, if he breathes deeply enough. He knows scent is important for we
rewolves, how it helps them read emotions. Most of them tend to shy away from he
avily scented perfumes and aftershaves - unless they're trying to hide something
- and Derek's no different; there's only the faintest smell of laundry detergen
t and aftershave on him. On top of that is the scent that has to be Derek - warm
and vaguely spicy, like fallen leaves. Stiles wonders what Derek would smell li
ke if he had a werewolf's heightened sense of smell, then wonders what he smells
like. He'd asked Scott once and Scott had said, "Pizza," but Stiles had been ea
ting pizza at the time, so he thinks Scott was just joking. He hopes Scott was j
ust joking, God. Imagine going through life smelling like pizza. Maybe he'll ask
Derek if they make it a through a couple more dates.
He hopes they will. Derek's certainly not pushing him away, he thinks triumphant
ly, lazily shifting more fully into Derek's side, enjoying the heat of him. Dere
k sighs softly and Stiles is conflicted for a moment because he's a movie guy an
d he's been wanting to see this new superhero movie for a while now and it's act
ually pretty good - but on the other hand, Derek. Derek wins out because there's
always the DVD a couple months from now, but there's only one second date with
Derek (and okay, Stiles is kind of still a teenager at heart and he didn't do ne
arly enough making out at the movies when he was in high school - like, any, act
ually, because he didn't date until college - and that's an experience everyone
deserves to have, right? Right.).
So he tilts his head instead, pressing his lips to the hinge of Derek's jaw. Der
ek's throat is right there and Stiles aches to taste his pulse, but he knows tha
t the neck's a sensitive spot for werewolves and he doesn't want Derek to think
he's trying to dominate him so he goes for his jaw instead, mouthing at his warm
skin, Derek's stubble prickling at his lips. Derek exhales quietly. If he's ann
oyed Stiles is distracting him from the movie he doesn't show it. He tilts his h
ead down instead, nosing against Stiles' cheek before dipping in to meet Stiles'
lips. Stiles likes the way he kisses, slow and unhurried but forceful, his fing
ers gripping at Stiles' shirt like he's dying. It feels like forever, like Stile
s should have run out of air hours ago but he's fine, better than fine.
When they do pull apart Stiles shifts around so it doesn't feel like he's breaki
ng his neck to reach Derek, hand on Derek's shoulder for balance as he moves ont
o his knees, then straddles Derek's thighs when Derek wraps a hand around the ba
ck of his leg and tugs. It's not great; he has to hunch forward to keep his head
from hitting the roof of the car and his ribs don't really appreciate the way h
e has to curve his spine, but it gets them at an angle so he can lean against De
rek's shoulders, sinking his fingers into his soft hair as Derek's tongue sweeps
against his teeth. Stiles can taste him, salt and butter and chocolate and mint
and that fire's burning inside him, his cock stirring against his leg.
Derek tilts his head and mouths at Stiles' neck and his mouth is hot and wet and
perfect and fuck, would Stiles love Derek to bruise him, break blood vessels, m
ark him - but Stiles is a cop and he's got to deal with the public. He hisses wh
en he feels teeth and murmurs, "I gotta work tomorrow, dude. Keep me professiona
l, okay?" Derek makes a disgruntled noise - Stiles wholeheartedly agrees - and S
tiles presses his fingers under Derek's chin, lifting his head back up so Stiles
can lick into his mouth apologetically.
Derek's kept his hands on Stiles' back but now they slip down, one stopping in t
he small of his back, the other dipping between his jeans and his underwear, the
tips of Derek's fingers curling against the swell of his ass. Stiles moans soft
ly, arching his spine at the touch. He's hard now, jeans constricting, and the f
orward movement of his hips bring him into contact with Derek, who's just as har
d. Stiles can feel the heat of him even through two layers of denim.
"Jesus," Derek says roughly, his eyes fluttering closed as he thumps his head ba
ck against the seat.
Stiles bends his head to bite at Derek's collarbones but yelps when his ribs fla
re in pain. He jerks upright and smacks his head against the roof. "Ow!"
"You all right?" Derek asks, looking bemused and a little worried.
"Yeah," Stiles sighs, patting his ribs gingerly. "I just - I'm not too flexible
at the moment."
"That's all right," Derek replies, stroking a hand up his spine. He nods past St
iles toward the screen. "The movie's over anyway."
"Bummer," Stiles says ruefully. "A couple more minutes and I would have come in
my pants. That would have rounded out this teenage date perfectly."
Derek laughs and Stiles grins at the rich sound of it. He could do with hearing
that noise every day. "You want me to help you out?" Derek asks.
"Nah," Stiles grins. "Driving home with a boner is also a fond teenage memory."
Derek huffs out another laugh and pulls Stiles down against him. His breath catc
hes in his throat at the feeling of their cocks brushing - even two layers of fa
bric between them isn't enough to dull the sensation. He feels like he's on fire
. When was the last time he even had sex? It's been fucking months and now there
's Derek, his body firm and burning like a furnace against Stiles, his hands bac
k down the back of Stiles' pants and all Stiles can do is rut against him, panti
ng against his neck. God, he is a teenager, isn't he?
People are starting to leave around them, turning on their cars and driving out
of the field. "You're going to get us arrested," Stiles gasps.
"You better hurry up, then," Derek retorts. He brings up his hips sharply, diggi
ng his fingernails into Stiles' ass and that's it - Stiles makes an horribly emb
arrassing noise he mostly muffles against Derek's throat and comes with a jolt,
his chest screaming as his whole body goes rigid with orgasm. Derek turns his he
ad, sinking his teeth into Stiles' shoulder with a groan, his hips riding up onc
e, twice, before going still. They sit there for a long moment, trying to catch
their breaths as they come down from their highs, the car flooded on and off wit
h light from departing vehicles.
"Teen date complete," Stiles says after a while, his voice hoarse. And even thou
gh his ribs ache something fierce and his underwear is disgustingly wet, he feel
s great. "Jesus. Good thing you're driving. I can't feel my legs."
Derek snorts and gently shifts Stiles aside, popping the door open. "You going t
o stay back there or do you want a hand?"
Stiles waves him away, climbing out of the car and sliding the seat back so he c
an collapse into it. Derek drives quite sedately out of the parking lot and the
ride back to Stiles' apartment passes in mostly in silence. Derek pulls up in fr
ont of the building and looks over at Stiles, his face soft.
"I'd invite you up," Stiles says, gesturing toward the building, "But I might ac
tually break another rib if we do anything else."
"That's all right," Derek replies, smiling faintly. "I promised Laura I'd pick S
am up before midnight."
"Okay," Stiles smiles. "Well - thanks. I haven't had that much fun in a while."
"It's been a while," Derek agrees quietly. He reaches out and curls his fingers
around Stiles' wrist, squeezing lightly. "I'd like to do it again."
"Agreed," Stiles says firmly. "I'll call you - or you call me. Whichever one of
us thinks up something to do first."
"All right," Derek concurs. He tugs at Stiles' wrist, pulling him over the cente
r console to give him a soft kiss, his lips lingering.
Stiles swallows as he pulls away, his cock giving a half-hearted twitch of renew
ed interest. "I've got to go change out of these pants."
"Me too," Derek says ruefully. "Laura will piss herself laughing if I come over
like this. I'll talk to you later."
"Sounds good," Stiles grins, climbing out of the car. "G'night."
Stiles watches Derek pull away down the street. He's got that stupid grin on his
face again and he doesn't regret anything about it.
-
The next couple of days pass slowly. It's deathly boring at the station; even th
e calls from all the crazies have mostly dried up. Stiles exchanges the occasion
al text with Derek, but Derek's not a super lively texter, and sometimes it take
s him hours to reply, which is fine, but Stiles is bored. He's also not sure wha
t the next step is for them. He wants Derek, in no uncertain terms, and he's lik
e ninety percent sure that Derek wants him, but he's also rushed into relationsh
ips before and it's always turned out badly. He wants them to work.
Scott helps him out by coming in the next morning and announcing to the station
at large that he's hosting an end-of-fall barbecue at his place on Friday and St
iles brightens. Maybe he can invite Derek. That'd be good right, hanging out wit
h other adults? He wonders if Derek drinks, what he's like when he's drunk. And
as if he knows Stiles is thinking about him, Derek texts him just before noon. h
ave you eaten?
no, Stiles texts back, though he's been thinking about it. you want to go somewh
ere?
i'll bring it to you, Derek replies. what kind of sandwiches do you like
ANYTHING, Stiles types enthusiastically.
He's helping a woman file a stolen property report when Derek comes in half an h
our later. Stiles glances up when he hears the door open and meets Derek's eyes
with a faint smile. Just a minute, he mouths and Derek nods and turns to look at
a community message board peppered with flyers of lost dogs and church potluck
dinners. Stiles turns his attention back to the woman but he's warm inside, flus
hed with pleasure at the idea that Derek's here for him, brought him sandwiches.
It's so fucking domestic. He has to tell himself to calm down, not to get used
to it because they've only gone on two dates and there's still plenty of time fo
r things to go to shit. He still blushes, though, when the woman leaves and Dere
k leans on the desk and says, "Hey."
"Hey," Stiles echoes casually, even though all he wants to do is throw himself a
cross the desk at Derek. "Let me go grab someone to watch the desk and we can ea
t outside."
Derek nods and Stiles ducks into the back office, calling forth a deputy to cove
r for him. He and Derek head outside and Stiles leads them around the side of th
e station, where a huge old oak tree towers over a picnic table. Derek sits next
to him, not across from him and Stiles likes that, likes the way the sides of t
heir thighs press together, the way their arms brush occasionally.
"Are you working today?" Stiles asks as Derek unpacks a paper bag, laying wrappe
d sandwiches and chips and drinks on the table. He nods toward the shirt Derek's
got on under his jacket, streaked with dirt and grease. "Didn't want to dress u
p to see me, huh?"
"This is the real me," Derek deadpans. Stiles elbows him good-naturedly and Dere
k snorts. "Hey, you're in your uniform too."
"I wouldn't call a dirty shirt and ripped jeans a uniform," Stiles retorts, unwr
apping his sandwich. "Oh, hey! This looks good!"
"You said you'd eat anything," Derek shrugs. "Leunig's does the best sandwiches
in the city."
"You did not just say that," Stiles says, jabbing a finger at Derek with his mou
th full of cold cuts and vegetables. "It's Blue Moon or nothing."
"Guess you don't want this, then," Derek replies, plucking the sandwich out of S
tiles' fingers. Stiles dives after him, laughing.
They eat the rest of their sandwiches in relative peace. When he's done eating,
Stiles crumples up the wrapper and says, "Hey, so, Scott's throwing a barbecue a
t his place tomorrow night."
"I know. Allison told me," Derek replies, sipping at his coke. "Are you going?"
"Yeah," Stiles says. "I mean - I was going to ask you if you wanted to. Go."
"Together?" Derek raises an eyebrow at him and Stiles nods. "Sure. I just - " He
hesitates for a moment. "I was going to bring Sam. She loves Tori.
"Dude, that's fine," Stiles grins. "I'd like to get to know her, if that's okay.
"
Derek looks at him for a moment, his eyes soft, before he nods. "I'd like that."
He kisses Stiles a few minutes later, as Derek heads to his car and Stiles heads
back to the front desk. He pulls Stiles in by the front of his shirt and mashes
their mouths together, kissing Stiles until he's breathless, and Stiles almost
feels like Derek's thanking him. Derek presses their foreheads together when the
y pull apart, breathing softly against him. It occurs to Stiles that they're rig
ht in front of his dad's office, but he can't quite bring himself to care.
"Thanks for lunch," Stiles says, his voice a little unsteady.
Derek smiles, a small curl of his lips that's utterly content. "You're welcome,"
he replies. "I'll see you tomorrow night."
"Yeah," Stiles agrees shakily. "Yeah."
Derek kisses him again, a quick, chaste press to his lips, and walks away. Stile
s watches him go, his heart pounding in his chest. He's in so deep already.
-
Stiles is late to Scott's party because he had a check-up at the hospital (ribs:
still broken, but healing), which he's fine with because he hates those early m
inutes at parties when there's only a couple of people there and no one's drunk
yet. When he arrives, walking around to the back of the house, the barbecue's in
full swing. Scott's at the grill, a truly massive amount of meat on the table n
ext to him. Allison, her stomach swollen with their second kid, is a few feet aw
ay, talking to a woman Stiles thinks is Deputy White's wife. He sees his dad acr
oss the backyard, chatting with some of Scott's neighbors. He doesn't see Derek,
but that's fine.
Stiles wanders over to Scott instead, snagging a beer out of a red cooler with a
paper sign marked HUMAN on it. There's a blue cooler next to it with a similar
sign that says WEREWOLF, which Stiles knows is full of brews laced with wolfsban
e.
"Hey, dude," Scott says cheerfully when Stiles approaches. His face is red from
standing over the hot grill, but he grins. "What'd the doctor say?"
"On the road to recovery," Stiles replies, patting his chest gingerly. "Still go
tta take it easy. You think Dad will let me back on patrol soon?"
"Not if your ribs are still broken," Scott says with a shake of his head. "Maybe
you should go see a witch. It's boring patrolling alone."
"You think I like answering phones?" Stiles retorts. "All this for a stupid turt
le." He turns slightly, eyes flickering over all the people standing around.
"He's here," Scott says, noting the way Stiles is looking around. "I saw him go
inside with the girls."
"Girls?" Stiles repeats, bewildered.
Scott rolls his eyes. "His daughter and my daughter? They wanted popsicles."
"Oh," Stiles says, relaxing. "Cool. You need a hand with anything?"
"Nah," Scott grins. "I've only got one spatula."
"Hah, all right," Stiles laughs. "I'm going to go say hi to my dad, then. He kee
ps saying we never see each other, even though we do every day."
"That's work though," Scott says, pointing his spatula at Stiles severely. "Go b
e a good son."
Stiles laughs again and heads across the yard. He's halfway across the grass whe
n he sees the backdoor to Scott's house swing open. Two small dark-haired girls
come tumbling outside, popsicles clutched in their hands. One of them is Tori, S
cott and Allison's four-year-old, her wavy hair pulled back in a messy ponytail.
The other is Samantha and right behind her is Derek, looking bemused. Stiles pa
uses where he is, waiting for Derek's eyes to scan the backyard before he lifts
his hand in a wave. Derek nods at him and waits for the girls to scamper off to
the swing-set before he steps off the back deck and makes his way over to Stiles
.
"Hey," Stiles says, grinning. He wants to reach out, wants to kiss Derek hello -
but he doesn't. He doesn't know how Derek would react - if that would go over w
ell in front of a crowd. So he curls his fingers into his palms and smiles at hi
m and Derek smiles and leans in and - oh. Kisses him. It's just a chaste kiss on
the cheek, but he does it in front of their friends, Stiles' co-workers, his da
d - oh, his dad. Stiles' eyes flicker over to where his dad was standing, but th
e sheriff doesn't seem to have noticed and Stiles relaxes minutely.
"Hi," Derek says lightly, straightening up. "When'd you get here?"
"Just a couple of minutes ago," Stiles replies. "I had to stop by the hospital s
o they could look at my ribs."
"Oh?" Derek raises an eyebrow. "And how are you doing?"
"I'm healing," Stiles says, then adds with a leer, "I wouldn't say no to more of
your healing touch, though."
Derek's eyes go dark and the way he says, "Maybe later," sounds like a promise.
Stiles swallows, his lungs suddenly tight. They get even tighter when a voice to
his right says, "Hey, son."
Stiles swallows again and turns his head to see his dad standing there, one hand
in his pocket, the other holding a beer. His dad knows about Derek. Well, kind
of. He'd overheard Stiles and Derek talking, but there hadn't been much of a fol
low-up. "Hey, Dad," Stiles says, forcing his voice to remain casual. Inside, tho
ugh, he's freaking out because it's just occurred to him that he and Derek haven
't talked about what they are or how they're going to introduce themselves to pe
ople and jesus christ, he's twenty-six and this really shouldn't be a problem. H
e's supposed to be an adult.
His dad gives him a long look like he knows Stiles is panicking and then his eye
s flicker over to Derek, who's standing next to Stiles with a casual look on his
face. Stiles kind of wants to punch him; he looks too fucking serene. "Who's th
is?"
"This is Derek," Stiles says. "We're, uh, we're" He looks at Derek for help and D
erek looks back at him blankly, the bastard. He's totally playing him! If they d
o end up alone later, Stiles is going to make him pay. "Dating," he decides, wat
ching Derek carefully. Derek raises his eyebrows but doesn't say anything, turni
ng his gaze to Stiles' father.
"Mr. Hale," the sheriff says politely.
"Sheriff," Derek says with a nod. "Call me Derek, please."
"Derek," Stiles' father agrees. "So you're the one who's been distracting him wh
ile he's on duty."
"Jesus, Dad," Stiles hisses.
His father smiles at him genially. "Maybe if you came over for dinner once in a
while, I'd know these things."
"Oh my god, Dad, stop being passive aggressive and just invite me over," Stiles
sighs. "I can't read your mind."
"Maybe next week, then," his father says. "Derek, you're welcome too."
"Thank you," Derek says gravely, and they both watch Stiles' father meander over
to Scott before Derek turns to Stiles and says, "It's been a while since I've b
een interrogated by the parent of someone I'm dating." He raises his eyebrows at
Stiles again as he says these words.
"Shut up, asshat," Stiles says. "You weren't helping me out at all." He hesitate
s, looking around at all the people in the backyard and says, softer, "Is that o
kay, though? I don't want to just assume - "
"It's fine," Derek says easily. "That's what we're doing, right? Dating?"
"Yeah," Stiles agrees, relaxing slightly. "Hey, how do you know my dad, anyway?"
"He was the lead investigator for the fire," Derek says. "I spent a lot of time
sitting in his office."
"Oh," Stiles says, his mouth going dry. He searches for something else to say th
at's not about the saddest day of Derek's life; luckily he's saved when Derek's
daughter comes skipping up, her hands stained red with popsicle juice.
"Daddy," she says, "can we eat soon? I'm hungry."
"I don't think the food's ready yet," Derek tells her calmly. He gestures at Sti
les. "Do you remember Stiles?"
Samantha narrows her eyes at him. "The police officer," she says.
"That's right," Stiles agrees.
Samantha frowns up at him, her expression eerily like her father's. Then she swi
ngs her leg forward, her foot catches Stiles right in the shin.
"Jesus, Sam!" Derek snaps, yanking her into his arms while Stiles bites down on
his tongue, his eyes watering. Sam is way too strong for her size.
"He's not scary, Daddy," Sam informs Derek.
"You don't go kicking people to find that out!" Derek scolds, frowning. "You don
't kick people, period. Understand?" Samantha nods, her little face stormy. "Apo
logize to Stiles." Samantha turns to look at Stiles but doesn't say anything. "A
pologize," Derek repeats, his eyes flashing blue.
"Sorry," Samantha tells Stiles sullenly.
"No you're not," Derek says, swinging her down to the ground. "Go sit at the pic
nic table. You're in disgrace."
Samantha pouts but obediently heads for the picnic table over where Scott's gril
ling.
"You - " Stiles begins, but stops when Derek raises a hand, his head turned to w
atch his daughter. He waits until she's sitting down before turning to Stiles wi
th a sigh.
"I'm sorry about that," Derek says. "Did she hurt you?"
"No," Stiles says, though he's pretty sure he's going to have a huge bruise on h
is shin later. "Um. Did you - talk to her about us?"
Derek opens his mouth, then looks around and seems to realize they're still surr
ounded by people. He jerks his head to the side, indicating Stiles should follow
him to the far edge of the yard, where there's a little more privacy. "I haven'
t said anything," he tells Stiles softly, the lines of his face smooth in the fa
ding light of the sun. "We've been on two dates, Stiles, and I haven't dated any
one since she was born. I'm not - "
"Whoa, wait," Stiles says, waving his hands placatingly. "I wasn't looking for a
declaration of anything, I was just wondering." Derek shuts his mouth and Stile
s gives him a considering look. "You haven't dated anyone since she was born?"
Derek nods jerkily. "I wasn't exactly in the right place for it," he says heavil
y. "And then there was the trial and raising her and - I got into the habit of b
eing single."
Stiles shoves his hands in his pockets. "All right," he says easily. "You don't
have to justify it to me, dude. If you didn't date, you didn't date." He hesitat
es for a moment before asking, "Why me, though? Why now?"
Derek tilts his head to one side, considering him. "I don't know," he says final
ly. "I'm attracted to you and you kept showing up. Seemed right."
"Good enough for me," Stiles grins. "I think the food's ready, if you want to ea
t."
"Are we good?" Derek asks slowly and Stiles blinks.
"Yeah," he says. "Why wouldn't we be?"
"My daughter did just kick you in the shins," Derek replies dryly, turning with
him to head for the picnic table, where people have gathered to grab food. Saman
tha's still sitting there, kicking her legs impatiently.
"Daddy," she pleads when she sees Derek, "Daddy, I'm hungry."
Derek looks at her coolly. "Are you ready to try apologizing again?"
Samantha looks at Stiles. "I'm sorry for kicking you," she says, her voice small
.
Derek nods and looks over at Stiles, who smiles and says, "Apology accepted."
The evening passes slowly, languidly, in the best way. The evening grows cool an
d Scott and Allison's father build a bonfire to ward off the chill. Stiles notic
ed how Derek keeps his distance from the flames, how carefully he watches Samant
ha when she skips forward to roast a marshmallow over the fire pit. Stiles can't
really blame him; if his family had been killed in a fire, he'd probably have a
lingering fear of flames too. God knows the smell of hospitals still makes him
sick after all that time spent sitting around in them when his mom was dying. He
's fine with sitting back a ways, even if the evening chill bites at him through
his sweatshirt, talking idly with Derek while Samantha sits on Derek's lap and
blinks sleepily.
Stiles regards her uncertainly. She hasn't paid much attention to him since apol
ogizing for kicking him but Stiles feels like there's something he should be doi
ng. He's pretty sure, based on what he already knows about Derek's strong connec
tions with his family, that if Sam doesn't like him, he and Derek won't last lon
g. It aches a little, watching the way Derek's so familiar with her, absently st
roking her hair as they talk. He wants that, wants Derek, wants family. He never
realized before how badly he wants it.
Stiles heads inside some time later to use the bathroom. He's a little tipsy, bo
dy flushed warm with alcohol, and he keeps a hand on the wall to hold himself st
eady. When he comes out of the bathroom he meets Derek coming down the hall. He'
s got Sam in his arms; she's asleep, dead to the world.
"I was just going to lay her down," Derek says, his voice low, and Stiles nods,
following him to the living room. He watches Derek gently set her down on the co
uch, pulling a blanket off the back to drape over her. He watches the way Derek
brushes his fingers across her forehead before straightening, and abruptly asks,
"Do you want more kids?"
Derek glances over at him, his expression hard to read in the dim light of the r
oom. "I don't know," he says finally, stepping forward and curling his fingers a
round Stiles' wrist. "It would depend on the circumstances, I guess."
"Oh," Stiles says lamely, following as Derek tugs him down the hall. They head a
way from the party toward the other end of the house, ending up in the dark quie
t of the den. There's no preamble; Derek pushes Stiles up against the wall and k
isses him hungrily. Stiles is happy to relax into his touch, hands coming up sli
p around the back of Derek's neck. He's been aching to touch Derek since he firs
t saw him that evening - since their last date, really - body thrumming with low
-level arousal all night, and apparently Derek feels the same.
"You smell so fucking good," Derek sighs, rubbing his nose against the line of S
tiles' jaw. Stiles' breath hisses out of him when Derek nips at his jaw, mouth m
oving down his neck in wet line of heat. Stiles is already warm from drinking, b
ut Derek pressed up against him flushes him hot and he groans low in his throat,
hooking his leg around Derek's hip so he can grind shamelessly against him. "Yo
u make me want to crawl out of my skin," Derek growls, curling his hand under St
iles' thigh and hitching his leg higher. "God, I need - can I suck you off? I ne
ed to fucking taste you."
"Fuck, please," Stiles hisses. He tries to be quiet, he really does, but he can'
t help groaning again when Derek drops to his knees. He clamps a hand over his m
outh, mindful of the party outside, and Derek's daughter asleep down the hall, f
uck. "Can Sam hear us?"
"No. Her senses haven't developed that far yet," Derek replies, pushing up Stile
s' shirt and snapping at his treasure trail, his fingers nimbly undoing Stiles'
belt and pants. Stiles clamps his teeth tight regardless, making pitiful muffled
noises through his teeth while Derek licks at the jut of his hipbones, sinking
lower to kiss the insides of his thighs. For a moment Derek just pauses there, h
is eyes mostly closed, breathing in deeply. Stiles is about to ask if something'
s wrong when Derek leans forward and licks a line up his shaft. He makes a deep,
satisfied noise in his chest that Stiles swears he can feel in his bones and it
's all he can do not to sag at the knees when Derek slowly takes him into his mo
uth, eyes shut in what looks like ecstasy. Stiles' hand comes out reflexively, t
angling in Derek's hair for a moment before pulling away, unsure if Derek will w
elcome the touch.
Derek pulls off him long enough to murmur, "Go ahead," before swallowing him dow
n again, head bobbing up and down steadily. Stiles, reassured, reaches out again
, dragging his fingernails against Derek's scalp before settling in his hair. Th
e movement earns him a muffled groan from Derek, and as the heat builds inside S
tiles he can't help the tiny jerks of his hips, which only gain him more noises
from Derek. He sounds like he's enjoying himself almost more than Stiles is - St
iles can see him grinding a palm against his crotch and shit, they are definitel
y going to sixty-nine at some point down the road - and god, there's nothing bet
ter than knowing his partner is having just as much fun as he is.
Stiles shifts his hips experimentally, pushing just a little further. To his sur
prise, Derek drops his jaw, relaxing his mouth, and Stiles stutters to a halt. "
I - " he begins. "Um. Can I - "
Derek pulls back with an indecent wet noise, his eyes glowing faintly blue in th
e dark room. "Fuck my mouth," he says, his voice low and raw and way too fucking
sexy, and gets his mouth back on Stiles' dick like it's done something to perso
nally offend him. Stiles leans against the wall and rolls his hips - carefully a
t first and then, when Derek makes an impatient, hungry noise, harder. Stiles fi
sts his fingers in Derek's hair and fucks into his mouth over and over, panting
harshly in the quiet of the den. He can feel his orgasm approaching, building sw
iftly in the arches of his feet and the small of his back.
"Derek," Stiles gasps, "Derek, I - "
Derek grips at Stiles' hips like a lifeline and refuses to lift his head. Stiles
bites down on a moan as he comes, back arching from the wall as he spills down
Derek's throat. Derek holds him, licking at him until Stiles has to push him awa
y, too sensitive. He sags against the wall, watching Derek get to his feet, lick
ing come and spit from his lips, a predatory expression on his face. He leans in
and kisses Stiles and Stiles can feel him, hard against his thigh.
"You want help with that?" Stiles murmurs against Derek's lips, slipping his han
ds between them to free Derek's cock from the confines of his jeans and underwea
r. Derek exhales quietly as Stiles starts working at him, worrying at Stiles' th
roat with his teeth. Stiles doesn't even care that he's going to have bruises to
morrow because the quiet noises Derek's making are totally worth it. He's quiet
when he finally comes, thrusting up into Stiles' fist a couple of times before h
e stills, breathing heavily. He's watching Stiles lick the come off his fingers,
eyes heavy, when he lifts his head, gaze moving to the hall.
"What is it?" Stiles asks. Oh, god, what if it's his dad? The room smells like s
ex, even to his nose, and it's not like there's any other reason for them to be
standing in there in the dark.
"Sam," Derek says. "She's awake."
"Oh," Stiles says. He can hear her too, faint calls of "Daddy?"
Derek smiles, his teeth flashing white in the dim light, and leans forward for a
lingering kiss before he straightens. "I have to go take care of her," he says.
"Yeah, of course," Stiles says, gesturing with sticky fingers. "I'm just gonna -
wash my hands."
Derek snorts softly and Stiles follows him down the hallway, splitting away to d
uck into the bathroom and wash his hands. When he comes out and goes into the li
ving room, Derek's kneeling next to the couch, pulling the hood of Samantha's pu
rple sweatshirt over her head.
Scott comes into the house as Stiles is standing there watching. "Hey, I was won
dering where you guys - " Scott stops, his nostrils flaring. "Aw, dude, really?
In my house?"
Derek at least has the decency to look embarrassed when he stands, but Stiles sh
rugs at Scott, grinning. "I can only resist for so long, buddy."
"You're the worst," Scott declares. "You're uninvited from all future barbecues,
both of you. Not you though, Sammy," he adds, because Sam whines loudly. "We li
ke you here."
Derek coughs roughly and says, "I think we're going to head home. Sam, maybe Sco
tt will take you to say goodbye to Allison?" Scott nods and he and Sam disappear
through the kitchen, the back door opening and closing behind them. Derek turns
to regard Stiles for a long moment before saying, "You're a bad influence."
"Hey, you're the one who insisted on getting us off at the movies," Stiles retor
ts. "At least we were in a house this time."
Derek snorts again but doesn't move away when Stiles steps up to him, winding hi
s arms around his neck. "You should come over for dinner," Derek tells him softl
y. "You and Sam didn't really have a chance to get to know each other."
"I don't think she likes me," Stiles says doubtfully.
"She just needs to get used to you," Derek replies. "She'll open up."
"I hope so," Stiles says. "How about Tuesday? I'm working evenings the rest of t
he week."
"Tuesday's fine," Derek says, and leans in for a quick kiss as the back door ope
ns again. When Scott comes back in with Samantha, Derek and Stiles are standing
a couple of feet apart, playing innocent. Scott rolls his eyes, not fooled, but
nudges Samantha toward Derek and says, "Thanks for coming."
"Thank you for having us," Derek replies gravely.
"You know you're welcome here any time, right?" Scott tells him. "Not just Sam.
You too."
Derek regards him silently for a moment before nodding. He throws Stiles a tight
smile and then leads Sam toward the front door. Stiles slides his hands into hi
s pockets, listening to the door shut behind them and jumps, a little startled,
when Scott says, "You know, I think I underestimated both of you."
"Why's that?" Stiles asks suspiciously.
"We've been inviting him over for years," Scott explains with a shrug. "He's nev
er stayed longer than half an hour. He'll leave Sam here sometimes, but he never
hangs around. It's almost midnight now."
"Yeah?" Stiles says, trying to sound casual.
Scott shakes his head, not fooled. "You're doing something right, dude. He looke
d happy."
"I'm irresistible," Stiles quips.
Scott shakes his head again. "I don't know about that," he says with a snort, "b
ut you sure are something."
-
On Tuesday, Stiles goes home and showers after work, then heads over to Derek's
house. He's a little nervous as he parks on the streets and walks up the drivewa
y. Sure, he's been inside before, but this is official, somehow. He feels like h
e's here to meet Derek's family, even if 'family' is Derek's six-year-old daught
er whom he's already met before. Jesus, his palms are sweating.
Derek answers the door when Stiles knocks and he smiles softly at Stiles, the co
rners of his eyes crinkling. "Hey," he says. "You didn't get lost."
"I have a memory for details," Stiles says loftily, though really he looked Dere
k up in the county database to double-check his address. He raises his hand, sho
wing Derek the bottle he's holding. "I brought whiskey."
Derek smiles slowly. "Laced?" he asks, and Stiles nods, grinning; he'd been sure
to grab the aconite-infused brand. "Are you trying to get me drunk?"
"Maybe," Stiles teases.
Derek's eyes flicker down his body and back up to his face. "All right," he says
and it's not fair, it's just not fucking fair what his face and his voice do to
Stiles' body. He really might as well be a teenager for the way he gets a semi
every time Derek speaks. Derek grins like he knows exactly what he's doing to St
iles and steps back. "Come in."
Stiles kicks off his shoes, adding them to the pile next to the door, and follow
s Derek into the house.
"You've seen the living room," Derek says, nodding to his left. Stiles can see S
amantha sitting on the couch, bathed in the blue glow of a television. "Dining r
oom," Derek says, gesturing at the table as he leads Stiles through. "And kitche
n."
"This is really nice," Stiles says, setting the bottle of whiskey down on the co
unter. The kitchen's big, with a bank of windows that look out over the backyard
. Stiles can see a patio and swing-set, and beyond that the yard slopes up to me
et the forest. "How'd you afford this place on a mechanic's salary?"
"There was - money," Derek says haltingly and Stiles immediately regrets opening
his mouth. "From the insurance and my parents' wills. And Laura took Kate to ci
vil court after the criminal trial and won damages."
"I'm sorry," Stiles says automatically, then winces. "Look, you know you don't h
ave to tell me stuff if you - if you think it's too private, right? I ask questi
ons for a living and I'm kind of nosy anyway, but - you don't have to."
"I know," Derek says, after watching Stiles for a long moment. "I don't mind." H
e turns as the doorbell rings, leaving Stiles standing in the kitchen. There's a
weird warm feeling in his chest; he thinks that Derek probably doesn't open up
to people too easily, so the fact that he's fine with telling Stiles such person
al details is - it's awesome, but almost alarming. Like it's too easy.
He pushes the thought aside when Derek comes back into the kitchen carrying a pa
per bag that smells like greasy food. "I thought you were going to cook me dinne
r," Stiles teases.
"I never promised anything," Derek retorts, setting the bag down on the counter.
He pulls it open and starts pulling out cartons of Chinese food, explaining, "I
can fix cars, but I can't cook. I can just about do chicken and that's it."
"You're going to be bummed you insisted going out to eat for our first date, the
n," Stiles informs him. "Because I'm one hell of a cook."
"Are you?" Derek looks like he doesn't believe Stiles.
Stiles hesitates before speaking next, but Derek's been so open with him that St
iles feels like he has to level the playing field slightly, so he says, "My mom
died when I was twelve." Derek casts him a sharp look, heavy eyebrows drawing to
gether. He doesn't speak, though, and Stiles continues, "My dad was elected sher
iff a few months before she died so he was gone a lot and it was just me in the
house most of the time. She taught me how to cook as a kid, just simple stuff, a
nd she left some recipes behind when she died." Stiles shrugs, smiling faintly a
t the memory. "I went from there, teaching myself how to cook."
"You'll have to show me," Derek says. His face is open, understanding and Stiles
steps up beside him, bumping his shoulder against Derek's.
"Are we gonna eat or what?" he asks.
"Getting hungry?" Derek teases, but he turns his head and calls, "Sam! Dinner!"
before turning to grab plates out of the cupboards.
Samantha comes trotting into the kitchen but slows when she sees Stiles, eyes na
rrowing. Stiles tries not to go tense; it's not like he's afraid she's going to
kick him again, but he's nervous - he wants her to like him. Sam stares at him f
or a long moment before scooting over toward Derek. Interestingly, instead of ge
tting Derek between herself and Stiles, she stands between him and Derek, like s
he's trying to protect Derek from him.
"Say hi to Stiles, Sammy," Derek says absently, pulling a pitcher of water out o
f the fridge.
"Hi Stiles," Samantha says grudgingly, and makes it sound more like fuck off - p
retty hardcore for a six-year-old.
"Hey, Samantha," Stiles says awkwardly. God, what are you supposed to say to kid
s? Before he can even think of anything, Samantha turns her back on him, plaster
ing herself against Derek's side.
Stiles watches Derek smooth a hand over the top of her head, an absent, practice
d movement, and then he picks up the pitcher of water and asks, "Can you take th
is outside for me?" Samantha nods seriously and he places the pitcher in her han
ds. She heads for the back door as Derek loads a tray with the food cartons. He
picks it up and nods at the plates. "You want to grab those?"
"What about the booze?" Stiles laughs, grabbing the stack of plates. "Palate cle
anser?"
"That's our dessert course," Derek snorts, leading the way outside. They spread
the food out on the patio table and help themselves. It's a nice night; they're
getting to that part of the year where the darkness comes early, but it's a warm
evening. Stiles likes the calm; the street Derek lives on is not heavily travel
ed so there's just the noise of the forest, the sound of the wind stirring the l
eaves.
"What do you guys do on full moons?" Stiles asks curiously. "I asked Scott once
and he said he and Allison get super hor - " He catches himself just in time, re
membering Samantha's there. "Uh. You know." He makes a vaguely vulgar gesture wi
th his hand. "Do you spend it with your pack?"
"Sometimes," Derek says. "There are a couple of moons throughout the year that w
e always celebrate together. Sometimes Sam and I will go out into the woods, jus
t the two of us." He looks down at his daughter fondly and she pauses in the mid
dle of making a mountain out of her pork fried rice to beam up at him. "That's o
ne of the nice things about having the forest right there," Derek adds, nodding
toward the trees. "It's a quick journey home once you get tired."
"Do you ever go alone?"
"Notoften," Derek says, after a moment's hesitation. "Pack is important. It keeps
you strong."
"Oh," Stiles says thoughtfully. "Sorry for all the questions. I've tried asking
Scott, but he's not super enlightening."
Derek shakes his head. "He was bitten, not born," he says. "He doesn't have the
same mindset."
"Do you - "
"Daddy," Samantha interrupts. "Is Allison going to have a werewolf baby or anoth
er human like Tori?"
"Don't interrupt," Derek tells her. "And I don't know."
"Scott says he thinks it's going to be werewolf," Stiles says, mostly to Samanth
a. She gives him a disgusted look and digs her fork into her rice. Stiles looks
at Derek instead and said, "He said the baby kicks like crazy on the full moons.
"
"Doesn't guarantee anything," Derek says. "My mother used to say my youngest bro
ther went mad during the full moon, but he was born human."
"Was your father human?" Stiles asks curiously. He knows from skimming the court
records that Derek's mother was the alpha before Laura, but he doesn't remember
much about Derek's dad.
"Grandma was the alpha," Samantha informs Stiles haughtily. "Grandpa was a beta.
"
"It happens," Derek adds with a shrug. "Sometimes it's like two werewolves cance
l each other out; there's no guarantee the child will be born a werewolf. It's r
are, but it does happen." He gives Stiles a considering look. "Are there any wer
es in your family?"
"I've got a cousin who sought the bite after he turned eighteen," Stiles replies
after a moment of thought. "He was accepted into a pack down near Santa Barbara
, though, so I don't see him much."
Derek nods, watching Samantha hop out of her chair and head for the swing-set be
fore asking Stiles, "Have you ever thought about seeking the bite?"
"I've thought about it," Stiles tells him. "I was scared of it when I was a kid.
I didn't understand how it worked; I thought it meant someone would come into y
our house at night and turn you while you slept. Got it mixed up with Dracula, I
guess. I thought about it for a while when I was in college but - I don't know.
" He shrugs. "I wouldn't be upset, exactly, if it happened, but I know myself pr
etty well at this point, and I'm happy with who I am."
"That's a good answer," Derek nods.
"What about you?" Stiles asks, a teasing note entering his voice. "Ever thought
about being a weak little human?"
"Not even once," Derek shoots back, snapping his teeth together. He gets to his
feet and stretches - Stiles can hear something in his spine pop before he straig
hts and gathers the plate off the table. Stiles half-rises, reaching for the now
mostly empty cartons of food, but Derek shakes his head. "Relax," he says.
Stiles watches him head inside and then swings around, looking out over the back
yard. The sun's dipped below the horizon down, casting the backyard in shades of
dark blue and purple. He can see Samantha playing in the sandbox next to the sw
ing-set; he can hear her talking to herself. He twists back around, idly picking
a piece of orange chicken out of one of the cartons. He's full of food, happy.
He and Derek are going to get drunk and, judging by the way Derek eyed him when
he arrived, Stiles is pretty sure there's another mind-blowing orgasm in his fut
ure and he is so very down with that.
A couple minutes slip by. The house is dark but Stiles can hear Derek moving aro
und and then nothing. He pulls out his phone, flicks through Facebook, then lift
s his head when he realizes it's quiet. He can't hear Derek moving around inside
, and he can't hear Samantha playing. A bad feeling settling in his gut, Stiles
twists back around. Samantha's not in the sandbox any more, but there's someone
standing in the shadows behind the swing-set, and they're holding a struggling c
hild-size figure in their arms.
Stiles doesn't even stop to think; his training and instincts kick in and he's o
ut of his seat before he even realizes what's happening, pelting up the lawn tow
ard the dark figure, who surges toward the forest. It's a man with white hair an
d as Stiles draws near he realizes it's Gerard Argent with Samantha in his arms,
one hand clamped over her mouth.
"Bite him!" Stiles yells, quickly closing the distance between them. "Bite him,
Sam!"
She must do what he says because Gerard Argent howls in pain and throws her to t
he side. Samantha hits the ground with a whimper but Stiles doesn't slow; he thr
ows himself forward and catches Argent around the middle, slamming him into the
ground. Stiles is on him immediately, bringing his hands behind his back and rea
ching for his handcuffs before he remembers that he's not on duty.
"Sam," Stiles pants, clamping his knees against Gerard's ribs as the man bucks a
nd swears underneath him, "go get your - "
Dad, is what he's going to say, but he's interrupted by the sound of the backdoo
r slamming open. Derek's on the back stoop and he roars, the sound vibrating up
Stiles' spine, his skin breaking out in goosebumps at the pure animal fury of it
. Derek doesn't stop there, though - the sound's barely out of his mouth before
he's flying across the lawn toward them, fully shifted, eyes burning bright blue
. Stiles starts to relax until he realizes Derek's getting close and he's not sl
owing down - he's got a split second to brace himself before Derek plows into th
e both of them. Stiles gets thrown off Gerard and goes tumbling across the grass
, his ribs blazing in sudden, burning pain. He has to get up, though, has to mov
e because Derek's on top of Gerard, slamming his fist into Gerard's face, and St
iles has to stop him because there's self defense and there's assault and Derek'
s already crossed the line.
"Derek," Stiles wheezes, shuffling close. "Der, you gotta stop."
Derek whips his head around and snarls at Stiles, who freezes. He's not sure Der
ek's listening, not sure if he's operating under total human control. His eyes f
licker over to Samantha, who's crying, her eyes burning gold. Stiles takes a dee
p breath - which hurts his ribs, holy fuck - and does something very stupid; he
lunges toward Derek and gets his hand around Derek's throat. He doesn't squeeze,
just keeps his fingers tense against his skin and says, "Derek, stop."
The strange thing is, Derek does. His lip curls back from his teeth in a snarl,
but then he looks up at Stiles and his eyes stop glowing, his furious expression
fading to something unreadable.
"Take Sam and go inside and call the station," Stiles tells him, letting his han
d drop to his side. "Tell them I'm here and he - " He jerks his thumb at Gerard.
" - is not going anywhere."
Derek hesitates, but only for a moment. He climbs off Gerard, scoops up Samantha
, and trots across the lawn and back into the house.
"I'll make you pay for this," Gerard hisses.
"Yeah, I'm real impressed," Stiles says scornfully. "You just bought yourself a
shit-ton of jail time, buddy, nice going." Gerard seethes, but Stiles ignores hi
m, sitting back on his heels and reciting the Miranda rights. This doesn't stop
Gerard from talking but Stiles tunes him out, keeping one eye on him and one eye
on the house. The lights are on inside now; he can see Derek moving around the
kitchen, holding Sam on his hip.
It's a scant few minutes before his fellow deputies arrive; there are no sirens,
but he sees the lights coming up the street between the houses, and watches Der
ek leave the kitchen to go let them inside. Stiles is happy to hand Gerard off t
o Deputy White, who slaps on a pair of handcuffs and leads him around to the fro
nt of the house. Deputy Finch takes his statement; she doesn't really like Stile
s all that much, but she looks sympathetic when Stiles tells her about Samantha.
It's nearly an hour before the deputies leave. Night has well and truly fallen a
s Stiles walks back toward the house, a nervous churning in the pit of his stoma
ch. Derek's standing on the back steps with Sam still in his arms and Stiles can
't see the expression on his face with the light coming from behind him in the h
ouse, but he's nervous. The method he used to get through to Derek was taught at
the academy as a technique to control betas and he's worried he's offended Dere
k by forcing him to submit.
Stiles stops at the bottom of the stairs and looks up at Derek, swallowing. The
back door's hanging off its hinges and Sam looks like she's asleep, but all he c
an see of Derek is the firm set of his jaw. He turns abruptly, not saying a word
, leaving the doorway open. Stiles hesitates for a long moment before going up t
he steps and closing the door as well as he can behind him. By the time he gets
into the kitchen, Derek's not in sight. Stiles moves forward cautiously, through
the dining room and into the front hall. He cranes his neck but Derek's not in
the living room either.
Stiles stands there for a few awkward minutes, wondering if he's been dismissed.
He's just decided to get his shoes back on and leave when he hears footsteps co
ming down the stairs. Stiles pauses, nerves jangling up his spine when Derek rou
nds the corner from the living room. His face is carefully blank. Stiles has to
force himself not to back away.
"Derek," Stiles says when Derek gets near. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have - "
But Derek's shaking his head as he steps into Stiles' space, hands coming up to
catch him by the hips. "Thank you," he says softly.
"I - what?" Stiles asks, bewildered. "You - but I - "
"Thank you," Derek repeats, tilting his head forward to press his forehead again
st Stiles'. "For stopping me. The last thing Sam needs is both of her parents in
jail."
"It's not going to happen again," Stiles says, and hastens to add when Derek lif
ts his head, "Gerard, I mean. He violated the restraining order and tried to kid
nap Samantha. You won't see him again for a long time."
"Good," Derek rumbles. He tilts his head, nosing along Stiles' cheek. "Are you a
ll right? I slammed into you pretty hard. I'm sorry."
"I may have re-broken some ribs," Stiles admits. His chest feels like it's on fi
re; every intake of air is like a knife twisting in his side.
"Sorry," Derek says, sounding upset.
"No, it's not, oh," Stiles says when Derek slips a hand under his shirt, his fin
gers splaying out against Stiles' ribs. He tilts his forehead against Derek's ch
eek, watching black veins lick up Derek's forearm. "Jesus, that's better than mo
rphine."
"Stay here tonight," Derek murmurs into his hair. "You said you're working night
shifts, right?"
"I can't get rowdy," Stiles says sadly. "I might actually die."
Derek huffs out a laugh, the hand that's not pulling pain from Stiles coming up
to run through his hair. "Just stay with me," Derek says softly. "I'll take care
of you."
Stiles really likes the sound of that. He puts on the brakes, though, as Derek l
eads him into the living room and says, at Derek's inquisitive look, "I want som
e of that whiskey."
Derek laughs, full-throated and rich, and says, "Good idea. You head upstairs an
d I'll grab it."
Stiles nods his agreement and heads up the stairs, careful not to jostle his rib
s too badly. He stops at the top of the stairs, looking around. Derek's house is
smaller than it seems from the outside; there's just three bedrooms and a bathr
oom upstairs, none of any great size. One bedroom appears to be a guest bedroom,
decorated with a twin bed and little else, while one of the other's is Sam's ro
om. He can see her curled in her bed, surrounded by stuffed animals.
He heads for Derek's bedroom, which is the biggest of the three. It's sparsely d
ecorated, clearly lived in by a man who does not know or care about interior des
ign, but it's cozy anyway, the light soft. His bed looks like heaven, covered in
a huge, puffy eiderdown he can't wait to sink into - the other details of the r
oom can wait until morning.
Derek comes up behind him while he's still standing halfway through the door, lo
st in thought. "You going to go in?" he asks, sounding bemused. Stiles shoots hi
m a dirty look and moves into the room, shuffling toward the bed.
"Which side do you sleep on?" Stiles asks, unbuttoning his flannel.
Derek grins. "I usually end up in the middle. Here," he adds, handing Stiles the
bottle of whiskey. "Take a shot of that. It'll dull your pain."
"Sure thing," Stiles says cheerfully, taking a large swig straight from the bott
le. He winces at the burn - not from the alcohol, but the wolfsbane tainting the
flavor. "If I say anything really weird in my sleep it's because of the wolfsba
ne, all right?"
"All right," Derek agrees, taking the bottle back and swallowing a mouthful. "Yo
u need any help getting your clothes off?"
"I - " Stiles lifts his arms cautiously and winces at the pain that flares up hi
s sides. "Just my shirt, I think."
Derek steps forward and slides his warm hands up Stiles' sides before his finger
s curl around the hem of Stiles' shirt and he gently pulls it over Stiles' head.
"You should probably go to the hospital."
Stiles shrugs and regrets it. He shuffles toward the bed, unbuttoning his jeans
as he says, "I'll sleep on it, see how it is in the morning. Sometimes it's just
on the surface."
Derek nods and moves around to the other side of the bed, setting the bottle of
whiskey down on the nightstand and tugging back the comforter before pulling off
his own shirt. Stiles sits on the edge of the bed to kick off his jeans, then c
arefully lowers himself down onto the mattress. His bones ache in protest, but D
erek's bed is soft and he sinks in deep, humming in content despite the pain. Th
e mattress dips as Derek slides in next to him and Stiles shifts closer to him,
his hand coming out to curl around Derek's.
"Was Sam okay?" Stiles asks, because in all the commotion since Gerard appeared,
he hadn't had a chance to find out.
Derek's silent for a moment, a considering look on his face as he passes Stiles
the bottle of whiskey. "She was scared," he says finally. "I'm surprised she's n
ot sleeping in here - don't be surprised if you wake up and she's climbing in be
d with us."
"He's a fucking asshole," Stiles says, taking a swig from the bottle, his eyes d
rifting closed as Derek begins pulling pain from him, heat flowing from his ches
t and down his arm into Derek. "Scaring a little girl like that."
"I told you," Derek replies quietly. "He doesn't think of us as people." He shif
ts onto his side and places his other hand on Stiles' stomach, which contracts a
nd relaxes under his touch as he pulls more pain from Stiles.
"Don't hurt yourself," Stiles slurs, absently setting the whiskey on the nightst
and, his limbs like jello.
"It doesn't last," says Derek. He shifts closer to Stiles, the tip of his nose p
ressing into Stiles' shoulder. Stiles cracks open a heavy eyelid to look at him.
Derek's got his eyes closed, his expression loose and unworried. It occurs to S
tiles that unless Derek's been bringing home hook-ups - and that's totally fine;
he went through a period of one-night stands himself - though Derek doesn't see
m like the type who'd be into that - in all likelihood Stiles is the first perso
n he's shared a bed with in more than six years. His chest floods with warmth on
ce more and he reaches out, carding his fingers through Derek's thick black hair
. Derek makes a quiet noise of pleasure, lifting his chin to rub his stubbly che
ek against Stiles' bare shoulder. It burns a little, the bristle on Derek's jaw
reddening Stiles' pale skin, but it's an affectionate gesture, one Stiles will g
ladly accept.
Stiles isn't sure what he's done to earn such trust from Derek. If anything, he'
s the one who should be showering Derek in affection; Derek's the one who fixed
his car for free, who paid for dinner, lunch, the movies, who keeps taking his p
ain. He wants to treat Derek just as well, wants to spoil him stupid, wants to k
eep that warmth in his eyes.
Stiles sighs as some of the pain comes back; Derek appears to have fallen asleep
, his breathing slow and steady. Stiles doesn't stop scratching at his scalp, th
ough; he keeps up the mindless movement of his fingers until he too falls asleep
. It's such a small thing, but if it makes Derek happy then that's enough.
-
When Stiles wakes in the morning, the room is soft with golden light. Hes warm an
d comfortable and when he shifts around hes relieved to find that there doesnt see
m to have been any lasting damage to his ribs because theyre only vaguely sore. H
e feels around, not ready to get up yet, but the beds empty beside him. Stiles cr
acks open a finger to be sure and yep Dereks gone. Hes not bothered, though, even
if the space next to him is cold, like Dereks been gone a while. This is Dereks ho
use, after all; if Derek wanted him gone, he would have woken Stiles up.
Stiles sighs peacefully and lets himself sink back into sleep. Its acceptable, he
thinks, as he sinks back into unconsciousness. Hes working late tonight; gotta b
e rested for that.
The next time he wakes, the light isnt so soft; its the brighter, whiter light of
mid-morning. The window is half open, letting a cool breeze roll in; he can hear
cars passing on the street outside, a couple of women talking as they walk past
. Dereks back next to him, curled against Stiles side, and Stiles smiles drowsily,
feeling utterly content. He spends a few tranquil minutes watching Derek sleep,
taking in all the tiny details hes never had a chance to see before, drinking in
the way Dereks dark lashes rest against his skin, the way the frown lines on his
forehead smooth out in slumber, the creases at the corners of his mouth gone sl
ack. Theres a pale scar below Dereks cheekbone, barely visible, and Stiles wonders
what its from he wasnt aware that anything could scar a werewolf. He brushes the
tips of his fingers against it, just barely touching, and Derek shifts in his sl
eep, lips parting with a quiet noise.
Eventually, though, Stiles has to rise his bladder demands it which gives him th
e chance to poke around the bathroom. Theres nothing incriminating, to his disapp
ointment, though hes fully prepared to pretend that the Cinderella toothbrush is
Dereks and tease him mercilessly for it. That reminds him that hes probably got aw
ful whiskey-morning breath so he borrows some toothpaste, using his finger to ru
b it over his teeth before rinsing out his mouth and heading back to the bedroom
.
Dereks awake when he comes back, his eyes half open to watch Stiles lower himself
back into the sheets. It kind of hurts; his ribs flare with a pain that settles
into a dull ache as he reclines among the pillows. Derek doesnt miss it; his eye
s are sharp when he murmurs, You all right?
Yeah, Stiles sighs, just getting old.
Derek snorts, but he still reaches out and slots his fingers over Stiles ribs, le
eching pain from him like a sponge.
That is so not necessary, Stiles mumbles, body melting under Dereks touch. It doesnt
hurt that much.
I like helping you, Derek replies placidly.
Youre the best, Stiles says, bumping his knuckles against Dereks shoulders. Wheres you
r daughter?
I brought her to school.
Oh, Stiles says comfortably. Thats where you went. I woke up and you were gone.
And yet you didnt leave, Derek says gravely, though theres light sparkling in his ey
es.
Nope, Stiles retorts smugly. Ive come to discover that your bed is a lot more comfor
table than my own, so Im laying claim to it.
Hm, Derek says thoughtfully. You sure thats a good idea, going after a werewolfs terr
itory?
We dont have to fight over it, Stiles says diplomatically. Not if you want me here. H
e pauses. He only said that because he was just rolling with the conversation, b
ut it sounds like a lot more than just that a light-hearted joke.
I do, Derek says simply, like its that easy. Maybe it is, and Stiles needs to stop
over-thinking things. Theyre both adults; theyre allowed to be forthright about wh
at they want. Derek looks at Stiles thoughtfully, absently dragging his fingerna
ils against Stiles skin in a barely-there way that makes Stiles prickle with goos
ebumps. I think you impressed Sam, he says after a moment. She had a lot of questio
ns about cops this morning.
And you didnt wake up the expert to let him answer? Stiles asks, nudging Derek in t
he ribs.
I told her the expert needed to sleep in after his heroics, Derek replies. He turn
s his head, nuzzling into Stiles shoulder, but Stiles is suddenly uncomfortable,
remembering the night before. He remembers his hand on Dereks throat and the unre
adable expression on Dereks face. Derek seems to sense that somethings wrong becau
se he pauses in the middle of rubbing a very red patch into Stiles skin with his
stubble and asks, Whats wrong?
Stiles hesitates before saying, I know you said it was all right, but I need to k
now the truth. Last night, when I stopped you, I touched your throat
Stiles, its fine, Derek says simply. You stopped me from getting myself into trouble
.
Yeah, I know you said that, Stiles says anxiously, but I just - I feel like I cross
ed a line. Thats a control technique and I dont want you to think that Im - that Im
trying to control you.
Derek rolls onto his stomach, one of his arms bracketing Stiles waist. He looks a
t Stiles, his pale eyes watching Stiles face carefully. "Why? Because you were ac
ting as a cop or as my boyfriend?"
"I - " Stiles swallows. "I don't know."
"You were protecting me and mine," Derek says calmly. "That's all that matters t
o me."
"I just know that that's a - I don't know, kind of a sensitive area?" Stiles haz
ards, his cheeks flushing under Derek's steady gaze.
Youre not just anyone, Derek says, his gaze flickering down to Stiles lip. You can to
uch me like that. Dereks eyes are heavy, half-closed, fingers doing endless circle
s on Stiles skin. If it had been anyone else, I probably would have gone after the
m instead.
Did I break you? Stiles asks quietly, his throat dry, and Dereks hand stills.
No, he says. I want to submit to you.
Stiles swallows and his throat clicks loudly. Jesus.
Derek blinks like hes coming out of a daydream. He looks self-conscious suddenly,
uncertain. If that
No, Stiles says hoarsely, shaking his head. No take-backs, dude. You confessed that
fair and square.
The corners of Dereks mouth twitch. And?
Stiles tilts his head, considering his words carefully. This is important, he says
finally. I really like you. I just want to be sure that Im doing things right.
You are, Derek assures him. You can do more. Ive noticed how you avoid my neck when
were kissing.
I dont want you to think
I want you to, Derek tells him plainly. He repeats, softer, I want you to.
Okay, Stiles agrees, relaxing a little. I think I can handle that. Derek smiles, his
eyes crinkling up at the corners. Stiles lifts a hand, scratching his fingers t
hrough Dereks hair, his body singing at the contact. Derek sighs softly, settling
a little heavier against him though Stiles notes hes careful not to put any weig
ht on Stiles ribs. So, Stiles says, licking his lips. You called me your boyfriend.
Derek pauses, his eyes narrowing as he apparently rewinds their conversation in
his head. I did, he eventually agrees.
Did you mean it?
Derek tilts his head to one side. What do you think? he asks. Too soon?
Maybe, Stiles says thoughtfully, then grins. But I dont give a fuck.
Derek snorts, though a warm smile spreads across his face. He leans forward to k
iss Stiles, teeth catching on his bottom lip before pulling back. So this is okay
?
So okay, Stiles breathes, curling a hand around the back of Derek's neck to pull h
im back down. Derek moves obligingly, carefully straddling his hips, forearms br
acketing either side of Stiles' head. Stiles, now that he knows that he has perm
ission - that Derek wants him to - needs to get his mouth on Derek's neck, so he
tugs lightly at Derek's hair, angling his head just enough so that he can reach
. Derek groans when Stiles' lip brush against his skin and Stiles grins into him
, pleased by his reaction. He presses dry kisses down Derek's throat and when he
flicks his tongue against the hollow between Derek's collarbones, Derek groans
again, quiet and almost pained.
Stiles wishes his ribs didn't hurt so bad, because he'd like to flip them, to su
ck and bite and kiss at Derek's skin all day. It's harder when he has to crane h
is head upward; his ribs still ache. He sighs softly when Derek shifts against h
im and he can feel how hard Derek is. He wants to fuck, or get fucked, and he ca
n't imagine it being bad with Derek. He does his best anyway, digging his teeth
into Derek's pulse while he gets a hand between them, rubbing at Derek over his
cotton briefs. Derek swears, his hips jolting at the touch. Stiles realizes that
even though they've shared two orgasms so far, he hasn't seen Derek's dick yet
and he wants to, he really wants to.
So Stiles curls his fingers around the band of Derek's underwear, tugging them o
ver the curve of his ass, and Derek rears back long enough to pull them down the
rest of the way. He pauses there, looking down at Stiles with his cheeks flushe
d, his expression content. Stiles wonders if he ever shifts when he's having sex
and he shudders, a little thrill rushing down his spine. Is he into that? Jesus
, it's not something he's ever considered, but he thinks he might be.
Derek's eyes go dark at the way Stiles shivers and he goes for Stiles' boxers, b
ending to suck a bruise over his hipbone before sinking back down on top of him.
Stiles exhales roughly at the contact, at the pure feeling of skin on skin, and
he lifts his hips just to feel Derek's cock against his, moaning at the frictio
n. Derek makes a strangled noise and bends his head, latching onto Stiles' colla
rbone while Stiles reaches out again, getting his hand around both their cocks.
Derek groans into the hollow of his throat, his big fingers folding over Stiles'
. He presses his forehead to Stiles' shoulder, bending to watch their hands move
and Stiles' can't believe how hot it is, watching Derek watching them get off.
He thinks about how enthusiastic Derek was when he was blowing Stiles and knowin
g just how into them Derek seems is too much; he sucks in air as he comes, his f
ree hand scrabbling to grip at Derek's hair.
"Jesus," Derek groans, dick pulsing hot against Stiles' hand as he follows, his
come joining Stiles' to streak his stomach white. Stiles watches dazedly; he's n
ever felt like his orgasm was such a communal effort before and he's super into
it, to be honest.
He scratches his hand through Derek's hair and says, "You're fucking amazing, yo
u know that?" Derek makes a noncommittal noise, but the tips of his ears go pink
and without making eye contact, Derek slips down Stiles' body, settling between
his legs. "What are you - oh," Stiles cuts himself off as Derek licks a thick s
tripe across his stomach, cleaning the wet mess there. "Are you - are you into t
hat?"
Derek glances up at him, his expression serene, but his eyes flash blue and - ye
p, Stiles is totally into that. If he hadn't just come, he'd be hard again - and
as it is, his dick's giving it a valiant try.
When Derek's licked him clean, he moves back up the bed, dropping down beside St
iles, hooking a leg over his. Stiles twists slightly, shifting his shoulders aga
inst the pillows so he can look at Derek. Derek gazes back, his eyes heavy-lidde
d. He looks content and Stiles smiles.
"You are amazing," Stiles tells him again, and it's so satisfying to watch the w
ay Derek's face flushes.
"Cut it out," Derek mutters, breaking eye contact. Stiles grins and reaches out,
gently brushing his fingers against an already-fading bruise on Derek's neck. D
erek turns his head, playfully snapping at Stiles' fingers before pushing himsel
f up onto his elbows and asking, "You want some breakfast?"
"Yes," Stiles replies decisively. "Please."
Derek snorts and pulls himself out of bed and Stiles watches him move around the
bedroom appreciatively before sitting up - with only a dull pulse of painful pr
otest from his ribs - and fishing around for his phone. It's already nearly elev
en and he's got several missed calls from the station, plus a text message from
his father that says Need you in to answer q's about last night. He sighs and De
rek looks up from where he's pulling on a pair of pants.
"Something up?"
"We'll have to make breakfast quick," Stiles tells him sadly. "I've got to go in
to the station and talk to someone about last night."
Derek frowns. "Are you in trouble?"
"I doubt it," Stiles replies, twisting to plunk his feet on the floor. Reaching
for his underwear, he says, "Multiple interviews aren't unusual, especially when
there's a cop involved. Could be Argent's making a fuss. People always threaten
to sue."
Derek doesn't look placated. "If he does - "
"He won't," Stiles shrugs, not concerned. "Considering what he was doing when he
got caught, I don't think he's got much of a case. Do you?"
"This isn't really my area of expertise," Derek says uneasily.
"So leave it to me," Stiles tells him, getting to his feet. He smiles at Derek,
trying to look calming. "Nothing's going to happen."
"All right," Derek says, still looking uncertain, but he doesn't press it furthe
r and they head downstairs.
Derek makes a good breakfast; despite saying the previous night that he couldn't
cook, he makes the best spinach omelet Stiles has ever had; it has feta in it.
"Can I hire you as my personal chef?" Stiles asks dreamily, after he's cleared h
is plate.
Derek gives him an amused looked. "All I can do is breakfast food."
"That's all I need," Stiles grins. "Nothing beats breakfast food."
"Not even sex?" Derek deadpans.
"Not even sex," Stiles declares, and manages to keep himself from grinning for n
early five seconds. Derek snorts and knocks his knee against Stiles'.
Before Stiles finally leaves a little while later, dragging his feet the entire
time, Derek pins him to the wall by the front door and kisses him ferociously, h
and twisted in the front of his shirt. It leaves him breathless and a little daz
ed and Derek looks extremely satisfied with himself. It takes all of Stiles' wil
l not to say "Fuck work," and spend the day wringing orgasms out of the both of
them, but he manages to resist and get his shoes on.
"So-o-o," he says slowly, once he's straightened. He jams his hands in his pocke
ts and looks at Derek. "Can we do this again? Dinner take two, maybe? No Argents
, I promise."
"I'd like that," Derek agrees with a slow smile.
"My turn to cook," Stiles says. "I'll call you, all right?"
Derek nods and leans in for another slow kiss. "Let me know you're not in troubl
e."
"Will do," Stiles grins. "See you."
"Bye," Derek says softly, and he stands in the doorway and watches Stiles until
he's in his car, raising his hand in farewell as Stiles drives off. Even when he
's turned the corner and Derek's house is no longer in sight, Stiles still feels
him watching and he grins like a maniac as he drives. God, it's fucking dumb, b
ut he's in - he's all in.
-
Heading in for questioning is not as cut and dry as Stiles hopes. His dad comes
out of his office when Stiles gets into the station and he looks pissed.
"Er," Stiles says when he sees the sheriff, stopping short. All his residual hap
piness from waking up with Derek that morning seeps away, replaced with unease.
"Dad?"
"Sheriff," his father snaps, and Stiles knows he's fucked something up. His fath
er hooks a thumb down the hall and says, "Interview room, now."
Stiles shuts his mouth and heads down the hallway with his dad on his heels, pas
t the deputies' desks. Everyone sitting there looks at him sympathetically and S
tiles frowns, frantically filtering through last night's events so he can figure
out what he did. He thinks he played everything by the book - he stopped Derek
from beating Gerard, at the very least, so where's the issue?
Stiles pushes open the door to the interview room and pauses at the sight of the
man sitting at the table. Stiles recognizes him as Reagan Whittemore, father of
one of his enemies from high school and one of the town's most prominent lawyer
s.
"Fuck," Stiles mutters. He's had run-ins with Mr. Whittemore in the past - it's
a small county and the man's got a lot of clients - but he really hasn't liked S
tiles since he was in high school and Jackson ran his brand-new Porsche right in
to the side of Stiles' Jeep. The fact that his son was at fault, not Stiles, doe
sn't actually matter to a person like Mr. Whittemore, who's always looking for a
reason to fight.
Stiles sits on the side of the table opposite Mr. Whittemore and his father sits
down heavily next to him, drumming his fingers against the tabletop. "What's th
is all about?" Stiles asks uneasily.
"Mr. Whittemore's representing Gerard Argent," his father tells him, looking ver
y unamused. "He wants to file a complaint against you."
"What?" Stiles exclaims. "What for? I did everything the way I was supposed to -
"
"According to my client, you told a werewolf to bite him!" Mr. Whittemore interr
upts coldly. "Do I have to remind you, Deputy Stilinski, that there are laws in
place specifically protecting werewolves from being used as weapons - "
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Stiles explodes. His dad grabs him by the arm but
Stiles points his other hand at Mr. Whittemore and snaps, "Your client attempted
to kidnap a six-year--old girl and I did what I had to to protect her! I should
have had Derek take her to the hospital because your client is fucking poison.
You want to make a complaint? Do I have to remind you that betas can't turn peop
le, you fucking moron?"
"Stiles!" his father says furiously. Stiles sits back in his chair, folding his
arms across his chest with his cheeks flushed splotchy pink, but he keeps his mo
uth shut. His father turns to Mr. Whittemore, raising his eyebrows. "My deputy m
ay be out of line, Mr. Whittemore, but he has a point. Betas can't turn people."
Mr. Whittemore scowls. "My client was unaware of this. The stress - "
"The werewolf that bit your client was his granddaughter," the sheriff points ou
t. "Feigning ignorance isn't going to work this time."
Mr. Whittemore glares between the two of them before standing abruptly. "I look
forward to cross-examining you in court," he says icily. "I'll be sure to mentio
n your relationship with Derek Hale."
"Oh yeah?" Stiles retorts. "Then be sure to mention that I was off duty at my bo
yfriend's house when I stopped your client from abducting his granddaughter."
Mr. Whittemore gives him a very sour look before striding out of the room, slamm
ing the door behind him.
"I'm sorry," Stiles says immediately, the moment the door's shut. "I didn't mean
to lose my temper - "
"Don't worry about it," his father says wearily, waving a tired hand. "You know
as well as I do that he's just trying to stir up trouble. Argent's just as bad;
he spent all night yelling from his cell. I'll be glad to see them both gone."
"Is that what you called me down here early for?"
"No, no, you just need to do a follow up interview with Knox," his dad sighs. "W
hittemore showed up five minutes before you did. If I'd known he was going to tr
y that bullshit, I would have taken care of him myself."
"You're a good dad," Stiles says approvingly. His father rolls his eyes and smac
ks him on the back of the head and Stiles laughs. "What? Should I have said boss
? I'm not on the clock yet, am I?"
"I suppose not," his father admits grudgingly. "You did a good job last night, t
hough. Taking Argent down and controlling a shifted beta?"
"Derek wouldn't have hurt anyone," Stiles says uncomfortably.
"Tell that to Argent's black eye," the sheriff replies mildly. "You're lucky he
listened to you."
"Yeah, well, we kind of have an understanding," Stiles mutters, his cheeks going
pink.
"Uh huh," his father says. "Boyfriend, huh?"
"I told you we were dating," Stiles says, avoiding his eyes.
"You didn't seem so sure when you reintroduced us the other night," his father s
ays placidly. "Figured that out, huh?"
"Told you," Stiles squirms. "We've got an understanding."
"Uh huh," his dad says again, and the tone of his voice suggests he has no desir
e for further clarification. "Well. You go talk to Deputy Knox and then head on
home. You're on late tonight."
"Yeah, thanks for that," Stiles sighs, getting to his feet. "Glad to know you do
n't play favorites when you're making the schedule."
His father chuckles unsympathetically as he follows Stiles out of the room. "Get
used to it, rookie."
-
After repeating his account of the previous night to Deputy Knox, Stiles heads b
ack home and takes a nap in the sunny spot on the couch, Oscar curled on his che
st like a heating pad. When he wakes in the late afternoon, he has a text from D
erek, who asks everything turn out all right?
Stiles smiles faintly and replies yeah, argents lawyer wants my ass but thats ty
pical
He receives a response fifteen minutes later while he's heating up leftovers for
dinner. Stiles grins, his body flooding with warmth as he reads Derek's words.
He can just picture Derek scowling as he punches out the message.
your ass is mine. don't let anyone else touch it.
i wont, Stiles types back. thats a promise.
-
Six night shifts in a row leave Stiles exhausted. He's stuck on front desk duty
- Dad's attempt at soothing Mr. Whittemore, though it's really just for show; St
iles still has several weeks before he can get back on active duty anyway, thank
s to his slow-to-heal ribs. It's deathly boring at night; the criminals of Beaco
n County seem to sleep with the rest of the population and the only calls he see
ms to get are noise complaints. The shift's longer, too - eight to eight, twelve
hours instead of the normal eight, and it's not like he's even doing anything a
t work (mostly he just plays Candy Crush on his phone), but he still gets home w
eary and hateful of fluorescent light.
He misses Derek. Stiles thinks it's phenomenally unfair that they agreed to the
whole boyfriends thing and then immediately don't see each other for a week. The
y text, but Derek's slow to respond in the evenings, which Stiles understands -
he's busy with his daughter and, y'know, being an adult - but it doesn't make th
ings any easier. That's why, even though he's bone-tired by the end of the week,
he still texts Derek after his final shift and asks dinner tonight?
yes comes the almost immediate response and Stiles grins, rubbing a hand over hi
s face. Derek must be up getting Samantha ready for school. what time?
Stiles counts on his fingers, trying to figure out how much time he needs to get
some rest and still have enough time to make dinner. six good?
great.
Stiles grins at nothing and heads for the grocery store to pick up food. It's qu
iet - he's never been to the store so early in the morning. Most of the other pa
trons look inappropriately chipper so early in the day, though Stiles spots a co
uple others like himself, rumpled clothing indicating the end of a long swing sh
ift.
He's gathered the ingredients for dinner when it occurs to him that he's not sur
e how picky Samantha is - she ate Chinese food like a champ, but who doesn't lik
e Chinese food - so he grabs some dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets (and fuck, he'
s not ashamed to admit he'll eat them himself if there are leftovers). It also o
ccurs to him that his apartment's not particularly child-friendly - he's got vid
eo games, but nothing he'd let a six-year-old play - so he heads down the aisle
with the greeting cards and the bad romance novels and grabs a coloring book and
pack of crayons. That's good, right?
Feeling proud of himself, Stiles goes home and sleeps until four and it's a bles
sed relief to wake up and know that he doesn't have to go in for another shift f
or a couple of days. He takes a luxurious shower and thinks about jerking off bu
t doesn't; he's hoping he and Derek can slip away while Sam's watching tv or som
ething.
The food's in the oven and Stiles is cracking open a beer when there's a knock o
n the door. He puts the beer down and straights, nervously rubbing his hands on
the front of his jeans. It's probably stupid to be so anxious, but this is the f
irst time Derek's been in his apartment and just the fact that he has an apartme
nt, not a house, makes him a little self-conscious. He cleaned, too, but now he'
s worried that Derek's super senses are going to pick up on things he missed. Th
ere was a weird smell in the place when he moved in that's never quite faded awa
y and what if it smells god-awful to Derek?
He worries about it right up until he opens the door and Derek's standing there,
looking unfathomably attractive in an unzipped leather jacket, soft grey v-neck
beneath. "H-hi," Stiles squeaks, his voice going embarrassingly high.
"Hey," Derek returns quietly, the corners of his mouth curving up as his eyes fl
ick up and down Stiles' body. Stiles flushes faintly; he's just wearing old jean
s and a worn plaid button-up, but Derek must like what he sees because he leans
across the threshold to kiss Stiles, one hand sliding up to curl around his neck
, Derek's thumb pressing into his jaw.
They pull apart slowly, Stiles suddenly aware that they're still standing in the
doorway, Derek halfway in the apartment. Stiles grins at Derek. "You wanna come
in or just hang around in the hall all day?"
Derek smiles faintly, bumping against him as he steps into the apartment. Stiles
goes to shut the door and pauses, realization washing over him. "No Samantha?"
Derek turns, raising his eyebrows. "Not tonight. Laura's taking the kids to the
movies."
"Oh?" Stiles teases. "Sparing you from another princess tale, huh? What a martyr
."
Derek's lips quirked. "That's what the alpha does." He swings his head around, n
odding at the apartment. "I like your place."
Stiles snorts, jerking his head toward the bare walls. "I've been living here th
ree years and I still haven't hung anything on the walls. It's kind of just a pl
ace I stay when I'm not working."
Derek looks at him, his eyes soft. "I like it," he repeats. "It feels comfortabl
e."
Stiles flushes, but a timer going off in the kitchen saves him. He dives for the
oven as Derek follows, pulling a cookie sheet from the heat. Derek raises his e
yebrows. "Chicken nuggets and french fries? I thought you said you were a good c
ook."
"Shut up," Stiles says, his cheeks flooding with color again. "I made food for u
s, but I thought Sam was coming and I didn't know if she'd like what I was makin
g, so"
He trails away at the expression on Derek's face; he's startled, but the express
ion quickly softens into something warm and liquid - just seeing it makes Stiles
hot all over. His eyes fall to the side, where the coloring book and crayons si
t on the counter, and he goes very still.
"Uh," Stiles says awkwardly. "I thought - she might get bored, and - " He's cut
off by Derek, who surges forward, smashing their mouths together. Stiles makes a
startled noise - he's still got an oven mitt on one hand, for fuck's sake - but
Derek presses him back against the counter, hands firm around his hips. Stiles
doesn't even bother pretending to fight it; he loops his arms around Derek's nec
k and pants roughly when Derek turns his head, sucking a line of bruises down hi
s throat.
They're interrupted by a second timer - this one's for the main dish - and Stile
s has to push Derek away so he can get to the oven. Derek's reluctant to move; h
e keeps his hands on Stiles for as long as possible, his nostrils flaring as Sti
les pulls the casserole dish from the oven.
"What is that?" he asks curiously.
"Golabki," Stiles replies proudly. "It's my grandma's recipe - meat and rice wra
pped in cabbage leaves. Always a crowd-pleaser."
"It'sPolish?" Derek offers, and Stiles nods.
"Got it on both sides of my family," he replies, setting the pan down on a burne
r. "So, uh, what was that all about just now?"
Stiles glances over at Derek in time to see him look away, his cheeks flushing a
faint pink. "Sorry," he says. "I just - it makes me happy. That you were thinki
ng about Sam. What she would want."
"Dude, of course," Stiles says, warmth flooding his chest. "I mean, we're a team
now, right? And not just you and me - Sam too."
Derek looks pleased beyond measure and leans in for another kiss, softer this ti
me, and when he pulls away he doesn't go far, dragging his nose against Stiles'
cheek and along his jaw. Stiles lets him do what he ants, enjoying the closeness
of his body after a week apart. He's tempted to say "Fuck dinner," and pull Der
ek into his bedroom, but eventually he gently pushes Derek away and says, "You r
eady to eat?"
Derek nods, his eyes hazy, and they fill their plates and head to the living roo
m. Stiles doesn't have a dining table but he doesn't really care because this le
aves the couch and Derek sits right next to him, the sides of their bodies press
ed together. Stiles watches Derek out of the corner of his eyes as they eat, a l
ittle nervous; he knows he's a good cook, but whether Derek will like it or not
is a different story. After a few mouthfuls, however, Derek sets the plate again
st his thighs, his eyes half-shut.
"Let's make a deal," he says, and Stiles raises his eyebrows curiously. Derek gl
ances over at him with a small smile and continues, "I'll keep making breakfast
if you keep on making dinner."
"Deal," Stiles says readily, grinning. "You like it, then?"
"It's delicious," Derek assures him solemnly, his eyes crinkling at the corners
as he adds, "I think Sam would have liked it too."
Stiles smiles widely. "Well, you can take some home for her."
"Thanks," Derek says quietly, bumping his knee against Stiles', and Stiles knows
he's thanking him for more than just making them dinner.
After they eat, they settle back onto the couch and watch a movie. Stiles slumps
into Derek's side and he's so comfortable; he's full of food and Derek's warm n
ext to him. Derek smells really good, Stiles thinks drowsily, and he keeps press
ing his nose to Stiles' temple, inhaling softly against his skin. Stiles figures
it's got something to do with werewolves because he's never had someone so inte
rested in sniffing him before, but it's not like he dislikes it; on the contrary
- it settles some nervous part of him that worried he didn't fit somehow, like
the wild part of Derek's mind might reject him.
"I haven't just relaxed like this in a while," Derek says after a while. His voi
ce is heavy, content. "Not since college, I think."
"Oh yeah?" Stiles hums. He could fall asleep like this and maybe he will. He doe
sn't think Derek would mind. "What'd you major in?"
"History," Derek replies, a touch derisively. He shifts them, slouching down so
Stiles' almost on top of him, curling an arm over his stomach. "Didn't spend a l
ot of time partying."
Stiles settles himself down against Derek, folding his arm over Derek's. "Histor
y nerd, huh? Why aren't you working in the field?"
"Local jobs are hard to find," Derek says quietly. "It'sI worked as an archivist
at the history museum for a few years after I graduated, and that's where I met
Kate. It's kind of tainted now."
"Shit," Stiles murmurs.
Dereks arm tightens around him. Dont worry about it, he says softly, nosing against
Stiles cheek.
Stiles chews on his lip for a moment before saying, You dont have to answer this,
butwhat happened between the two of you?
Derek sighs. He doesnt sound exasperated or annoyed, just tired. We dated for a co
uple months. There was something about her that pulled me in. Moth to the flame,
he adds bitterly. It took me that long to realize that that something wasnt right
with her, but it was too late by then. Shed been using me to learn about the pack
and a couple weeks later Derek makes a vague gesture. Half my family was gone.
Shit, Stiles says again, his heart clenching. And Sam?
She called me from jail, Derek says. Bragged about being pregnant. I think she like
d the thought of having something of mine, another thing to warp. Even when Sam
came out a werewolf, she didnt care. I think she though Gerard would get her, but
I made sure I sued for custody and hes been on our case ever since.
Stiles swallows. And you dont care? That Sams Kates kid?
Shes my kid, Derek replies fiercely. Shes nothing like Kate.
I know, Stiles says, curling his fingers around Dereks wrist. I know.
Somehow theyve sunk right into the couch and Stiles flips onto his stomach so he
can look Derek in the eyes. Youre a good person, he says. And a great father.
Derek flushes red but smiles faintly, one of his hands cupping the back of Stile
s head, stroking through his hair. Thanks.
Stiles returns his smile and turns, resting his head against Dereks chest. He cou
ldve stretched up and kissed Derek and its not like he doesnt want to, but he wants
to show Derek that sex isnt all he cares about, that hes here for comfort and sup
port and a quiet place where they can just be. He wants Derek to know that hell n
ever do anything like Kate did.
He doesnt mean to fall asleep, but with Dereks heart beating steadily under his ea
r, and one of Dereks hands smoothing over his hair again and again, its better tha
n a lullaby.
Stiles wakes up later still on top of Derek, one of Dereks arms curled around his
shoulders. Theres something buzzing under his hip and Derek shifts with a disgru
ntled noise, getting a hand between them so he can pull out his phone. Stiles ti
lts his head, watching Dereks face as he reads the message on his screen. Everythi
ng all right?
Derek sighs, setting his phone down beside him and passing a hand over his eyes.
Ive got to head out, he says. Sleepover at Lauras isnt going well.
Stiles frowns. Is Sam all right?
Shes been having nightmares since the other night. Derek sighs again. Sorry.
Hey, its totally fine, Stiles says hurriedly, sitting up. Do you want me to pack up
some food for you to take home?
Derek smiles faintly as he pushes himself upright. Id like that.
After Dereks pulled his jacket back on and Stiles has handed him a grocery bag fu
ll of Tupperware containers, they linger by the door, Stiles watching Derek slip
his shoes on.
Sorry I fell asleep on you, he said.
I dont mind, Derek replies, giving him a bemused look. Told you I hadnt relaxed like
this since college. I like spending time with you.
Good, Stiles grins, feeling pleased.
Derek leans in for a slow kiss. Ive got to go rescue my daughter, he says when he p
ulls back. Well continue this later.
Holding you to that, Stiles replies cheekily. Derek snorts and Stiles watches him
disappear down the hallway. Stiles feels like hes made of light, floating on air.
When he turns around, Oscars sitting on top of his bookcase, giving him a sarcas
tic look. Shut up, Stiles says, pointing a finger at him. I know, I know.
-
Another week trudges by. Gerard Argent gets his morning in court and the shock o
n his face when hes sent to straight to jail to await trial on the attempted kidn
apping charges with no bail because he violated the restraining order Derek had
on him is delicious. It takes everything in Stiles not to smirk at Mr. Whittemor
e as he stalks out of the courtroom.
He sees Derek a couple of times, but never for quite long enough they go out to
dinner with Sam and despite what Derek said about Stiles impressing her, she sti
ll doesnt seem to like him all that much. He hangs out at Dereks house after his s
hift one night and Samantha clings to Derek the entire time, though at least shes
stopped giving Stiles dark looks every time he even thinks about shifting close
r to Derek.
Maybe she needs to spend some time with you without me being there, Derek says lat
er, after shes gone to bed.
Are you kidding me? Stiles asks, a little panicked. I dont know what to do with kids
?
You treat them like people, Derek says, exasperated. Its not that difficult.
Easy for you to say, Stiles mutters. I saw how Lauras kids treated you like a jungle
gym.
Derek snorts and rolls him onto his back and Stiles receives half a blowjob befo
re he gets called in for an emergency shift directing traffic on the highway aft
er a massive pile-up. Its pouring rain and hes uncomfortably aroused and decidedly
unenjoyable.
Derek makes it a hell of a lot better the next morning when he comes in at the s
tart of Stiles second shift with soup. Figured you might need something, he says wr
yly.
Angel, Stiles groans, rousing himself from his zombie-like state to look around wa
rily. His dads not in his office, though, so Stiles leans across the desk and ste
als a quick kiss. Youre my savior.
Derek leans on the counter, looking subtly pleased as Stiles peels the lid off t
he container and inhales the smell of chicken noodle. Can I ask you something?
Stiles looks up sharply. Yeah, of course.
I the full moons in a couple of days, Derek says, looking a little nervous.
I know, Stiles says with a faint frown. His dad always schedules more deputies on
the days around full moons werewolves or not, he says, the moon brings out the c
razies. What about it?
We always get together at Lauras before moonrise, Derek tells him. Theres food and st
uff. Do you would you like to come?
Stiles stares at him. Derek looks down at the desk, tapping his fingers against
the counter. Its a big deal that hes asking, Stiles knows itd be a big deal even if
he wasnt a werewolf because meeting someones family is always a huge moment, but
this is bigger because this isnt just family; its pack. Im Im not a werewolf, Stiles
anages after a few seconds.
It doesnt matter, Derek says earnestly. There are humans in the family two of Lauras
kids are human.
Okay, Stiles agrees, because he can see that this means a lot to Derek and hell, i
t means a lot to Stiles that he even asked. Im working, but its another late shift,
so I should have time. Just give me the details and Ill be there.
Thank you, Derek tells him quietly and that soft, pleased look on his face makes i
t very hard for Stiles not to leap the desk and ravage him. But Stiles catches s
ight of his dad coming down the hallway and manages to keep himself still. Derek
notices him too and says, Ill let you get back to work.
Stiles nods. Let me know when you want me there, all right?
Derek nods in return, giving Stiles a swift smile before he disappears out the s
tation door. Stiles turns to find, unsurprisingly, his father standing there wit
h a couple of files in his arms, his eyebrows raised.
I wasnt distracted, Stiles says defensively.
Im sure you werent, his father replies, sounding completely unconvinced. Everything a
ll right?
He brought me soup, Stiles says, flushing, and he wants me to hang out with his fam
ily on the full moon.
His dads face softens. Thats a big step.
I know.
His father shoves his free hand into his pocket. You happy?
Yeah, Stiles says, flushing darker. I really am.
The sheriff smiles as his son as he heads into his office. Thats all that matters.
-
Three days later, Stiles parks on the street in front of Lauras grand house and g
ets out of his car to see Derek just getting out of his own car in the driveway.
Derek waves at Stiles as he rounds the side of the car to let Sam out of the ba
ckseat. She hits the ground with a thump and tries to head toward the house, but
Derek grabs her by the back of her jacket and says, Hey, whoa, arent you going to
say hi to Stiles?
Samantha gives her father an exasperated look, then turns to Stiles and her eyes
flash gold when she sighs, Hi, Stiles.
Hey, Sam, Stiles greets. Derek lets go of her shirt and she slingshots toward the
front door, disappearing inside. Progress, I think, he says to Derek. She didnt soun
d like she wanted to rip my throat out, though she did flash her eyes at me.
Derek raises his eyebrows as he reels Stiles in by his belt loops. Thats respect, h
e says. Not quite submission, but somewhere along the same lines.
Oh, Stiles says, straightening.
Derek smiles and says, Youre growing on her. He leans in, nosing along Stiles temple
, and Stiles grins, curling his fingers into the back of Dereks shirt.
Hey.
Hey, Derek breathes. He tilts his head, coming in for a proper, albeit brief, kiss
. Youre working tonight?
Yeah, at nine, Stiles says. Plenty of time to hang out. He nods up toward the sky, w
hich is turning the silky dark blue of evening. Dont you guys get antsy, all coope
d up together inside while the moons rising?
Not with the pack, Derek says. The packs stability. With so many of us, you can hard
ly feel the moons pull.
Huh, Stiles says thoughtfully. Well, are we gonna go inside?
Derek nods, his eyes darkening. You nervous?
No, Stiles says, surprised. Should I be?
Derek shakes his head but its not Stiles whos nervous, Stiles realizes once they g
et inside. Its Derek. He keeps an arm around Stiles waist as Derek leads him down
the front hall and Stiles can feel it in the tightness of his grip, the way his
mouths gone firm around the corners.
For a moment, it doesnt make sense to Stiles, whos never been the type of person w
ho worries about meeting new people its part of his job, after all and Derek know
s these people, his pack. And oh. Oh. This is Dereks pack; of course its important
to him that they all like Stiles. Oh, god, he should have worn something nicer.
Laura appears at the end of the hallway, her long dark hair piled on top of her
head in a loose bun. Hey, Der, she greets cheerfully. And Deputy Stilinski. Caught
your man, I see.
Laura, Derek says, sounding strangled.
Derek, she replies, grinning sharply. Dont you try to police me. If hes going to be s
ticking around, hell get to know how awful we are. Laura winks at Stiles, who laug
hs, while Derek looks offended. Come on, sweethearts. Foods out back.
Come on, Stiles says to Derek, who looks like hes going to be sick. s no big deal.
Says you, Derek mutters.
Relax, Stiles says, leaning up to whisper in his ear, We can take a sec for a quick
bj if thatd make you feel better.
Stiles, Derek says, sounding mortified. Somewhere beyond the hall, Laura cackles. W
erewolves.
Stiles grins and shrugs, unabashed. All right, so heads okay at Scotts picnic but n
ot here. Got it.
I like this one, Der! Laura hollers.
Oh my god, Derek says, and wraps his hand around Stiles arm, pulling him down the h
all. Lets get it over with.
Stiles grins as they pass Laura, whos bringing a bowl full of chips out from the
kitchen. She winks.
Its fun, though. Derek introduces Stiles to every member of the pack he already k
nows Isaac, but theres Cora, Dereks younger sister, and Lauras husband Tim, who cam
e from a pack in the Midwest. Hes got a drawl like a cowboy. Stiles is highly amu
sed to see that the kids love Derek. All of them including Sam rush him when the
y step out onto the back patio and his heart melts at the way Derek laughs. Ther
e seem to be more kids than he thought and it turns out two of them twin boys be
long to the final two members of the pack, Boyd and Erica. Stiles remembers them
from the last time he was at the house. Everyones welcoming and Derek seems to r
elax as the minutes tick by, some of the worried lines by his eyes smoothing out
.
Boyd and Tim build a huge bonfire in the fire pit out back and help the kids toa
st marshmallows as the sky darkens overhead, the air cooling as the sun sinks be
low the horizon. The rest of them stand around and drink and eat while the moon
slowly appears between the trees.
Whats it feel like? Stiles asks Derek, who raises his eyebrows.
What does what feel like?
The moon.
Dereks eyes move to where the moons visible through the trees and his mouth twists
thoughtfully. Hard to put into words, he says. He touches a hand to his chest and
says, Its like a tug here. Like a fish hook pulling a different part of me to the
surface.
Your wolf?
You could call it that, Derek says. Its not black and white, though. I cant say theres
a human side of me and a wolf side. Theres just a part of me thats moreprimal.
Stiles cant help the small shudder that runs through him at the words and Derek t
urns his pale eyes on him, pulsing faint electric blue around the edges. Wish I d
idnt have to work tonight, Stiles tells him with a significant eyebrow raise.
Dereks eyes darken, his lips parting in a white-toothed smile thats edging on raw,
sending Stiles skin prickling with goosebumps. Maybe you can get the next full mo
on off, he says, his voice low and Stiles tries, desperately, not to get aroused
while hes standing around with a bunch of werewolves. Hes definitely got a thing f
or werewolves, fuck. Hed really like to revisit his earlier suggestion that they
find a quiet spot for a quick anything, but Lauras narrowing her eyes at them fro
m across the fire, so Stiles bites his tongue and wills his semi into nonexisten
ce.
Derek smiles at him again and he totally knows what hes doing to Stiles, the fuck
er, but all he does is gently bump his shoulder against Stiles before going to gr
ab another beer. Stiles smiles after him and god, hes such a hopeless teenage rom
antic, but Dereks good, okay, hes a good person and he doesnt even seem to realize
it and Stiles is determined to make him aware. Someone touches his arm and Stile
s jumps, startled.
Sorry, Laura says. Help me in the kitchen?
Sure, Stiles says warily, because he can hear the heavy hint in her voice that its
not really a suggestion, more of an order, but he follows her inside, through th
e dark living room and into the brightly lit kitchen. Laura leans against the co
unter, looking at him thoughtfully, and Stiles says, Are you going to give me the
scary big-sister-slash-alpha talk?
Do I need to? Laura replies, leveling him with a capital-L Look.
Er, no, Stiles says nervously. Youre scary enough as is.
Fucking right, Laura says cheerfully. Besides, I think Ive already threatened you be
fore, the time after you and Scott arrested Argent.
Oh yeah, Stiles says blithely. How could I forget.
Laura laughs and elbows him in the ribs. Im not here to scare you, she says. I just
wanted to talk to you about Derek. Im glad you managed to wrangle him.
Oh, Stiles says, his shoulders slumping in relief. Well. I wouldnt say that I wrangl
ed him. I think we wrangled each other.
Regardless, Laura replies, her grin softening into something more tender. Im glad yo
u found each other. Der looks happier than Ive seen him in a long time. For a lon
g time, Sam was the only thing that made him smile.
Im Im not doing anything special, Stiles blinks. Im just treating him like a normal
rson.
But you have to understand, Laura tells him. The last person he was with didnt do th
at. He and Kate dated for three months and she never met our family. Hated who w
e were, never wanted to come over on full moons. And yet you two, youve been toge
ther for what, half that, and he brought you over and youre here and making an ef
fort, and that says a lot.
Stiles flushes. Hes not sure what to say to that, but apparently he doesnt need to
say anything; Laura shoves a bowl of tortilla chips in his arms and pushes him
back outside. Dereks waiting, looking a little lost, and Laura claps him on the s
houlder cheerfully. Found your lost puppy, baby bro. Chin up, she tells him, and S
tiles snorts.
Derek looks a little betrayed, but hes distracted by Samantha, who comes skipping
over and tugs on his hand. Daddy, Uncle Tim says its moonrise! Can we go into the
woods?
Whats Aunt Laura say? Derek asks her, and Samantha looks up at Laura pleadingly.
Laura grins and spreads her arms wide, calling, All right, my loves, its time to p
lay!
Its nothing like Stiles expected; all the kids set up howling and bolt for the tr
ees. The adults are slower to follow; Boyd carries Erica on his back as they tro
t toward the forest, calling to their children. Tim follows behind with the pudg
y toddler up on his shoulders, Isaac laughing at his side, his arm linked with C
oras, whos got Lauras baby in the crook of her other arm.
Laura laughs, dropping her arms by her sides. You coming in, deputy?
I have to work, Stiles says, slightly awed. Everyone goes in? I thought you had hum
an kids.
I do, Laura replies. But it doesnt do them any good leaving them at home. Theyre pack
, same as the rest of us.
Oh, Stiles says.
Der? Laura asks.
Ill be up in a minute, Derek says with a nod. Keep an eye on Sam for me?
Will do! Laura says happily, trotting off toward the trees. She tilts her head bac
k, letting out a howl that Stiles can feel in his bones and its echoed back at he
r from the trees, many voices large and small.
This is amazing, Stiles tells Derek, who smiles faintly.
Not what you pictured?
I guess not, Stiles says, sticking his hands in his pockets. I was thinking of a hu
nt, I guess.
We do that sometimes, Derek says. But not often. Its more about being together. Safe
. Happy. He takes a deep breath. I wish you could stay.
I wish I could too, Stiles agrees, and hes not lying. It seems like fun, being a pa
rt of something like this he can hear people off in the woods, laughing and call
ing to one another. Derek shifts minutely, his eyes on the trees, and Stiles can
tell he wants to be out there with them so he says, Next time. Im going to head o
ut now, so you go have fun with your pack.
Derek looks at him and his eyes are already burning a faint blue, but he says so
ftly, Thanks for coming.
Stiles reaches out and squeezes his hand. Thanks for wanting me to be a part of i
t.
Derek gently tugs him closer, slipping his hands around Stiles waist. I like you, h
e says steadily, staring down into Stiles eyes. A lot.
Im glad to hear it, Stiles replies, his throat constricting, because I really like y
ou.
Derek smiles and Stiles is maybe a little in love with the way the corners of hi
s eyes crinkle when he does. Next month, Derek promises, leaning in to brush his l
ips against Stiles cheek. Im gonna fuck you senseless.
Oh, fuck, Stiles says weakly. Do we have to wait that long?
How are your ribs doing?
This is my last shift on desk duty, Stiles says, a little desperately. Ive been clea
red for street shifts.
Good, Derek says, his voice so low hes almost purring. Well have to celebrate.
Fuck yes, Stiles agrees fervently. Ill text you?
Derek bites down on Stiles jaw and Stiles whines, his hips bucking forward. Ill loo
k forward to it, he growls and then pulls himself away from Stiles, his eyes glow
ing bright blue.
Go have fun, Stiles tells him weakly. Before we get ourselves in trouble.
Derek snorts, but jogs off through the backyard, heading for the trees. Stiles w
atches him go and hes thankful hes still got forty-five minutes before he needs to
be on shift because hes fucking hard as hell and he needs to jerk off now. And i
f he does it to the thought of Derek touching him with his eyes burning that ele
ctric blue, no ones going to know but him.
-
Scott's so happy Stiles is back on street duty that when he sees Stiles the next
morning, he wraps him up in a hug that's got his feet lifting off the ground. S
tiles laughs, clapping Scott on the back. "Dude, don't squeeze me too hard or I'
ll end up behind the desk again."
"I'm so fucking glad you're back," Scott sighs as they head out to their cruiser
. "Daehler's the worst. Allison said he used to stalk her in high school and I h
ad to ride around with him for a month and try not to rip his throat out you kno
w how hard that is?"
"Told you that guy's weird," Stiles replies. "I dunno how he managed to pass the
personality test."
"Probably bribed someone at the academy," Scott agrees.
They spend the morning sitting in a speed trap on a back road and even though hes
just sitting around like he was when he was on desk duty, Stiles is delighted b
ecause its not fucking desk duty. He gets to hang out with Scott, too, which is a
definite plus, especially when Scott reaches under his seat and pulls out a con
tainer full of sugar cookies.
Celebration? Stiles grins.
Tori and I made them for you, Scott says cheerfully.
I missed you so much, Stiles says, pretending to wipe away a tear.
"So," Scott says as Stiles bites into a cookie with way too much frosting - and
he's not sure whether it's adorable or sad that he can't tell if it's Scott's ha
ndiwork or that of his four-year-old. "How's it going with Derek?"
"You really wanna know?" Stiles replies, wiggling his eyebrows at Scott, who giv
es a long-suffering sigh.
"He's vaguely related to me, so if you're gonna tell me about any weird sex stuf
f, let me get mentally prepared, all right?"
Stiles laughs. "You'd take that blow for me? Aw, dude, I'm bummed Allison got to
you first because I'd totally marry you right now."
Scott gives him a lopsided grin. "I'm sure Derek wouldn't appreciate that. It's
going well, though?"
"Yeah," Stiles sighs contentedly. "He invited me over to his sister's house for
the full moon last night."
Scott raises his eyebrows, looking impressed. "Seriously? That's big, man."
Yeah. Stiles swallows back a grin of pleasure. I know. He was so nervous; it was ki
nd of adorable. And everyone seemed to like me, so no problems there.
Ill ask Isaac for his take on the situation, Scott says solemnly. You probably broke
a bunch of werewolf etiquette rules and they only pretended to like you.
Asshole, Stiles laughs, punching him on the arm.
He texts Derek on their way into town to grab lunch. hope u guys had a good nigh
t. wanna get together tonight?
can't, Derek texts back a couple minutes later, and Stiles heart sinks. forgot la
st night - laura's out of town for the next few days & tim works nights so the k
ids are sleeping here.
Something wrong? Scott asks.
Its nothing, Stiles says sadly but then he has to laugh, because Derek follows up w
ith a text message that only says :(. Dork, Stiles mutters, and texts Derek as muc
h, who retorts say that to my face.
Hey, stop getting sappy over there, Scott warns. I mean it, man.
I listen to you praise Allison and Tori all the time, Stiles snorts. You owe me thi
s.
Just eat another cookie, will you? Scott mutters.
It rains steadily for the next couple of days, which means the departments kept b
usy with a lot of minor collisions and power outages caused by flooding and down
ed trees. Its as good a way as any to distract Stiles from the thought that hes no
t seeing Derek, even if he does go home with his socks soaked through every nigh
t. Theyve got plans to meet, anyway, the day Laura comes back from whatever pack
business shes on, which gives Stiles something to look forward to.
The day before Lauras return, Stiles stops at the gas station on the way to work
to fill up the Jeep. He has to do it more often than hed like, but the gas gauges
busted and permanently stuck on half full, so hed rather not leave it to chance,
and at least the gas station has a roof over the pumps so hes not getting soaked
by the pouring rain.
Hes idly wondering if maybe Derek could fix it for him when he notices the woman
at the pump behind the Jeep cursing. Stiles cranes his neck to see her, a blonde
, competent-looking woman. You okay? he asks conversationally.
She looks up sharply, then gives him a lopsided grin. Locked myself out, she says,
gesturing at her car. Typical. The woman eyes him, taking in his uniform. You woul
dnt be able to help me out, would you?
Cant while Im on shift, he tells her. Insurance reasons. Lucky for you, Im not on shif
t.
My hero, she winks, and Stiles grins. He crouches down next to the Jeep, reaching
for the underbody hes got a bad habit of locking his keys in the car, and its reac
hed the point where sticking a slim jim under the car with a couple of magnets h
as saved him several hundred bucks in calls to AAA.
Promise you wont sue me if I fuck up your door, Stiles says, slipping the slim piec
e of metal between the window and the car.
Oh, believe me, the woman murmurs, a grin quirking one side of her mouth. Im not goi
ng to make any trouble.
Stiles unlocks the door without any problem and the woman smiles at him. Thank yo
u, Deputy Her eyes fall to his name tag and her smile widens. Stilinski.
No problem, he tells her. Theres something itching at the back of his mind shes fami
liar somehow, but hes good at faces and hes pretty sure hes never seen her in his l
ife. Then again, he meets a lot of people. Its possible theyve crossed paths befor
e. Have a great day. Stay dry.
You too, she replies, winking at him before climbing into the car. Stiles watches
her leave the parking lot, a faint frown furrowing his brow. Its going to bug him
all day.
-
Sometime in the late afternoon, Stiles sits in the drivers seat of the cruiser, w
atching Scott catch a lost cat in the pouring rain. He has to bite back a joke a
bout cats and dogs as Scott climbs into the front after putting the cat in the b
ack, and settles for, Cats arent your biggest fans, huh?
Scott looks put out. I dont get it. I used to work at a vets office in high school
and cats loved me!
It couldnt possibly be that pesky werewolf bite, huh? Stiles says innocently. Scott
gives him a dark look and shakes the water out of his hair, splattering Stiles
with cold droplets.
Hey, hey! he protests, flinging his arms up protectively. I give, Im sorry!
Scott grins triumphantly and opens his mouth to speak when the radio crackles to
life and they both pause as the dispatcher says, All units, back-up needed at a
11-79 on Old Hollow Road, Beacon Hills, approximately one mile north of the brid
ge.
Car accident, Stiles says, at the same moment Scott says, Were only a couple miles a
way.
Call it in, Stiles says, kicking the cruiser into drive and flicking on the lights
as they roar off down the road.
Scott nods and picks up the radio. 10-4, dispatch, Unit 48 on our way to the scen
e you got some more details for me?
Two cars involved, one rollover, the dispatcher tells them. One victim is a male we
rewolf in critical condition, but hes fighting first responders. Back-up requeste
d to help subdue him and control the scene.
10-4, Scott repeats grimly as Stiles winces.
Gonna have your work cut out for you, he says sympathetically. Injured were full of
adrenaline?
Gotta do what we have to, Scott says seriously, reaching under the seat for a bull
et-proof vest it wont just protect him from gunshots, but the lethal claws and te
eth of fellow werewolves. Stiles feels guilty for being grateful that department
al rules stipulate that, whenever possible in aggressive situations, werewolf of
ficers deal with werewolves. Stiles may have been able to get Derek to submit th
e other night, but at least he knows Derek.
They pull up to the scene just as the ambulance arrives from the other direction
. There are already cars at the scene two cruisers, and an SUV with flashing lig
hts probably belonging to a first responder. Another SUV sits crookedly across t
he middle line, front end completely smashed in and Stiles frowns at it; it look
s vaguely familiar. Theres a group of people standing by the edge of the road, st
ruggling with what must be the werewolf victim Stiles can hear ragged snarling a
s he jogs toward them. Wheres the second car? Didnt dispatch say there were two ca
rs involved?
His stomach sinks when he realizes that the land drops beside the road into a sh
arp ravine the car must have gone down there. Next to him, Scott stiffens and sa
ys, Jesus, Stiles look.
Huh? Stiles follows Scotts finger, pointing to the struggling figure, and his jaw d
rops open because its Derek, Derek with blood streaming down the side of his face
. Hes completely shifted, his eyes burning blue as he throws himself against the
officers trying to restrain him. Oh my god, Stiles says hoarsely, speeding up.
Stiles, be careful, Scott hisses, close behind. Hes not in control
And Jesus, Stiles can see that Dereks not looking at any of the men holding onto
him, his eyes wide and panicked, focused on the ravine but its Derek and he has t
o try and help. As Stiles gets closer, he can see Dereks clothes are ripped, and
underneath Stiles swallows hard because he can see bone.
The paramedics reach Derek at the same time as Stiles and Derek lets out a roar
when they try to pull him onto the gurney, his struggle increasing. Derek! Stiles
says breathlessly, his heart pounding. Derek
Back off, Stilinski! one of the other deputies snaps Aiden or Ethan, he can never
tell the twin brothers apart. Hes got claw marks down the side of his face, but t
heyre already healing. Hell rip your fucking face off!
They manage to wrangle Derek onto the gurney but he still fights as they tie him
down, head twisted to stare at the ravine, panting raggedly. Stiles crouches do
wn next to him, touching Dereks arm. s all right, Der. Were trying to help you.
Dereks skin flinches under his touch, his entire body jolting like hes been shocke
d, but his gaze finally breaks from the edge of the road, eyes flickering to Sti
les.
Hey, Stiles says worriedly. Hey, talk to me, big guy.
Derek gives him a horrified look, exhaling harshly through his nose. Sam, he says
hoarsely.
Sam? Stiles repeats, alarmed. Was Sam with you?
His kids trapped in the car, one of the other deputies tells him. Were waiting on hea
vy rescue.
Derek groans, tensing against the straps holding him down. Sam
Hey, hey, Stiles says hurriedly, getting to his feet. Ill take care of her, Der, I p
romise. Trust me.
The paramedics start to haul Derek away but his eyes remain fixed on Stiles face,
and the hurt in them is too much; he turns, heading for the side of the road. T
he ravines not that deep it only drops about thirty feet and the Camaro sits on i
ts wheels at the bottom, though its clear from the way the roofs caved in that it
flipped at least once on the way down. The drivers sides completely smashed in Der
ek must have gone through the window. The other twin deputys standing by the car,
his mouth thin.
Is she hurt? Stiles asks shortly, skidding down the incline, and the deputy shakes
his head.
Cant tell, he replies. She tried to claw me when I stuck my head in.
Back off, Stiles tells him, unbuckling his utility belt. Go get me a blanket the EM
Ts will have some. Hes drenched to the bone by now, chilled to the core with the c
old rain, but he strips off his uniform top and uses it to sweep the glass from
the broken window so he can lean against it. Hey, Sam?
He can see her round face, her eyes glowing yellow in the dim light of the late
afternoon. Hi Stiles, she whispers.
Hey, Stiles says again, trying to sound soothing. He hoists himself forward throug
h the window, falling into the mangled front seat. He tries to ignore how its wet
with blood and props himself up on the center console so he can take a better l
ook at Sam. Shes in her car seat, which has been pushed forward, almost under the
front seat he cant see her legs at all. You okay, sweetheart?
Sams bottom lip quivers as she holds her arm out to him, a long cut running along
her forearm. There are a few cuts on her face as well, but they look like theyve
already stopped bleeding.
Not bad, he says encouragingly, curling his hand around hers. Her fingers are cold
; he can see goosebumps on her arms. Theres a sound behind him and Sams head snaps
around, a tiny growl rumbling between her lips. Stiles twists to see one of the
twins leaning toward him, pushing a blanket through the window. Stiles takes it
with a nod of thanks and the deputy backs off again, clearly not wanting to str
ess Sam out.
Here you go, Stiles says calmly, unfolding the blanket and tucking it over Samanth
as tiny frame. Better?
She nods, but to his surprise, her hand sneaks out from under the blanket, seeki
ng his again. Is Daddy going to be okay? Sam whispers, her eyes filling with tears
. Stiles cant imagine how terrifying it must have been for her, trapped down in a
car reeking of blood while Derek roared above.
Hes going to be fine, Stiles says softly, squeezing her hand. As soon as we get you
out of here, well go and see him, all right? Sam nods, but tears spill down her ch
eeks. She whines miserably, high and distressed, and Stiles contorts himself fur
ther, pushing his way into the mangled back seat. Its covered in broken glass and
sharp metal but he disregards all of it, murmuring, Hey, hey, youre okay, and you
r dads okay, smoothing a hand over her dark hair.
Sam whimpers and, to his further surprise, turns into him, wrapping her arms aro
und his neck, pressing her wet face to his collarbone. He can see the twin outsi
de the car Ethan, hes pretty sure looking startled and Stiles tries to make a fac
e that expresses this is my boyfriends daughter and its totally not weird at all.
But honestly, he couldnt care less whats going on outside; hes focused on Sam, on h
ow her breathing evens out, how strong she is as she clutches at his shirt. He p
romised Derek.
Look, Stiles says gently, nodding toward the hill, where a group of firefighters a
re making their way down the ravine with rescue equipment. The firemen are here t
o get you out, okay?
He starts to pull himself out of the car so the firefighters will have a clear p
ath, but Sam whines and tugs at his shirt frantically. Dont go! she cries. Stiles, p
lease dont go!
Okay, Stiles says soothingly. Im right here. It might get loud, but dont be scared, a
ll right? Theyre gonna get you out of here.
Its a slow, painstaking process as the firefighters cut away the car around them,
using a spreader to push the back seat into its original position, freeing Sams
legs. Stiles watches her face, covers her ears with his hands when she cringes a
t the screech of the metal, tells her over and over again, Youre doing so good, Sa
m.
One of the firemen cuts the straps on her car seat and lifts her out and Stiles
follows, stiffly unfolding from the cramped wreck. He takes Sam from the man, an
d Sam wraps her arms around his neck tightly. The climb up the side of the ravin
e is difficult, the growth slick with rain and mud, but Stiles makes it up with
a couple pushes from a firefighter behind him and hurries over to a waiting ambu
lance.
Scott appears as Stiles passes Sam to the paramedic inside, his brow furrowing w
ith worry. She all right?
Just some cuts and bruises, I think, Stiles says wearily. Derek?
On his way to the hospital, Scott replies, wiping rain out of his eyes. Look, we ca
nt find the other driver.
Stiles frowns at him, one foot up on the back of the ambulance, ready to pull hi
mself in. What do you mean?
I mean, theres no sign of them, Scott says. Theyre bringing out search and rescue. Im
going to stay here youre heading to the hospital?
Yeah, Stiles says, nodding toward Sam. Promised Derek Id watch her.
Scott spares him a quick smile. Good luck, man. Ill see you back at the station.
Stiles nods and climbs into the ambulance and its not until the bus begins to mov
e that he realizes hes shaking. Its more than just the cold its adrenaline leaving
him, and the EMT spares him a sympathetic glance before tossing a blanket into h
is lap. Stiles wraps it around himself gratefully and takes Sams hand as she reac
hes for him again.
The ride to the hospital is quick and silent apart from some mostly healed cuts
on her face and bruise on her shins, Sams only major wound is the long cut on her
arm and its already healing. The paramedic cleans it and wraps it in gauze and d
raws a flower on the bandage in permanent marker, which makes Sam giggle. Stiles
smiles absently, but now that he knows Sams going to be fine, his thoughts drift
to Derek and his heart twists with worry. He knows that werewolves can take a l
ot more damage than humans can, but he saw torn flaps of skin and muscle and bon
e. There had to be a limit to what the body could take before it shut down, and
Dereks clothes had been saturated with blood.
Stiles? Sam asks hesitantly and he blinks, finding both Sam and the paramedic star
ing at him. The woman raises her eyebrows significantly, nodding toward Sam, and
Stiles realizes that Sam can sense his distress; shes already starting to look u
pset, her eyes growing watery. Everythings fine! he says hurriedly, and its not real
ly a lie because for all he knows, it is.
They reach the hospital after a ride that seems to take hours and seconds all at
once and a nurse hustles them inside. Sams arm gets a brief examination by a doc
tor, who smiles and gives her a Hello Kitty sticker and tells Stiles shes going t
o be fine. Another nurse leads them up to the fourth floor, where its quieter. Sa
m wrinkles her nose at the smell of antiseptic as the nurse hustles away to find
a doctor who can tell Stiles what condition Dereks in. He taps his feet nervousl
y against the linoleum, trying to keep his mind blank so that Sam wont get worrie
d. Hes not hugely successful; emptying his mind of distraction has never been one
of his strong suits.
Stay right here, he tells Sam when the doctor appears, and they walk together down
the hall until theyre out of ear shot. Stiles rocks back and forth on his feet a
nxiously and tries to hook his fingers in his utility belt but its not there he l
eft it on the grass next to the smashed shell of the Camaro.
Mr. Hale is in surgery, the doctor tells him calmly. He received significant damage
to his chest, but that will heal without any issue. The major problem is with h
is leg the bones shattered during the crash and his violent movement afterward d
amaged it further. We have to remove the bone fragments so they dont remain insid
e him after he heals.
Stiles winces, remembering how Derek had been staggering around. Is he going to b
e okay, though?
Hell be fine, the doctor assures him, but recovery will be slower than usual. Bone r
egeneration is the weakest of the werewolfs healing abilities and requires signif
icant energy consumption.
Stiles nods. How long until hes out of surgery?
Shouldnt be long, the doctor says. Though it may be a few hours before hes lucid. Per
forming surgery on a werewolf requires injecting them with wolfsbane to slow the
healing process so the incisions dont heal as theyre made. Hell receive the antido
te shortly, but with all the stress to his body, he may sleep for a while.
Thanks, Stiles says quietly and the doctor nods briskly.
Sam looks up hopefully when Stiles returns, and he plunks down next to her with
a sigh. Little while longer, he tells her. Your dads going to be fine, though.
Sam nods, her eyes wide. Hes not sure if she quite understands whats going on but
then again, what does he know about kids? Shes probably a hell of a lot more perc
eptive than he is. Stiles rubs a hand over his face. Hes still soaking wet, weary
to the bone. He just wants to see Derek and know, really know, that hes okay. Wo
rd from the doctors all well and good, but he needs to see it.
Sam tugs on his sleeve and he looks down at her, guilt rushing through him when
he sees the anxiety on her face. Sorry, he murmurs. Its been a long day, huh?
Sam nods again and then climbs over the arm of his chair, plunking herself down
on his lap, leaning back against him firmly. Hes not sure why shes warming up to h
im so suddenly, but hes not going to push away a little girl seeking comfort. Sti
les curls an arm around her and digs around in his pocket for his phone, pulling
it free with a flourish.
You ever played Candy Crush?
-
Its nearly two hours before a nurse appears and tells them that Dereks out of surg
ery. His phones dead and Sams asleep by then, her head tucked under Stiles chin, bu
t he carefully lifts her and follows the nurse down a silent hallway. She shows
them to a dim room and then disappears with a smile, leaving Stiles to step into
the quiet room.
Derek lies in a bed near the window, his eyes closed, chest slowly rising and fa
lling. A shudder of relief runs through Stiles at the sight of him, at the way t
he heart rate monitor next to the bed shows a steady heartbeat. Stiles sinks int
o a chair next to the bed, Sam still cradled in his arms. Hes tired and the room
is so quiet, filled with the sound of the rain beating against the window and th
e hum of machines and Dereks steady breathing. Its not long before Stiles slips in
to slumber, exhausted to the core.
-
Stiles is awoken sometime later by Sam moving around and he opens his eyes grogg
ily to find her clambering off his lap. He watches her go scrambling over to Der
eks bed and realizes, with a jolt, that Dereks awake; his eyes are half open and f
ixed on his daughter, his hand outstretched to her. Sam climbs onto the bed easi
ly and Stiles' chest tightens at the pained noise Derek makes, wrapping his arms
around her and drawing her in close. "I'm okay, Daddy," Sam tells him, patting
him on the back with her small hands, and Derek closes his eyes, breathing in de
ep. Eventually he exhales, pressing his face to Sam's neck.
"I know," Derek says quietly, smoothing a hand down her face. He opens his eyes,
his gaze moving to Stiles, and Stiles' heart clenches again at the pain in his
gaze. He feels like he's intruding, and he's wondering if he should just leave w
hen Derek says, "Hey."
Stiles swallows. "Hey. Um." he licks his lips. "How you feeling?"
Derek gives him an unamused smile. "Like I got blindsided by a car."
"Oh," Stiles says weakly, and to his horror his vision starts swimming.
Derek looks both concerned and bemused. "Are you crying?"
"No," Stiles says, blinking defiantly. Im just Im just glad youre okay, okay?
Derek carefully shifts Sam to his other side and gestures at him. "Come here."
Stiles rises without question, sinking down onto the edge of the bed and gratefu
lly leaning into Derek, who curls an arm around him and noses at his jaw with an
wet exhalation of warm air. Stiles can feel himself relaxing at Derek's touch,
at the solid, reassuring smell of him - muted though it is by the smell of the h
ospital. "I'm glad you're okay," Stiles repeats quietly, curling his fingers int
o the fabric of Derek's hospital gown.
"I'm made of strong stuff," Derek assures him solemnly, nudging Samantha. "Right
, Sam?" She nods seriously and Derek gives her a soft smile, folding his hand ov
er Stiles'.
"Do you remember what happened?" Stiles asks after a few minutes of sitting quie
tly.
Derek's silent for a second, absently rubbing his thumb against Stiles' hand bef
ore he says, "We were running over to Bath to pick up an order for the garage an
d - I don't know. There was a car behind us on the road, but the last time I loo
ked at it, it was pretty far back and then - then we got hit from behind."
"From behind?" Stiles repeats, frowning. "They smashed into you deliberately? Yo
u didn't brake suddenly or something?"
Derek shakes his head. "No. The roads were slick, but I didn't lose control unti
l we got hit." He rubs a hand over his face, looking tired. "I smacked my head w
hen we got hit, I think - couldn't stop the car. We went over the edge of the ro
ad and that's all I remember."
Stiles squeezes his hand. "'s okay," he says gently. "We can put the rest togeth
er."
Derek nods, his mouth twisting. "Laura's going to be delighted," he sighs. "She'
s been getting after me to get a new car since Sam was born."
Stiles snorts, elbowing him. "Looks like she's finally getting her way."
"She'll probably insist I get a minivan," Derek says morosely, watching Sam fidd
le with his blankets.
Stiles laughs and says, "At least there'd be plenty of room for extracurricular
activities, huh? No more smacking my head on the roof of the Camaro."
Derek snorts, the corners of his mouth curling up. "I'll be out of here by tomor
row," he says. "I haven't forgotten about our date."
Stiles grins. "Good. I get to call out when I get hit by a car, but you've alrea
dy proven that you're made of tougher stuff." Derek rolls his eyes and Stiles la
ughs again. "Speaking of Laura - do you want me to give her a call and let her k
now what's going on?"
"Yeah," Derek sighs. "Tim's going to have to find someone else to watch the kids
."
"What about Sam?"
Derek's eyes fall to his daughter. "Seems like the two of you are getting along,
" he says thoughtfully. "Would you be willing to take her for the night?"
"Me?" Stiles asks, startled, and Derek looks at him.
"Yeah," he says quietly. "I trust you."
Stiles swallows. "Yeah, I mean - I totally can, if she wants to."
Derek nudges Sam. "What do you think?" he asks her. "Would you be okay if you we
nt home with Stiles tonight?"
Sam looks at Stiles and nods solemnly. "Okay."
Derek kisses the top of her head and says to Stiles, "You can stay at the house
if you want. Sam can show you where the spare key's hidden."
"Cool," Stiles replies, smiling across at Sam. "We'll have a party."
There's a knock on the door maybe an hour after Derek wakes up and to Stiles' su
rprise, Scott pops his head in the room. "Hey," he says, looking worried. "Tried
to call you."
"Oh," Stiles blinks. "My phone's dead, sorry."
"Oh," Scott echoes, stepping into the room. He's still in uniform, and one of th
e twins is behind him. "Hey, Derek. How're you feeling?"
"Fine," Derek replies, watching Scott and the other deputy suspiciously. "Why ar
e you here?"
"Stiles is going to need a ride home," Scott says, "and Aiden's going to get a s
tatement from you about the crash, but there's something I need to tell you both
."
"What?" Stiles asks sharply, getting to his feet. "Did you find the other drive?
"
"Not exactly," Scott replies. He looks at Derek. "Derek, I'm not sure you'll wan
t Sam in the room for this."
Derek nods shortly, his brow furrowing, and Scott gestures at Aiden. "Hey, Sam,
you want to go with Aiden for a sec? Maybe he'll let you pick something out of t
he vending machine."
Sam looks up at Derek and he nods, nudging her off the bed. "It's fine," he tell
s her. "Behave yourself."
Scott waits until Sam and Aiden have left the room before he says, "The car that
hit you was reported stolen a couple of hours ago from Chowchilla, but that's n
ot all. While we were still on scene, your dad showed up. He said he got a call
from the Central California Womens Facility - Kate Argent's escaped."
Stiles freezes, his mouth dropping open. Next to him, Derek pushes himself uprig
ht, his eyes burning blue. "Where is she?" he snarls. "Where - "
"Derek!" Stiles exclaims, twisting to push him back onto the bed. "Calm down!"
"We don't know where she is," Scott tells them, looking anxious. "We followed th
e scent from the car, but the driver threw down a spice bomb. Completely wrecked
the scent trail."
Derek growls. "She's the one that hit us."
Scott nods. "We think so."
"Scott," Stiles says slowly, clues clicking together. "The car she stole - it wa
s a BMW?"
"X5, yeah, one of those really expensive SUVs," Scott says, frowning.
"She told me she got locked out," Stiles says, dread building in the pit of his
stomach.
"What?" Scott and Derek snap in tandem.
Stiles swallows. "This morning, I helped a woman at the gas station who was lock
ed out of her car. I didn't - I thought she looked familiar but I couldnt place h
er." He feels sick. If only he'd known, he could have stopped her before she hur
t Derek and Sam -
"It's not your fault," Derek snaps. "Don't even start thinking that."
Stiles grimaces as the door opens again and Sam and Aiden come back into the roo
m. Scott glances at them and says to Stiles, We need to get back to the station.
The sheriffs trying to coordinate a manhunt with the highway patrol hes calling ev
eryone in. Aidens going to stay and watch the door in case Kates stupid enough to
come here.
Stiles looks at Derek, who thins his lips but nods. Scott looks at Stiles. You re
ady to go?
I Stiles hesitates, still looking at Derek. I said Id watch Sam.
Scott looks a little startled, but he says, We could drop her off at my place. Al
lisons home with Tori
Samantha looks hopeful, but Derek says, No. I want her with werewolves.
Well bring her to the station, Stiles tells Derek. Shell be safe there.
Derek pauses for a moment before nodding. Fine.
Okay, Scott sighs. Can we get on the road?
You go start the car, Stiles tells Scott with a tired smile. Well say goodbye.
Scott nods and leaves the room, Aiden on his heels. Stiles sinks back down on th
e side of the bed and watches Derek enclose Sam in a bear hug. He whispers somet
hing to her that makes her giggle, and rubs their cheeks together before kissing
her forehead.
Whatd you say? Stiles asks him, once hes let go of Sam and turned to Stiles.
I told her that if any cops give her trouble, she should kick them in the shins, D
erek replies, casting a wry glance over at Sam, who giggles again. Dereks pale ey
es slide back to Stiles. Be careful.
I will, Stiles promises. I swear Ill keep her safe.
I know you will, Derek says softly, curling his hands over Stiles. He leans forward
, delicately dragging his nose along Stiles jaw line, the same practiced gesture
hes been doing for weeks and Stiles suddenly realizes what it is: scent marking.
He just saw Derek doing it to Sam, rubbing their skin together so their scents m
ix. Its a sign of pack and trust and love and Dereks been doing it to Stiles for w
eeks now. God, no wonder Sams been warming up to him; he smells like family.
The thought fills him with a golden heat, filling him to the brim. Hed give anyth
ing right now to be able to stay, but he settles with throwing his arms around D
ereks neck and returning the gesture, dragging his lips against Dereks cheek. Dere
k huffs against his neck and anyone who didnt know him might think he was annoyed
, but Stiles can tell hes pleased. You should get going, he murmurs to Stiles, hand
s a heavy weight at his hips. Scott looked about ready to pop a blood vessel.
Yeah, Stiles agrees with a heavy sigh. Sam and I will come visit in the morning, ok
ay?
Deal, Derek says, tilting his head for a quick kiss.
Gross, Sam says, wrinkling her nose at them.
Ill kiss you too, Stiles threatens.
Daddy! Sam protests with a grimace, looking to Derek for help.
Derek shrugs, not concerned. Alls fair in love and war, he tells her, and Stiles tr
ies not to react to the way he says love. Hes pretty sure hes already in love with
Derek and thats just thats lunacy. Theyve been together less than two months, only
agreed they were boyfriends like three weeks ago and yet while Stiles knows he
has this tendency to fall into things fast, hes never felt this way about anyone.
If the way Derek treats him is any way to judge, Derek feels the same way about
him.
Stiles has already told himself, though, that hes not going to say anything. Its t
oo much too soon; hes going to be smart about this, even if the way Dereks looking
at him right now says he knows.
I dont understand what that means, Sam complains as Stiles gets to his feet, Dereks
hands following him up until they drop to his lap.
You will when youre older, Derek replies, his eyes still on Stiles. Stiles smiles f
aintly and Derek nods.
Come on, Sam, Stiles says a little hoarsely. Lets go annoy Scott.
But I like Scott, Sam protests, slipping off the bed.
I do too, Stiles grins. Makes it even better.
Be careful, Derek calls after them.
We will, Stiles promises and Sam waves. Bye, Daddy!
Scotts waiting out front, lights on and wipers going. Its still raining more of a
downpour, really and Stiles has to rush to get Sam in the back. Scotts worried be
cause they dont have a booster seat but Stiles tells him to just drive slow. They
take a detour to Dereks house so they can pick up some things for her and as Sam
trots up the front walkway, Stiles murmurs to Scott, Can you smell Kate?
It occurred to him, on the drive over, that if Kate had been in town since at le
ast the time hed seen her at the gas station this morning, shed probably been sear
ching for Derek and Sam for a while, which probably meant that shed come by the h
ouse at some point. For all he knew, she could still be around somewhere out in
the woods behind the house, watching and waiting.
Scott swings his head from side to side, scenting the air. Im not picking anything
up, he says, and Stiles relaxes a little.
When they reach the station, the parking lots full of unmarked police cars and Ca
lifornia Highway Patrol cruisers, as well as all the sheriffs department vehicles
. Inside, its busy; there are people everywhere and Stiles picks up Sam so they w
ont get separated. She doesnt seem to like the noise and hustle all that much, tuc
king her face against Stiles shoulder while he tries to find his dad.
When he does locate his dad, talking to a competent-looking trooper, the sheriff
gives his son a tired look and asks, Whos your friend?
This is Dereks daughter, Samantha, Stiles tells him. I told him Id watch her and with
with all this happening, I figured the safest place for her is probably here.
Youre probably right, his father sighs.
I know Im going to regret this, considering I just spent a month and a half doing
it, but if it helps, Ill stay on desk duty tonight so I can be here, Stiles offers
.
His dad snorts and says, Fine. You can park her in my office. Theres a bag of Oreo
s in my bottom drawer if she gets hungry.
Ooh, Stiles says warningly. After this is over, were having a talk about your health
.
His father waves him away, his mouth twisting wryly.
Once Stiles has Sam settled in his dad's office with some computer printouts of
coloring pages, all the colored highlighters and markers he can scrounge up, and
a stack of his dad's illicit Oreos, Stiles finally has a chance to plug his pho
ne into a charger and call Laura.
She answers the phone with a suspicious, "Hello?"
Stiles clears his throat. "Hey, Laura? It's Stiles - Stiles Stilinski."
"Stiles," she says, sounding no less suspicious. "Hi. Why are you calling me?"
"I need to tell you a few things," Stiles replies steadily. "The first is that D
erek and Sam are fine, but they were in a car crash - "
"What?" Laura snarls.
"Hold on," Stiles says weakly. "Let me finish before you explode, because there'
s a bigger issue - Kate Argent's escaped from prison and we don't know where she
is."
Laura's silent for so long that Stiles checks his screen to make sure they're st
ill actually connected. When she does speak, it sounds like she's choosing her w
ords very carefully. "Where's Derek?"
"He's in the hospital," Stiles tells her. "I've got Sam here with me at the sher
iff's station."
Laura breathes out forcefully. "What happened to him? Is he all right?"
Stiles tells her everything - from the moment he and Scott arrived at the scene
to the time he arrived back at the station - and he finishes with, "Derek wanted
me to tell you so that Tim would know to find someone else to watch your kids t
onight."
Laura laughs, unamused and exasperated. "He would," she sighs. "Okay. I'm out in
Montana with Isaac with right and we were going to head back tomorrow morning,
but well grab our things and head out now. Sams safe?
Safest place she can be right now, Stiles assures Laura. Look, you dont need to rush
. Derek should be out of the hospital by tomorrow, and well find Kate.
Stiles, Laura says, a little impatiently. The woman who murdered my family is on th
e loose. I need to take care of my pack.
Oh, Stiles blinks. Right. Sorry.
She sighs. Thanks for calling me. Ill be in touch.
Bye, Stiles says, but Lauras already hung up.
Stiles sits at the front desk until late into the night, watching patrols come i
n and out. Someone tells him that theyve got cops going door to door, and werewol
ves in the woods looking for Kate, but so far theres been no sign of her. His dad
doesnt seem all that surprised disheartened, yes, but as he says to Stiles, she
seemed to have made something of a profession of killing werewolves; shes not goi
ng to let herself be caught that easily.
At two in the morning, he gets switched out and his dad tells him that he can go
home, but Stiles shrugs and says, I might as well stay the stations probably safe
r than my apartment, and I dont want to take any chances with Sam. Shes curled up o
n the couch in his dads office, buried under a pile of blankets that Stiles had t
o rub against himself before shed settle down. It makes his heart twist a little
he must reek of Derek if its that comforting to her. He hopes Dereks doing all rig
ht, all by himself in the hospital. Aidens voice comes over the radio every hour
or so, letting them know that the hospitals clear.
Stiles ends up sleeping on the floor next to the couch and its odd how the hum an
d bustle of the building is comforting but then again, maybe its not hes slept at
the station many times before, curled up on the same couch that Sams sleeping on.
He cant remember how many nights he spent there after his mom died, with his dad
newly elected sheriff. They couldnt afford a babysitter every night and the stat
ion was more like home anyway, the deputies and staff family.
When Stiles wakes up in the morning, weak golden light streaming into the office
, the buildings quieter and Sams gone. Stiles shoots upright, his heart hammering
in his chest, and scrambles out of the office only to find his dad and Sam sitti
ng behind the front desk. Sams got a plate of breakfast food in front of her, swi
nging her legs back and forth as she gnaws on a piece of bacon. Stiles father rai
ses his eyebrows at him.
Dont worry, he says mildly. I didnt steal your charge. Shes got to be to school in an
hour, though.
Crap, Stiles sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. Any news?
No sign of her, his father says with a shake of his head. He nods down the hall. Th
eres breakfast, if you want it Jens Diner set us up a whole spread.
Stiles shakes his head. Im all right. He looks down at Samantha. You sleep okay, Sam
my?
She wrinkles her nose. Its noisy here.
The police never sleep, Stiles dad tells her solemnly.
I want to be a police officer, Sam tells him conversationally. My moms a bad person.
Who told you that? Stiles asks curiously.
Aunt Laura, Sam replies primly, stabbing at her scrambled eggs. She said my mom hur
t Daddy a lot. He doesnt talk about her.
Stiles dad looks up at Stiles, his eyebrows raised, and Stiles swallows uncomfort
ably. All righty, he says, forcing fake cheer into his voice. Why dont you finish up
your breakfast and well go visit your dad before you go to school?
Stiles father gets to his feet and claps him on the shoulder. Take your time. Run
home and shower if you want, but well need you back on shift.
Stiles nods. When Sams done eating, she takes his hand and they head out to the s
taff parking lot, where his Jeeps still sitting. Someone managed to scrounge up a
booster seat, so he latches into the backseat and Sam scrambles inside, bucklin
g herself in with practiced hands.
Stiles nods at the deputy stationed outside Dereks door Aiden went off duty hours
ago and pushes the door open so Sam can skip ahead of him. Dereks awake, though
there are deep, dark circles under his eyes, but he smiles when he sees Sam and
Stiles.
You sleep okay? Stiles asks, bending to kiss Dereks temple.
Mm, Derek shrugs noncommittally. Spent a lot of time thinking.
I was a little worried I might come in to find youd gone after her, Stiles admits.
Thought about it, Derek replies, his eyes landing on the window. He shrugs again. I
cant do much right now, though. Not weak like this.
Stiles looks down at Dereks legs. The casts are gone, the skin on his legs pale a
nd new. When are you getting out?
Noon, Derek says. I was hoping you might be able to pick me up. Im kind of stuck wit
hout a car and Laura out of town.
Sure, Stiles nods. Shouldnt be a problem. I talked to her last night, by the way, he
adds. Laura.
Derek nods. I know. She called the hospital. She talked me down from going after
Kate.
Oh, Stiles says. Good.
Im not going to do anything stupid, Derek tells him. He looks down at Sam, then up
at Stiles. I have obligations other than myself these days.
Stiles smiles faintly. Derek says, You better get out of here; Sams going to be la
te.
Right, Stiles sighs, getting to his feet. You ready, Sam?
Samantha sighs petulantly but gets to her feet with a nudge from Derek, who says
, Aunt Lauras going to pick you after school, all right?
Sam nods and Stiles says, Ill see you at noon.
See you, Derek says, sounding a little forlorn.
Stiles drops Sam off at her elementary school. There are deputies stationed ther
e as well, two at each entrance. Ostensibly, its to ensure the safety of the enti
re school, but Stiles knows theyre only there for Sam, in case Kate shows up. He
heads home and takes a shower, feeds Oscar, changes into a fresh uniform. By the
time he gets back to the station, its nearly nine and Scotts just getting in. The
res no new news; there have been sightings of Kate Argent all over town reported
by concerned citizens, but none of them have panned out.
Scott shakes his head as they head out to their cruiser. Allison said shes probabl
y holed up somewhere. Some detectives from the highway patrol came over to inter
view her dad last night hes Kates brother, you know? They hoped he might know if s
he had any hideouts in town, but he didnt have any ideas.
Stiles gnaws on a fingernail. You think thats true?
Scott shrugs. Seems likely. I mean, no ones found any trace of her so far.
Stiles heaves a sigh. Do we even know how she escaped from prison?
It was a high-security prison, Scott says, shaking his head. Sounds like she went f
ull-on Shawshank Redemption.
Theyre on regular patrol for the morning not part of the team thats searching for
Kate Argent. Its a slow day; they help a woman on the highway fix a flat tire, se
rve a welfare check on an old man, make accident reports on a couple minor fende
r-benders. Right around noon, Scott drives them to the hospital to pick up Derek
, whos already sitting outside, looking pale in the watery sunlight.
Theres my criminal, Stiles says cheerfully, climbing out of the cruiser and opening
the back door for Derek, who gives him a sour look, but climbs inside.
Howre you feeling? Scott asks, glancing over his shoulder at Derek.
Stiff, Derek replies, frowning out the window. They had me doing physical therapy a
ll morning.
The rides quiet for about five minutes, the silence only broken by the crackle of
the radio. Most of the communication about Kate is on another channel, but its o
n the forefront of everyones mind, which is probably why Derek abruptly asks, Any
news?
Stiles looks over at Scott, who shakes his head. Nah, man. We havent picked up any
trace of her yet.
Derek nods shortly, turning his eyes back to the window.
Do you know anything that might help? Scott asks slowly, watching Derek in the rea
rview mirror. Any sort of hiding place she might have had?
Derek shakes his head, his jaw tightening. She never mentioned anything.
They pull up in front of Dereks house a few minutes later, and Stiles gets out so
he can pull open the door. Can I walk you to the door? he asks Derek, who nods, h
is mouth quirking up on one side. Be right back, Stiles tells Scott, who waves.
He and Derek walk up the driveway together, Stiles arm around Dereks waist. He wal
ks slowly, teeth gritted like hes thinking about punching something. You going to
be okay? Stiles asks when they get up on the porch.
Derek rolls his neck and says, Ill be fine. Im just going to go sleep it off.
Stiles looks around the neighborhood at the squad car sitting out on the street,
at the quiet houses around them. Shes not around, is she?
Derek lifts his head and inhales deeply several times. He shakes his head. No.
If she does show up, dont Stiles cuts himself off. Just call me, okay?
Im not going to do anything stupid, Derek says patiently, like he knows what Stiles
was going to say. I told you.
I know, Stiles says uneasily. I just dont like this.
Shell show up eventually, Derek replies, his voice taking on an ugly tone. She alway
s does.
Stiles swallows. We still on for tonight?
Derek nods. As long as youre not working.
Ill let you know, Stiles says. Ill see you.
See you, Derek murmurs, pressing a kiss to Stiles forehead. Stiles waits for him to
get inside before he heads back to the cruiser.
Scott grins at him as they pull off down the street. You two are such saps.
Shut up, Stiles mutters. Isaac told me how bad you and Allison were in high school.
Young love, Scott says solemnly, then cracks up when Stiles punches him in the arm
.
-
Theyre finishing up a call at a house attempted B & E when Stiles phone starts rin
ging. He doesnt usually answer calls on the job, but when he checks the screen, h
es startled to see its Laura. Stiles waves at Scott, who jogs over to take care of
the victim, and steps outside, bringing his phone up to his ear.
Hello?
Hi, Stiles, comes Lauras voice. It sounds like shes trying hard to sound calm. Its Lau
ra Hale. Um. Have you heard from Derek?
No, Stiles says, a cold, worried feeling creeping over him. I mean, we dropped him
off at the house around noon. Why? Whats going on?
I just came to drop Sam off and hes not here, Laura says, her voice cracking. Can yo
u
Were on our way, Stiles snaps, and darts back inside. Scott!
Scott looks up and frowns at the expression on his face. He passes the victim of
f to the second unit and steps over to Stiles. Whats going on?
Dereks missing, Stiles says, stumbling over his words. Laura she just went to drop S
am off and hes not there, and and
Okay, Scott says firmly. Lets go.
Theyll probably get reprimanded for using the sirens later, but Stiles doesnt care
; he clenches at his knees and glares out the window as buildings flash past. La
uras standing on the front lawn when they get to Dereks house; shes got her baby in
her arms and all her kids and Sam are sitting in a circle around her.
Stay here, she order them when Stiles and Scott spill out of the car, and steps ac
ross the lawn toward the duo, her brow furrowed with worry.
Have you gone inside? Stiles asks, checking his gun.
Laura shakes her head. I can hear from here theres no one inside.
Shes right, Scott says, his eyes fixated on the house.
Stiles forces himself to exhale, because the absence of a heartbeat doesnt mean t
hat Dereks not in there. Hes fine, Stiles tells himself, and follows Scott up the
driveway, pulling the spare key from its hiding place, which he hands to Scott.
Scott shakes his head, pointing at the lock; the wood around it is splintered so
meones kicked it in already. Stiles curses under his breath and steps inside afte
r Scott, almost running into him when he stops short.
She was here, Scott says quietly. I can smell her its the same scent from the accide
nt.
Shit, Stiles swears. She took him?
I can smell blood, Scott says ominously, and Stiles stomach plummets.
Where? he asks hoarsely, and Scott motions him forward, leading him into the kitch
en. Its in complete disarray; the floors covered in shards of broken pottery, a co
uple of the cabinet drawers hanging askew. The back doors open and theres blood on
the doorjamb.
Look, Scott says, pointing at the floor; there are bloody footprints smeared acros
s the tile, dark droplets of blood still shining wetly on the porcelain.
Is it Dereks? Stiles mumbles.
Cant tell, Scott replies, clapping him on the shoulder. Could be a mixture. Scott tur
ns away, pulling out his radio to call in back-up. Stiles stands still, staring
down at the mess around his feet, and something clicks.
He remembers reading through Kate Argents trial transcripts. One of the biggest q
uestions had been how shed been able to get into the house in the first place, an
d as it turned out, there was a network of tunnels under the Hale house, a remna
nt from an era when werewolves werent looked upon so kindly by society, when some
times even your own house wasnt safe. Thats where shes taken Derek, Stiles knows wi
th sudden blinding certainty. Thats where theyll be.
Stiles turns as if moving on automatic and heads for the front door. Hes already
on the porch when he hears Scott call his name behind him, and he breaks into a
trot, crossing the yard and reaching the cruiser just as Scott appears at the fr
ont door.
Stiles, dont! Scott bellows at him, but Stiles is already climbing into the cruiser
. Where are you going?
Its the tunnels! Stiles yells back and Laura, standing frozen in the middle of the
lawn, goes pale.
Hes never been to the Hale house, but he knows where it is out in the woods in th
e middle of Beacon Hills Preserve. In recent years, its become a place for teenag
ers to hang around in, making out and breaking shit. Hes never been on one of the
nuisance calls, but he knows its become enough of a problem that the countys been
trying to get Laura to get it torn down. Shes been reluctant, which he understan
ds.
Stiles pulls off the road long before he gets to the house he doesnt want Kate to
hear the car. He stalks through the trees, scanning the ground for one of the h
umps thats hiding a tunnel entrance and finally finds one about two hundred yards
from the house, a metal grille thats been pulled to one side. Stiles crouches do
wn outside it, checking his gun and chambering a round he grabbed the rifle from
the squad car, because hes not taking any fucking chances where Dereks concerned.
He could wait Lauras probably told Scott what he meant, and back-up cant be far b
ehind, but he doesnt dare wait. Theres no telling what Kate wants Derek for or whe
ther she needs him alive at all.
Stiles takes a deep breath and drops down into the tunnel, landing as lightly as
he can. The dirt floors muddy under his feet, though it grows solid the further
away he gets from the entrance. The walls are stone and covered in moss though w
hen he rounds a corner, they become blackened and the air smells faintly of smok
e. Stiles grits his teeth. Theres a door hanging open up ahead and he can hear fa
int metallic sounds.
Stiles closes his eyes and counts to ten before he moves forward, treading silen
tly on the dirt floor. He stops outside the room, listening, picking out sounds
over the pounding of his heart. Someones moving around inside; he can hear soft f
ootsteps, a faint humming. Theres a click and a pained gasp and then a womans voic
e says, Tell me where she is.
Stiles grimaces. Thats her, thats Kate he recognizes her voice, low and raspy, fro
m yesterday the blonde woman at the gas station. Fuck, if only hed known.
Sweetheart, Kate says patiently. Im not gonna hurt a hair on her head, but if you do
nt tell me where she is, Ill kill all your sisters whelps in front of her and itll b
e all your fault.
Stiles peers around the doorway and the first thing he sees is Derek. Hes strappe
d to a table next to what looks like a car battery wired to his body. Kates stand
ing next to the table, her back to the doorway, and shes got her hand on the batt
ery. Her fingers twist and Dereks body tenses, his back arching off the table. St
iles mouth goes thin when he realizes that Kates shocking Derek shes fucking tortur
ing him. Her hand moves again and Derek collapses back against the table, his he
ad lolling to the side. He doesnt seem to see Stiles. Thats enough.
Stiles steps into the doorway, raising the rifle to his shoulder. Put your hands
in the air, he announces loudly. Turn around slowly.
Kate glances over her shoulder at him and a smile spreads across her face. Deputy
, she says cheerfully, turning around and leaning against the table. Nice to see y
ou again. You were so helpful yesterday thank you!
Put your hands in the air, Stiles repeats. Get on the ground.
Kate doesnt move. She taps her nails against the table and says, Im glad to see you
again, DeputyStilinski, wasnt it? I saw you earlier, when you dropped Derek off a
t the house. Quite the pair of lovebirds. She reaches back almost absently, and s
trikes Derek sharply across the face. He hisses, blinking blearily at her. Kate
laughs. Got a call from my father a couple weeks ago. He told me Derek was seeing
someone new. Wasnt very happy about you tackling him.
Get on the fucking ground, Stiles growls. His stomachs roiling, but hes not going to
let Kate get to him.
She laughs again and moves fast, snatching a sawn-off shotgun up off the table. N
o, sweetheart, she smiles, leveling the shotgun at him. I dont think I will.
For a few long seconds, theres silence. Stiles keeps his hand on the trigger, swe
at sliding down the back of his neck. Hes got his bulletproof vest on, but its onl
y rated against handguns, not shotguns, and it wont do him any good if Kate aims
for his head. What do you want? he rasps, eyes flickering to Derek.
Easy, Kate says steadily. I want my daughter.
Derek makes a furious noise. Youre not her mother! She knows who you are she knows
youre evil to the core!
Kate laughs, unconcerned by Dereks rage. Young minds, she tells him sweetly. Theyre m
oldable, sweetheart. A couple months under my wing and shell forget who you are.
Derek snarls, fighting to break the straps binding him to the table. Stiles step
s forward and Kates gaze swings back to him. Uh, uh, darling. You stay right there
.
Its not going to happen, Stiles snapped at her. No ones letting you near Sam.
Oh, Sam, Kate sighs. That was your youngest sisters name, wasnt it, Derek? Samantha?
What an adorable tribute.
Stiles keeps his eyes on Kate, but his attention is distracted by the sound of v
oices echoing down the tunnel. He freezes and prays that Kate hasnt heard it, but
his luck doesnt run that way she smiles at him and says, Reinforcements? Sounds l
ike youve got a choice to make, sweetheart, and before Stiles can understand what
she means, she swings her gun behind her and shoots Derek in the stomach. He how
ls in pain, body arcing and Stiles gets it Kate wants him to have to choose; wil
l he catch her or help Derek?
Maybe she thinks hes soft. Maybe she thinks hell panic. Maybe shes forgotten that h
es a cop and hes been trained for every stressful situation on the planet. Stiles
drops slightly as she turns to him with her gun raised once more, his footing so
lid, and shoots her in the chest. Later, hell think back on the surprise on her f
ace with a vicious sense of triumph, but for now, he doesnt stop. Even as she hit
s the floor, hes moving forward, flipping her onto her stomach and cuffing her ha
nds behind her back.
Only then does he rise to focus on Derek. There are feet pounding down the hall
toward him, but Stiles tunes them out, all of his attention on the way the gunsh
ot wound on his stomach is pumping out blood with every breath. Dereks panting ho
arsely, his pupils pinpricks shock, Stiles thinks, with an odd sense of clinical
detachment and the way the wounds going black around the edges tells him that Ka
tes shotgun shells had wolfsbane mixed in with the gunpowder.
He has to get the slug out before Derek can heal and he doesnt think twice about
it before he sticks two fingers in the wound. Derek roars again, bucking under S
tiles, but the fact that hes strapped to the table helps Stiles out Stiles isnt su
re hes in control right now, his fingernails popping into claws. Im sorry, Im sorry,
he chants.
Dereks stomach is warm and wet and Stiles would puke, but he cant let himself thin
k about it. His probing fingers close around the slug and when he pulls it out,
hes relieved to see its still in one piece. There are other deputies in the room w
ith him now, milling around, pulling Kate to her feet, but Stiles ignores them s
teadfastedly, his hands going to his utility belt and the small pouch that every
deputy carries. Inside is a vial of dried wolfsbane and a lighter and he pours
the wolfsbane onto the table but he struggles with the lighter; his fingers are
slick with blood and cant seem to grip on the wheel.
Stiles nearly panics until someone else reaches out, touching flame to the pile
of wolfsbane, and Stiles looks up to see Scott standing next to him, a reassurin
g smile on his face. Thanks, Stiles pants as the wolfsbane goes up in a shower of
green sparks. Scott nods and Stiles scoops the ashes into his palm, then presses
them into the wound on Dereks stomach. Derek groans, his body tensing, then rela
xing in a full-body shudder. Only then does Stiles twist away and puke.
By the time he straightens, wiping at his mouth and shaking a little, Scott and
one of the other deputies have unstrapped Derek, and anothers carefully unhooking
him from the car battery. Derek sits up slowly, wincing as his wound stretches
with the movement. He meets Stiles eyes, face narrow with exhaustion, his eyes sa
d. Stiles tries to drudge up a smile.
Guess our dates off, huh?
-
There is no date. What there is are hours of interviews. Stiles repeats his stor
y multiple times, gets yelled at by his dad for charging in without a plan, answ
ers question after question. His gun is taken until an internal investigation de
termines whether his use of force was justified. Kates in the hospital his father
tells him that shes in serious condition, but expected to pull through, and Stil
es doesnt know whether to be disappointed or relieved. Shell be sent back to priso
n as soon as shes recovered, and there will be another trial in a couple of month
s for her latest crimes. Apparently the tunnels under the Hale house are just on
e of multiple caches she and Gerard have hidden around the county, stocked with
weapons and clothes and other supplies.
Dereks fine; he was brought back to the hospital for a check-up, but Scott texts
Stiles at some point in the night to let him know that Dereks all right and back
at home with Sam. Stiles spends a lot of time in between interviews staring at t
he clock, wishing he could see him. Theres still blood underneath his fingernails
and he thinks of Derek every time he catches sight of it.
Well, his father sighs, sometime near midnight. I think were done with you for now.
Why dont you take a couple of days off, come back next week?
Stiles scrubs his hands over his face, exhausted to the core of his very being. Y
eah, okay.
Stiles, his dad says softly, and Stiles turns to look at him. As your superior offi
cer, I cant say that Im pleased with your decisions today, but as your fatherScott
told me how level-headed you were when you were taking care of Dereks gunshot. Im
proud of you.
Thanks, Dad, Stiles says, his throat tightening, and he accepts the hug his father
offers him, his fathers firm grasp steadying him.
When Stiles gets outside, he has to sit in his car for a few minutes, breathing
in slowly. Hes never shot anyone before he cant stop replaying the surprised look
on Kate Argents face when he pulled the trigger. The department mandates therapy
after a shooting, and he thinks he might need it.
When Stiles finally turns the car on and drives, its not until he comes to a stop
that he realizes that he hasnt driven home hes driven to Dereks house. Stiles star
es up at the dark house and scrubs his hands over his face again. Hes too tired.
Hes pulled two double shifts in the last two days. He just wants to sleep for a t
housand years is that so much to ask?
As he sits there, trying to build up the enthusiasm to drive home, the porch lig
ht comes on and Derek steps outside, bare-chested and in sweatpants. Stiles sigh
s softly, relieved to see the skin on his stomach smooth and unmarred. Derek doe
snt move, just watches him, and after a few long seconds, Stiles climbs out of th
e car and crosses the lawn. He climbs up the stairs and doesnt stop, wrapping his
arms around Dereks neck. Derek exhales roughly and curls his arms around Stiles,
holding him close. Stiles shuts his eyes, breathing in deeply.
You wanna stand out here all night? Derek murmurs. Or you wanna come inside?
Please, Stiles whispers.
Derek brushes his nose against Stiles jaw before he pulls away, taking Stiles by
the hand and leading inside the quiet house. They make their way upstairs and in
to Dereks bedroom. Stiles bows his head as Derek tugs his clothes off, stripping
him down to his boxers, his hands gentle. Stiles peels back the covers as Derek
pulls off his sweatpants and they sink into bed together. Stiles sighs softly as
Derek rolls on top of him, winding his limbs around Derek like an octopus.
Glad youre safe, he mumbles.
Glad you came for me, Derek replies softly, tucking his face against Stiles neck.
Id do anything for you, Stiles says before he even thinks about what hes saying.
I know, Derek says without hesitation. Id do the same.
Stiles tightens his grip on him and Derek presses a kiss to his jaw. Sleep, Derek
murmurs.
Oh, I plan on it, Stiles mutters. The next three days, at least.
Derek laughs quietly. Im with you there.
Good, Stiles mumbles, kissing Dereks temple.
He falls asleep underneath Derek, his weight solid and reassuring, and wakes up
to tiny hands pattering against his cheeks. Stiles forces his eyes open to see S
amantha leaning over the edge of the bed, staring down at him. Dereks not next to
him.
Hey, Sammy, Stiles says groggily. Wassup?
I wanted to say thank you, she tells him solemnly. For finding my dad.
Hey, he says, smiling wearily. Thats my job.
Derek comes into the room, running a hand through his hair. Sam, he says. Let Stile
s sleep. Sam nods and bounces out of the room, leaving Derek to take his turn in
leaning over Stiles. Go back to sleep, he says softly, brushing a hand over Stiles
hair. Ill be back soon.
Ill be here, Stiles mumbles, curling his fingers around Dereks wrist and squeezing g
ently before letting go. He closes his eyes, listening to Derek rise and head do
wnstairs. There are voices for a while, the high tone of Sam and the deeper note
s of Derek, and then silence and whether Stiles has fallen asleep or theyve left
the house is anyones guess.
When Stiles wakes later, the rooms just as dark as it was before, and it takes hi
m a long moment to realize its raining heavily outside, beating against the windo
ws. He hums quietly, warm and content, happiness growing when he lips onto his o
ther side and finds Derek back in bed next to him, curled on his side with his b
ack to Stiles. Stiles scoots closer, hooking an arm over Dereks side and Derek sh
ifts minutely, making a quiet questioning noise.
s this what you do every morning? Stiles murmurs, cheek pressed against Dereks warm
shoulder. Hes not wearing a shirt and his skin is smooth, almost hot to the touch
. Bring Sam to school and go back to bed?
Not usually, Derek rumbles quietly, his chest expanding and contracting as he brea
thes. Stiles noses absently at the heavy black spirals tattooed between Dereks sh
oulder blades. Sometimes I have to work. Sometimes Laura dumps her kids on me.
Hm, Stiles says. Are we in danger of that this morning?
No, Derek replies, a note of triumphant in his voice. I told her if she tried to pu
sh her kids off on me today, thered be hell to pay.
Showed her, Stiles murmurs. You got plans?
Derek shifts onto his back, his hand rising up to cup Stiles cheek. Only you.
Stiles licks his lips, face flushing with pleasure. You sure?
Very sure, Derek says softly, rubbing his thumb along Stiles cheekbone.
Stiles smiles. How are you feeling?
Fine, Derek assures him, taking Stiles hand in his, guiding Stiles palm to the firmn
ess of his stomach, where his skin is smooth and warm and shows no signs of ever
being blown open by a shotgun. One hundred percent whole.
Stiles curls his fingers against Dereks skin and swallows, briefly flashing back
to yesterday, when hed had to shove his fingers inside Derek. Derek makes a quiet
noise, like he knows what Stiles is thinking. You saved me, he says softly, thumb
sweeping back and forth against Stiles face. You keep taking care of me.
Stiles swallows again, bites back the because I love you too soon, too soon, he
reminds himself and says, What else would I do?
Derek smiles faintly. The world feels balanced, he says quietly. Hasnt for a long ti
me. His smile widens. I think youre to blame.
Stiles flushes, pleased beyond measure, and blurts, Can I kiss you?
Derek blinks sedately. He looks like hes going to start purring soon. Youre asking
now?
Im gonna explode soon, Stiles tells him earnestly. He drags his fingers over the ph
antom wound in Dereks stomach. And I wanted to make sure this isnt superficial and
you arent still hurt.
Im good, Derek assures him quietly, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark. Your ribs okay?
Theyre fine, Stiles says impatiently, and surges forward so eagerly that he head-bu
tts Derek in the nose. Derek grunts in pain but doesnt seem all that bothered; he
fists his hand in Stiles hair and aligns their mouths properly, dragging his lip
s against Stiles before kissing him for real. Stiles sighs into his mouth, all th
e tension of the past couple of days events draining from him, replaced instead b
y a jittery white energy that consumes his body whole, infusing his bones and li
ghting his brain on fire. It sizzles everywhere Derek touches him and Derek touc
hes him all over, drags his fingertips along Stiles spine and counts his ribs and
scrapes against the trail of hair disappearing into his boxers.
Stiles sighs again as Derek flips them, rolling Stiles onto his back so he can s
traddle his body, tilting his head to drag his lips over Stiles skin. Stiles sink
s his hands into Dereks silken hair, fingernails scraping against his scalp.
What do I smell like? he asks suddenly, and Derek lifts his head.
Today? Derek sinks between the vee of Stiles thighs, a thoughtful look on his face.
Gunpowder. Sweat. A little bit of blood.
Stiles screws his face up. He scratches at Dereks hair and Derek closes his eyes,
his fingers tensing and relaxing where they rest at Stiles side, over and over. I
s that I usually smell like?
No, Derek says, opening his eyes again. He leans forward, licking a stripe up Stil
es chest, lips catching at Stiles nipple. Stiles hisses and Derek bends his head,
pressing his nose to the crook of Stiles armpit. Warm grass. Sugar. Lightning.
Stiles shudders at the way Dereks eyes flash electric blue, his dick twitching. D
erek drags blunt, human teeth against Stiles armpit, nipping at the thin, tender
skin above his ribs. Stiles groans, his cheeks flooding with warmth, and Derek s
inks back, slotting his mouth over Stiles nipple and biting down.
Fuck, Stiles hisses. Will you stop fucking teasing me?
Derek laughs low in his throat, the noise vibrating against Stiles skin, and rise
s onto his knees to shimmy out of his sweatpants. Hes commando underneath and alr
eady hard, the tip of his cock flushed red and arching toward his stomach. Stile
s swallows, his mouth watering because he suddenly, desperately, needs Dereks dic
k in his mouth.
Come here, he gasps, gesturing at Derek. Fuck, come here.
Dereks eyes darken, pupils expanding so theres only a thin ring of bright blue sho
wing around their edges, and shifts forward, straddling Stiles chest. You sure? he
breathes, fisting the base of his cock, eyeing Stiles mouth hungrily.
Please, Stiles says, a little desperately. Derek licks his lips and leans forward,
guiding himself into Stiles waiting mouth, and Stiles moans around him, his hand
s coming up to dig into Dereks hips. Derek moves carefully, the breath hissing ou
t of him as he shifts his hips in and out. Its not awesome the angles not right fo
r Stiles to take him as deep as hed like but at the time its great because Stiles
his lips wrapped around the velvety smooth length of him, and Dereks groaning abo
ve him, hands pressed flat against the wall to keep his balance. Stiles may not
be able to dissect Dereks scent like Derek can with his, but the smell of him is
strong here, warm and rich and comforting like autumn air.
Maybe they lose themselves a little, some of the care falling away from Derek, t
hrusting harder, panting harshly. Stiles closes his eyes and relaxes his jaw, fi
ngers kneading at the firm swell of Dereks ass. One of his hands drops, fingertip
brushing against Dereks hole, and Stiles hears his breath hitch, hips stuttering
. Oh, Stiles thinks wickedly, and presses harder, teasing at his entrance. Derek
groans, one of his hands leaving the wall to cup Stiles jaw, fingers tracing his
cheek. Stiles opens his eyes to look up at Derek and finds his eyes closed, hea
d thrown back, mouth open. Its pure joy to watch his face when Stiles presses a f
inger inside of him his cheeks flood red, eyes open in surprise. Dereks whole bod
y jolts forward and he comes without warning, shooting down Stiles throat with a
groan.
Oh my god, Derek wheezes immediately, carefully pulling out of Stiles mouth. Jesus,
Im sorry
Dont you dare apologize, Stiles replies dreamily, wiping at his mouth with the back
of his hand. That was amazing.
Derek sinks down slowly, looking slightly uncertain. Stiles rubs his palms over
Dereks thighs and says reassuringly, Im not gonna break. He adds, his voice dropping
lower, You looked so fucking good. I wanna suck you off every day.
Derek flushes and drops his head, a small tremor running through his body. Stile
s squeezes his leg. What do you want, Der?
Derek flushes darker, right down to his chest, but he meets Stiles eyes firmly. I
want to get you off.
s not going to be hard, Stiles admits woefully.
Derek grins, sinking back down next to him. Good thing theres plenty of time left
in the day.
Mm, I like the sound of that, Stiles says, pulling himself on top of Derek. Ythink y
ou can get it up soon? Id really like to get fucked.
I can do that, Derek replies, trailing his fingers along Stiles jaw. Or you can fuck
me.
Can I? Stiles brightens. Dyou have lube?
Derek pushes him aside and leans over the edge of the bed, resurfacing with a pl
astic bag. I picked some stuff up the other day, he says triumphantly.
You are so thoughtful, Stiles says cheerfully, nudging Derek with his knee as he t
ugs off his underwear. He hisses faintly as the cool air touches his bare skin i
t feels amazing, but he knows Dereks going to feel even better.
Derek smiles shyly as he pulls a tube of lube out of the bag and hands it to Sti
les. Do you want a condom? I got those too.
Only if you want me to wear one, Stiles says, rubbing a hand against Dereks knee. D
erek shakes his head and chucks the bag back on the floor. Stiles laughs and sin
ks back down on top of him, framing Dereks head with his arms so he can lean in a
nd kiss him silly. Derek hums, sounding pleased, and curls his arms around Stile
s shoulders, hands firm against his skin. He seems reluctantly to let go when Sti
les moves backwards, but he smiles when Stiles catches one of his hands, pressin
g kisses to his palm and the rough, calloused pads of his fingertips.
When Stiles sinks between his legs he doesnt move right away, absently rubbing hi
s cheek against the soft skin of Dereks inner thigh. He smells like sweat now the
whole room smells like sex; even Stiles human senses can pick that up and its hea
dy. He closes his eyes while he opens the lube, squeezing a small amount onto hi
s fingers.
You okay? Derek asks quietly.
Stiles opens his eyes and looks up at him with a smile. Yeah. You?
Never better, Derek says, one corner of his mouth quirking up. Stiles keeps his ey
es focused on Dereks face when he presses a finger inside him, watching the way h
e throws his head back against the pillows, exposing the long, pale line of his
throat. Stiles swallows at the sight; hes going to get his mouth all over that as
soon as hes inside. The thought makes him move faster, rapidly stretching Derek
with one finger, then two, then three.
Youre so good, Stiles murmurs, watching the muscles in Dereks torso strain as he res
ists shoving back against Stiles hand. Stiles straightens and rubs his hands agai
nst Dereks thighs, fingers digging into the tense muscle. Derek groans at the los
s of Stiles fingers, tossing his head impatiently, his cheeks flushed. Dont worry, S
tiles says soothingly, slicking his cock with lube. Im not going anywhere.
Dereks eyes land on Stiles face, burning neon blue. Fuck me, he snarls.
You shouldnt make demands of the person about to dick you, Stiles reprimands lightl
y, holding on to the base of his cock so he can guide himself inside so achingly
slow.
Fuck that, Derek snaps, and jolts his hips back, shoving himself against Stiles in
one sharp movement. Stiles hisses and falls forward onto his hands, struggling
to match Dereks pace.
Dude, he hisses. Weve got all day, remember?
I know, Derek replies, pulling him down for a rough kiss, his teeth catching at St
iles lip. I want as much of this as possible.
Oh yeah? Two can play at that game, Stiles decides, tilting his head to sink his t
eeth into Dereks throat. Derek cries out roughly, his body arching off the bed wi
th a shudder. Stiles grins and straightens, pressing Dereks legs forward so he ca
n fuck into him deep and hard. Theres sweat building on him, gathering in the cur
ve of his spine and hollows of his throat and palms of his hands. It makes it ha
rd to hold onto Derek but Derek seems to like it when Stiles digs his fingernail
s in if the way his head tilts back and his mouth falls open is any way to judge
. Dereks hard again, his cock flushed and leaking precome against his stomach, jo
lting with every thrust of Stiles hips.
Stiles isnt going to last much longer at this pace, but he wants to savor this. H
e drops forward again, slowing his pace, and he takes a gamble Dereks not pleased
by the sudden decrease in speed, Stiles can see it in his eyes, and when he tri
es to move his hips and get Stiles going again, Stiles curls a hand over his thr
oat. He doesnt squeeze at all, just keeps his head there with light pressure.
Derek pauses, his lips parting, and Stiles suddenly feels incredibly guilty. Sorr
y, he says quickly, pulling his hand away. I shouldnt have sorry.
Do it, Derek croaks, his eyes wide. Please, fuck
Stiles swallows and puts his hand back on Dereks throat. He squeezes this time, j
ust a little, and Derek throws his head back with a faint noise, his eyes burnin
g such an intense blue that Stiles can see the light reflected off the headboard
and it completely does him in, knowing Derek trusts him so implicitly. So much
for savoring the moment Stiles only gets another couple of thrusts in before he
comes with a weak cry, fingers fluttering against Dereks neck.
He has to stop for a long moment, struggling to catch his breath as his legs sha
ke with residual pleasure. He cant stop completely, though Dereks still hard so he
keeps one hand on Dereks throat and one hand wrapped around his cock and jerks h
im off with all the finesse he can muster, muttering, Youre so good, god, Der, cmon
, come for me, please And Derek throws a hand over his eyes, panting harshly as
he comes, dirtying his stomach with white streaks.
Only then does Stiles collapse next to him, boneless, so hot hes sure steam must
be rising off of him. He watches Derek stare up at the ceiling, watches the rise
and fall of his chest slow. Theres a faint imprint of his hand on Dereks neck and
he shudders, unaware that hed been holding Derek so hard it fades as he watches,
but hed really like to bring it back sometime if Derek will let him.
Dereks eyes slide over to him. He reaches out, brushing his knuckles against Stil
es cheeks. Thanks, he says quietly.
That wasnt I didnt go too far, did I? Stiles asks hesitantly.
No, Derek replies softly. You were perfect.
Stiles smiles, his face flushing with pleasure. Good.
Derek stretches and Stiles watches the way his muscles shift greedily. What do yo
u say? Derek asks. Shower? Breakfast? Round two?
Yes to all of that, Stiles grins. But oh.
Derek gives him a slightly worried look. What is it?
Its already past noon, Stiles informs him.
Oh, Derek says, glancing toward the clock on his nightstand. His shoulders droop. R
ight. Do you have to go in to work?
No, Stiles says solemnly. But no ones serving breakfast anymore. Looks like were gonn
a have to get pizza instead.
Derek rolls his eyes and shoves Stiles into the pillows while Stiles laughs his
head off. Fucker, he murmurs fondly.
Better get used to it, Stiles tells him with a grin. Im not going anywhere.
The way Derek smiles at him, it doesnt look like its going to be a problem.
-
TWO MONTHS LATER
Stiles runs, the sound of his breathing harsh in his ears. There are footsteps p
ounding through the woods behind him, crashing through bushes and snapping twigs
- when he chances a glance over his shoulder, he sees at least three sets of go
lden eyes glowing in the gloom. They're still far off, several hundred years bac
k in the trees, but they're catching up fast. Stiles puts on a burst of speed, h
ands reaching for his utility belt, but he forgot he's not wearing it - he's in
civilian clothes, sneakers on his feet and only a thin tee on top.
Stiles is so busy focusing on the sound of his pursuers that he noticed a tree t
oo late and smacks his shoulder against it. The collision sends him stumbling, a
nd before he can recover, three bodies smack into him, bearing him down into the
damp leaves. Stiles struggles upright with a laugh, grinning down at the kids o
n top of him.
"All right, you caught me fair and square," he says. "That's three times in a ro
w. Don't I get to chase you all now?"
"You're slow," says Paul, who's Laura's oldest son, with a scornful wrinkle of h
is nose. "You'd never catch us."
"That hurts," Stiles replies, pretending to pout. "Where'd everyone else go, any
way?"
As if in answer, a howl rises up through the trees somewhere off to their right.
All the kids shriek excitedly and scramble off him, running back into the trees
. Stiles snags Sam by the back of her shirt and she gives him an exasperated loo
k over her shoulder.
"You seen your dad?" he asks her.
"No," she says, with an impatient little jig. "Lemme go!"
Stiles lets her shirt go and she flies off into the woods with a giggle, leaving
him alone. He can hear the pack somewhere in the distance, laughing together, s
o he heads that way slowly, unhurried. He can hear Laura calling to the kids - i
t's getting late, the full moon hanging high overhead. Stiles isn't worried abou
t being left behind; it's easy enough to see in the moonlight and someone will f
ind him if he gets lost, anyway.
Stiles hasn't gone far before he hears the soft snap of a branch in the trees be
hind him. He pauses, turning to look, but there's nothing to be seen, just silve
ry trees and dark shadows. Stiles starts walking again, a faint smile crossing h
is face. He listens and can hear faint footfalls in the loam behind him. His gri
n widens; he hasn't seen Derek since they entered the woods two hours ago, but h
e knows it's him - if it were a werewolf with malicious intent, he wouldn't hear
them until they were on top of him.
Stiles picks up his pace, jogging through the trees, and he hears Derek do the s
ame. A quick glance over his shoulder rewards him with a flash of blue eyes, onl
y serving to confirm it's Derek - he's the only one in Laura's pack with blue ey
es, and this is their territory; it's highly unlikely to be an unfamiliar werewo
lf.
"Come catch me," Stiles whispers, knowing full well Derek can hear him, and burs
ts into a sprint. He's not as in shape as he was at the police academy - he coul
d run a 5'30" mile back then - but he's still fast. He didn't run all-out for th
e kids but he does now, sweat beading along his spine and temple as he sprints t
hrough the trees. Derek could easily catch him even at Stiles' top speed, but th
ere's no fun in that for either of them. Derek's not bothering to keep quiet now
and the sound of him crashing through the trees behind Stiles sets his blood pu
mping. The uncertainty - not knowing when Derek's going to catch him - is thrill
ing, even if he does shriek in surprise when Derek's arms close around him from
behind five minutes later, swinging him off his feet and bearing him down into t
he leaves.
Stiles is trapped under Derek's weight, stomach-down on the forest floor, leaves
and twigs jabbing at his skin. It's not comfortable, but all he can focus on is
Derek's breath, hot against the back of his neck, on the slow way he drags his
lips against Stiles' skin, every place their bodies connect. Derek pulls Stiles'
hands above his head, lacing their fingers together.
"You gonna eat me up?" Stiles breathes. He's hard already, pumped full of adrena
line from the chase. He wonders how he smells to Derek, already wet and leaking
into his underwear. He squirms under Derek; he could throw Derek if he wanted to
- he's got the training - but he likes the feeling of being helpless, trapped u
nder Derek's weight. "You better take me home soon unless you planning on taking
me right here."
"Don't tempt me," Derek murmurs, nipping at his throat. He shifts his weight, al
lowing Stiles room to roll onto his back. He touches his nose to Stiles', eyes h
alf-closed and burning electric blue in the darkness. "You have no idea how badl
y I want to."
"Oh, I think I do," Stiles replied, pressing his knee against Derek's crotch. He
can feel Derek, already hard and hot, and Derek hisses, dropping down onto one
elbow so he can dig his blunt teeth into Stiles' throat. Stiles groans, his back
arching, fingers scrabbling at Derek's back. "Seriously," he pants, when Derek
unlatches his teeth and licks at the tender spot he's just made with long, slow
sweeps of his tongue, "Der, seriously, I'm going to have a repeat of the drive-i
n if you don't make some kind of decision now."
Derek tilts his head back and laughs, full-throated and joyous, and he bumps his
nose against Stiles' once more before getting to his feet. "Well," he says seri
ously, offering Stiles a hand, "this sounds pretty dire. I think Laura will unde
rstand if we duck out early."
"Are you kidding me?" Stiles replies cheerfully, looping an arm around Derek's w
aist as they begin walking off through the trees. "Laura's going to know exactly
why and she'll start offering tips."
Derek groans quietly. "Maybe we shouldn't say anything, then. Just sneak off whe
n she's not looking."
Stiles laughs. "I love how embarrassed your sister makes you."
"Number one reason why we're never hooking up in the woods," Derek grumbles. "If
she stumbled across us we wouldn't hear the end of it for years, and you know s
he'd find us somehow."
"Bummer," Stiles sighs. He's still sporting a half-chub, though it's receding no
w that his body's not pumping with adrenaline. "I don't think I've ever been tha
t turned on."
Derek makes a soft, bemused noise, pressing his nose to Stiles' temple. "Laura's
not below bribery," he rumbles. "Twist her arm hard enough and she'll watch Sam
during the full moon. We can reenact our run tonight."
"With a different ending, right?" Stiles grins.
"A very different ending," Derek agrees, his voice dropping an octave, making St
iles shudder.
Theyre getting close to the house now lights can be seen through the trees, faint
voices echoing through the wood. Erica laughs somewhere, her distinctive hyena
cackle bouncing off the trees. Its midwinter, and now that Stiles has stopped run
ning hes cold in just a tee shirt, shaking. Hes looking forward to going back to D
ereks, to tumble into his bed and get his body running hot again.
Derek stops him at the edge of the tree line though, the arm hes looped around St
iles shoulders tightening. Stiles looks wistfully toward the house, at the rest o
f the pack trailing toward the back door. Laura promised Tim would make hot choc
olate and Stiles has had enough of Tims cooking over the past few months that hes
willing to delay sex for a few more minutes just to try it out. He doesnt try to
make a move for the house, though, waiting patiently for whatever move Dereks goi
ng to make.
Derek shifts his weight around, his eyes on the house. Stiles follows his gaze a
nd sees Cora carrying Sam. He leans his weight against Derek, his body warm with
cheer despite the cold. Its been a long couple of months since the whole affair
with Kate, even longer since that first day hed met Derek with kids hanging off h
im, and he loves Derek more every day. Hed said so for the first time a couple of
weeks ago after sitting on the words for ages, and hed barely been able to get t
hem out, murmuring them into Dereks throat while theyd laid on the couch late one
night watching Finding Nemo, of all things, with Sam asleep on the floor in fron
t of the television. It hadnt exactly been romantic but Derek hadnt seemed to mind
, inhaling against Stiles hair before returning with a soft, Love you too.
Whatre you thinking about? Stiles asks now, tilting his head against Dereks shoulder
.
Derek exhales quietly and says, Move in.
Stiles looks at him with a frown. What?
Move in, Derek repeats, hesitatingly only a fraction of a second. To the house. Wit
h us.
Stiles lips part, his mouth going dry. You you mean that?
Derek nods, meeting Stiles eyes steadily. I want you around, he says. All the time.
I what about Sam? Stiles asks, his throat tightening.
We talked about it, Derek says simply. You can ask her what she thinks.
I will, Stiles says, taking a step away from him. Dereks arm falls from his shoulde
r and Dereks face goes carefully blank.
You dont have to say yes, Derek tells him. You can think about it or you can say no.
It was just an idea
Youre a big sap, Derek Hale, Stiles announces, a grin spreading across his face. And
I wouldnt want you any other way.
Derek blinks, then a faint, hesitant smile tugs at his lips. So? he prods.
Hell yes, Stiles answers. A thousand times yes. You think theres any way in hell tha
t I could ever say no to you?
You have, Derek says, the smile on his face betraying the solemn intonation of his
voice. I asked you the other day if you wanted jam on your toast and you said no
.
Because grape jelly is the devils invention, Stiles retorts, reaching out to grab D
ereks hand. Everyone knows that strawberry is Gods chosen flavor.
Derek rolls his eyes, reeling Stiles in for a soft kiss. Im glad you want to move
in, he murmurs against Stiles lips. Even if my taste in jams is sinful.
Someones got to keep your daughter pure of heart, Stiles replies quietly. Might as w
ell be me.
Hell never get over the way Derek smiles when hes truly happy, the way his eyes cr
inkle up at the corners and his rabbit teeth make an appearance. Hes still smilin
g when they get inside and Laura looks at them suspiciously, her nostrils flarin
g noticeably. They must pass muster, though, because she hands them each a mug o
f hot chocolate and pats Derek on the back. Sam wanders up and slips her hand in
to Stiles, rubbing wearily at her eyes, and even better than the hot chocolate is
the way Dereks eyes go soft and liquid when he looks at them. Family, Stiles thi
nks, golden happiness flooding his veins. He sets down his mug.
Come on, Stiles says quietly, reaching for Dereks hand. Lets go home.