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@killerblueeyesxprettybluedude
the complications of memory. every time you try to remember something, you rewrite it, just a little. it’s not a video you’re replaying in your head. it’s a story you’re telling yourself. it’s a puzzle where the pieces keep changing.
the more stiles looks at them, the less he’s sure he knows anything at all.
werewolf memory doesn’t work like that. with his claws in derek’s neck, peter can play anything back instantly.
but even then, you still need somebody to do it for you.
getting shot always sucks. but eli’s still safe and sound at his granddad’s, and derek heals quickly. no one has to worry about it.
stiles stays close anyway. reaching out, constantly.
honestly, it’s a pretty nice feeling.
but for old time’s sake, derek makes a show of putting up with it. shaking his head, and rolling his eyes dramatically. maybe even letting out a begrudging sigh or two.
it’s just not exactly convincing, these days.
not with how much he keeps smiling whenever stiles is around.
part one / part two
“i hate this advent calendar,” stiles says, as derek digs shrapnel from his chest. “that’s the last time i get you 25 days of bullet fragments, i swear to god.”
but he treats it, burns the poison out, stays close. hissing when derek writhes a little bit, scrubbing at his shoulder apologetically.
derek breathing him in, and choking on too many feelings.
“whoa,” stiles says, and pulls back a little. “whoa, hey, look at me. what’s wrong?”
but it’s nothing. nothing, nothing is.
it’s just really good to see him.
“you have to be very careful with your omega,” a voice says behind derek.
he turns sharply. catches his breath, and breathes.
“didn’t i tell you to stop doing that?” he says.
peter looks at him innocently.
“alpha,” he says. “what do you think that means?”
“it means stop sneaking up on me,” derek says, and tries to just keep walking home without listening anymore, but peter says, “it means that if you’re not exceedingly careful, the culmination of even the most well-meaning courtship can leave a trusting omega irreparably traumatized.”
“so i’ll be careful,” derek says, and peter says, “of course, even the most delicate approach will be painful for your poor omega.”
“no it won’t,” derek says. “i’ll—obviously i’ll be careful, the first time. very careful.”
it feels wrong even talking about stiles like this. even thinking of him like that. your poor omega.
peter’s obviously never met an omega like stiles. which is probably for the best, the way he’s talking about it.
derek’s never gonna be that kind of alpha. unless someone like that comes near stiles, maybe.
but only to protect him from it.
it takes peter a million years to finally say what about alphas is actually so much more dangerous for omegas. and by then, derek’s half-sure peter just means that alphas have stronger hormones. which everyone knows, and which you learn to rein in in like the first year of puberty if you’re not a complete dick, so hopefully it’s obvious that derek doesn’t need an extra warning.
but then peter’s like, “i’m talking about knotting.”
and that’s something that derek’s never even thought about before.
“that’s real?” he says, and peter’s immediately too pleased with himself. “i mean, nice try. i know that’s not real.”
“oh, but it is,” peter says. “though there are half a dozen terms for it. the lover’s lock is my favorite, personally.”
“you’re fucking with me,” derek says, and peter says, “i’m warning you.”
but… that can’t just be normal. just because derek’s an alpha, he’s not just gonna, automatically…
“do omegas know?” derek says, and then, “how do i stop it? or control it, or whatever it is. how do i make it not a bad thing?”
if stiles, if he was with stiles? if everything went right, somehow, leading up to it, if stiles liked him, and trusted him, and then, suddenly—
“so you see why i felt the need to warn you,” peter says, and derek nods, and nods.
but there has to be a way to stop it. there has to be.
to—concentrate on something else, until it becomes a muscle he can relax when it happens. or to—take care of it, himself, ahead of time, so when he’s with stiles, he can just be normal.
but if it really is that dangerous? maybe alphas shouldn’t date omegas at all.
if the risk’s that high? maybe it’s just not worth it.
but there’s no good way to explain it. why he’s suddenly pulling back, when stiles is kissing him, why derek keeps slowing them down.
“whoa,” stiles says, like there’s already some sign of it on derek’s face. “wait, wait. derek, hey. what just happened?”
“what?” derek says, and then, “it’s nothing.”
“yeah, i always break away mid-makeout when it’s nothing,” stiles jokes, but derek doesn’t laugh, and stiles’ eyes widen. “no, seriously. do you wanna, like, stop?”
no. but maybe that’s why the answer should be an unequivocal yes.
or, what do you think about knotting? because i’m starting to think i shouldn’t trust myself.
but that feels way too forward.
so really, there’s no good answer.
“break time,” stiles decides, and derek nods. “chill time, bro time.”
that, derek’s less sure about. but stiles puts an arm around him, and kind of slumps in against derek’s shirt.
it can’t just be normal. but even if it is, derek’s not gonna be one more asshole alpha.
whatever it takes to keep things safe, he’ll do it. and if there’s really no way around it? then they just won’t.
nothing’s worth stiles being traumatized.
in which eli’s dad comes back to life as s1 derek, trying to make sense of a beacon hills he doesn’t recognize. a hale kid he’s never met before but trusts more than anyone. a hale kid who wants to take him to see stiles.
and of course stiles is involved in this. of course he is.
but derek’s heart drops as eli stops the car outside the hospital.
eli wants to go in first, make sure stiles is up for having visitors. he tells derek to stay in the car.
and nothing’s ever felt less real, nothing. but derek can’t exactly breathe.
not until he’s picking stiles’ scent out from the rest of it, listening for his heartbeat. and finding it, and shuddering.
focusing on it, and on eli’s, as stiles’ door opens.
but there’s something wrong with eli’s scent. as his voice goes quiet, as he takes stiles in.
“it’s not that bad,” stiles tries, but derek’s already stumbling from the car.
speeding toward him, vision blurring.
part one / part two / part three / part four / part five
it kind of freezes stiles when he realizes. when he realizes the insane risk derek took, even thinking of helping him.
when emory could’ve, if he knew…
it’s kind of… unbelievably horrifying. and stiles had derek going on snack runs.
unprotected, alone.
well, that’s over now.
they’ll go together, from now on. keeping close, no one’ll question it. everyone knows omegas don’t date other omegas.
and derek has the red eyes, and the growl. for most people, it’s a good trick.
from the outside, it’ll look like derek owns him.
the mark on stiles’ wrist is still stinging. but that’s good, it’s good.
it’s good to have the reminder. to not glance down, and panic trying to find it.
as long as he has it, derek doesn’t. and that’s more than worth it.
these days, derek sleeps almost easy.
in which derek’s kidnapped again, tortured again. all of that’s happened so often, it practically feels normal.
he always heals quickly. a few days, maximum.
and it takes about five minutes for him and stiles to get back to bantering.
but this time, he’s just… really, really out of it. stumbling back in terror of anyone who isn’t stiles.
“whoa, hey, hey, it’s okay! it’s okay, it’s just scott.”
there’s maybe a half-second of recognition. of forced-exhaled breath, and clarity.
but even as derek moves back, he’s trembling.
in which eli tracks stiles to his hospital room. stiles suddenly working overtime to prove he’s fine, this is nothing. eli, what are you doing here? where’s your dad?
eli just shakes his head, and stiles can’t make the same mistake twice.
he says, “did something happen?”
and eli says, “you’re not gonna believe me.”
in which, years ago, stiles gifted eli a giant bear-shaped pillow. and whenever he has a job out of town, he lends eli the last hoodie he was wearing.
by now, the two are one and the same. the bear bundled in the hoodie, eli clinging to it.
seeing that, you’d think stiles was gone for a really long time.
but even derek can’t stand it, sometimes. coming home, and barely catching the scent of him.
he always sleeps easier when eli crawls into his bed with his bear in tow. derek kissing his son’s hair, arranging the bear’s fluffy arms around him.
maybe they’re legs, actually. the bear’s only vaguely bear-shaped. it’s not really clear. beyond a head, and two long limb-things.
the paws have claws, just like eli does. just a lot more soft, and fuzzy.
thanks to stiles, eli’s never been afraid of shifting.
part one / part two / part three / part four / part five
stiles stiffens when he spots the mark down the back of derek’s collar.
“what the fuck is that?”
a barbed triskelion. kate never really had a good reason.
i don’t know, puppy. maybe i just think it’s pretty.
or maybe that was just one more thing she was lying about.
“this would be such a funny time to find out that you’re a nazi.”
“what?” derek says, and stiles says, “but i know you’re not. you’re not, right?”
“no,” derek says. “why would you ask me that?”
“because that’s like a famous symbol?” stiles says. “for, for neo-nazis. i don’t remember where, but the picture sure sticks in the mind.”
and of course. of course it is.
it couldn’t have just been painful. she had to ruin him.
“so it’s, it’s just an ignorant tattoo.” stiles is nodding, and nodding. relaxing, again. “yeah. you could just remove it. or like, get it turned into… i don’t know. a weird radioactive symbol.”
“i can’t remove it,” derek says.
“oh,” stiles says. he’s starting to head back to tense. “because it’s, what, too sentimental?”
“because it’s a mark,” derek says, and he can’t believe he’s talking about this. can’t believe stiles hasn’t figured it out by now, on his own. “i’m sure emory put his mark on you—”
“fuck you,” stiles says, and then, “wait. what did you… what do you mean?”
his voice is so quiet. careful, like he already knows.
“someone did that to you?” he says.
derek’s already peeling his shirt off. just showing him, admitting it. it can’t be worse than what he already thinks.
“oh my god,” stiles says. touching the mark without thinking, and derek gasps.
“sorry!” stiles says. “sorry, oh my god. that’s an open freaking wound, why isn’t it closing?”
but marks don’t heal. they don’t close. it’s a message, and a warning.
a reminder. this is someone else’s property. stay away.
“this doesn’t make any freaking sense,” stiles says. “you’re the alpha.”
“am i?” derek says, and stiles goes pale.
it’s always good to be a disappointment. it’s a good reminder. who you are, really.
“but you’re a werewolf,” stiles says, and derek nods slowly. “and you, your eyes go…”
derek flashes his eyes obligingly.
“right, that!” stiles says. “exactly! that doesn’t mean alpha?”
well, not exactly.
“i’m an alpha werewolf,” derek says. “because my pack is dead. because i’m the last one.”
but there’s another word for that, too. even stiles should know that.
“omega,” stiles says. “you’re an omega.” and the rest of it comes to him easily. “that’s how you had blockers for me. you just had them, you didn’t have to find someone who could…”
moving back to the mark, carefully. he leaves his hand hovering over it, now.
traces the swollen skin around it.
“does it hurt? it looks…” some new shake in his voice, he’s horrified. “it looks like it’s poisoning you.”
“i’m fine,” derek says.
“no, you’re not,” stiles says. “this is crazy.” his hand is tracing everywhere, now. down derek’s tensed spine, up his side. “is this even recent? how long…”
“eight years ago,” derek says, and stiles’ hand freezes on his shoulder.
“eight years?”
it doesn’t matter. it’s not new, he’s used to it.
but the shake in stiles’ voice has him shuddering.
“sorry, i’m sorry,” stiles says, but he didn’t do anything wrong. he can’t help being shaken by it. finding out that his guard dog is nothing more than a disguised bitch himself. “oh my god, derek. it really never heals?”
no. of course not.
that wouldn’t be any fun.
“i wanna get it off you,” stiles says, and derek nods. “right now, i want...”
and derek’s gonna cover it up, now that he knows. he’ll find some kind of paint that will cover it. or maybe he’ll just tear the rest of his back open, and let it all blend together for a while. rake his claws through the shape, force it unrecognizable.
“how about none of the above?” stiles says. he’s gone back to tracing. “how do you get rid of it? a mark.”
you don’t. that’s the short answer. nine times out of ten, it’s just done.
there isn’t supposed to be a way out of it.
“and the other one?” stiles says. “one out of ten. why wouldn’t you do that one?”
because—it’s not exactly better. and even in the best case scenario, you’re still gonna be owned by someone.
but say there was another alpha. he can mark over it, and make his claim. the first one should fade after that.
“do i wanna know what make his claim means?” stiles says.
derek says nothing at all.
“and that’s it,” stiles says. “the only way out of it.”
well. there is one other part.
the only thing keeping derek sane, when stiles’ eyes water, when he swallows. when even what derek can take isn’t close to enough, and stiles is sorry.
“when they die,” derek says. “that’s supposed to erase it, along with any other wounds they caused. as soon as emory’s dead, stiles? you’re not gonna feel a thing from him.”
“we’re not talking about me right now,” stiles says. “who am i killing to get rid of this? because i’ll do it.”
he probably would. or he’d try, and get caught again.
oh, puppy. you brought a new toy? for me?
derek’s vision goes blood-red at the thought. goes dark, and hollow, and he blocks stiles with his body before he can take a breath.
“i don’t want you anywhere near her,” he says, and stiles says, “so it’s a her, huh?”
“stop,” derek says tightly. it’s the worst version of his nightmares. everything else, and stiles.
her leaving stiles for him.
did you get my present? sorry to re-gift again. he just wasn’t my size, you know?
“that’s what happened to your pack, isn’t it,” stiles says. “some sick alpha, once you were chosen. like what emory did to my dad, before...”
derek says nothing. feels nothing, thinks nothing at all.
“you told me you killed eleven people.”
“stop it,” derek says. he means it harsh, but it comes out begging.
stiles stops.
he goes back to tracing, but he stops that too when derek shudders again.
“i know you don’t think that i...” stiles says, and derek’s eyes burn. “you don’t think it’s my fault. even though my dad’s dead because of me.”
it’s not the same. it’s not, it’s not.
“yeah it is,” stiles says.
he covers the mark with his hands. like he can make it disappear, if he just concentrates enough. or tame the fire, make it die down for a while.
somehow stiles just trying makes it easier to breathe through. it shouldn’t, but it does. it should be worse, now, more sensitive the more stiles’ palms press close, make it angrier. it’s a punishment, it’s ownership. it doesn’t want anyone else’s hands on him.
but stiles sucks a sharp breath through his teeth, and then there’s—no fire, just a cool numbness. and then, not even numbness, or prickling. the lingering heat of her eyes on him, the sharp electric charge turning his muscles raw.
“what did you just do?” derek says, and stiles says, “i don’t know. i just… wanted it gone.”
stroking at the place where it was, now, soothing it. nothing about touch there should feel soothing.
somehow, it does.
“it’s better?” stiles says, and there’s nothing derek can say. that’s impossible. i know that’s impossible, its job is to make me regret my whole life.
and it works! it always works. and it feels wrong, not feeling it now. like i’m getting away with something.
it’s impossible to speak. it’s impossible, stiles still touching him.
still trying to make up for it. but there’s nothing there anymore.
“you did something,” derek says, finally, and stiles holds out his hand. tilts his wrist a little toward him.
“i didn’t know if i could,” stiles says. “i just... i had to try.”
it doesn’t make any sense, but derek takes stiles’ hand, looks at it. and at first, it just looks like the dark freckle next to it. just another mole scattered around his skin.
but it’s the mark. a shrunk-down, distorted version.
“it doesn’t hurt me,” stiles says. “i mean, it stings, but barely. it’s like a little mosquito bite.”
it’s impossible. impossible, but that’s not where the pain is.
and derek knows all his other wounds already.
“how,” derek says, and it’s hard not to go speechless again. “how did you…”
“i’ve done a couple of weird things before,” stiles says. “like... i can break mountain ash. not by hand, but kind of by... waving it apart. and, and believing that it’ll break open.”
“magic,” derek says, and stiles says, “that might be overselling it. and i couldn’t do anything when it counted the most, so...” scoffing, a little, swiping at his eyes. “still think my dad wasn’t my fault?”
no. not at all, no.
“yeah, except you don’t know,” stiles says, and now his voice is getting rougher and rougher. “he was still alive when i found him. and i couldn’t... i don’t know, i couldn’t think at all.”
of course not. of course not, of course he couldn’t.
when it’s your dad?
“i guess... i was just a little too light on the belief, in that moment,” stiles says, and derek says nothing, for a while. as stiles sniffs, and derek does the only thing he can think to do.
he takes his pain. touching his pulse points, wrapping an arm around him.
stiles slumps slightly, shuts his eyes against his throat.
dips his head a little further against his shoulder.
settling, slowly. but still trembling, and derek’s never been angrier.
holding him, drawing him closer.
stiles, that some alpha hurt stiles. stole him, and tore his family away.
made his dad into a lesson.
you with me, puppy? i don't think it’s worth fighting me anymore, huh? now that you understand what it’s gonna cost you.
no, that’s what i thought.
“i will kill him,” derek says. “emory. i promise you. slowly. and i’m gonna send you a video.”
“or we kidnap him,” stiles says. “see how he likes it. being an omega’s plaything.”
“two omegas,” derek says, and stiles looks up at him.
his eyes are impossibly warm.
“two of us,” he says, and sniffs again. “and then yours, too. no one gets away with it.”
“no one,” derek says.
he’s never liked the word before. omega. but it’s different with stiles this close.
with stiles this close, it’s the only thing he wants to be.
“and after yours, we’ll keep going,” stiles says, and derek nods. “have a nice revenge roadtrip. you and me.”
every alpha who thinks that they can do anything. that no one can stop them, that they’re safe.
“what’s the most poetic method for yours?” stiles says, and derek hesitates, for a second.
then he says, “fire.”
“count on it, then,” stiles says. “one nice, creative belt murder... and then we’re gonna burn it all down.”
“count on it,” derek says, and stiles presses his lips to his shoulder. covers the spot where the mark was, something sharp glinting in his eyes.
“they’re gonna regret it,” he says. “bringing us together.”
and derek nods.
part one / part two / part three / part four / part five
the wounds are worse in the morning. that’s human healing, it’s all backwards.
stiles yelps when derek reaches out. stares at him, as the pain slips up derek’s arm.
“you can do that?” he says. “he always could’ve done that for me?”
he’s shaking. and derek’s vision is very red again.
“tell me,” he says. “if the pain comes back. it’s nothing.”
but it’s easier to just keep holding him.
“werewolf heroin,” stiles says. his voice is softer, some of the tension easing in his spine. “you’re gonna get me addicted.”
“to not hurting? good,” derek says.
stiles’ gaze flickers over his face for a while. “why can’t every alpha be like you, huh?”
and derek says nothing at all.
it’s easier. until stiles is shuddering awake, caught up in the kind of terror that can’t be swallowed down. his breaths slow a little bit with derek’s hand on his shoulder, but derek doesn’t say anything until stiles does. he’s the one who gets to decide how the day’s gonna go.
“my dad,” stiles starts, low, but his throat’s too sore to make a sound. there are tears in his eyes from even trying.
derek gets him water. and then more, and maybe he’ll get—there are throat things. lozenges that make it a little easier.
“cough drops,” stiles says, when he can talk again. “just not the mentholated ones. i like a nice, not-numb tongue, thanks.”
the other ones are pretty much candy. and of course stiles knows that.
“active ingredient: pectin,” he says. “so, eat an apple, stiles. eat jam.”
but it’s different. somehow. it’s worth... whatever the difference is.
“cherry luden’s,” stiles says, when derek gets back. “and ricola, aren’t you thorough.”
mom always had those. she swore it helped with her control. something sensory she could focus on, something she couldn’t help but notice.
derek hasn’t thought about that in a long time.
“my dad was a luden’s guy,” stiles says. “but only the gross menthol flavored ones. i guess he used to smoke? i don’t know.”
his voice goes quieter when he mentions his dad. he unwraps a cherry cough drop, turns the wrapper over and over in his hands.
folds it up, smaller and smaller.
“how much did you know?” he says. “before you took the job, i guess. or after. what did you think you were gonna have to do?”
“there were rumors about emory for a long time,” derek says. “that he was—buying off police. certain officers, especially. and nobody just does that out of the kindness of their hearts.”
“so you were like, undercover,” stiles says. “the whole time? looking for something bad enough to shut him down.”
“i’m not an officer,” derek says. “i just hear things.”
“concerned citizen,” stiles says, and derek nods.
“i have, let’s call it a violent streak. it might as well be useful.”
“all that stuff about being the tiger,” stiles says, and derek’s face goes hot.
“that wasn’t—that was a metaphor. that’s all.”
“fursona,” stiles says.
“i’m not sure i wanna know what that means.”
“like, if you were an animal,” stiles says, and derek says, “you do know that i’m a werewolf.”
“a different animal,” stiles says. “that you choose. and then you buy a weirdly expensive and ugly fur-suit, and go to conventions to hump people. and work in tech, apparently. and in programming, and the military.”
“you seem to know a lot about this.”
“i’m a historian,” stiles says. “well, i was. a documentarian of culture.”
was turns the world a little red again.
“whoa,” stiles says. “who we planning to Hulk Smash?”
but derek doesn’t have to actually say the name.
stiles just looks down.
“he killed my dad,” he says. “did you know that?”
derek says nothing. but his vision fills up with his own bare hands.
with blood pounding in his ears, and his hands around emory’s throat.
and stiles behind him, stiles standing tall. a safe distance away.
watching.
part one / part two / part three / part four / part five
it occurs to derek, eventually, that this is nesting. that this would be, if he was—if stiles were—if this were a very different story.
he’s giving him shelter. because the alternative is handing him back to a psychopath. he’s bringing him food. because without it, he’d starve.
he’s not drinking through the night anymore. because he needs to be alert, and ready.
until he finds stiles somewhere safe.
nights are harder. sleeping’s always gonna be dangerous. when at any moment, emory could come back to haunt him.
and even after giving in, agreeing to stay here while stiles recovers, derek never planned on sleeping in the same room as him.
he didn’t really plan on sleeping at all. that's how it was before he found a drink strong enough to keep a werewolf down. he didn’t sleep, and he got angrier, and then eventually, he ran himself into a wall and crashed for a few days. rinse and repeat.
“well that sounds like it sucks,” stiles says, and his voice is rough from screaming. he didn’t believe derek the first few seconds he shook him awake.
but it always goes like that. and even once you know where you are, there’s still the feeling. like where you thought you were is still the real one, even as the details disappear.
and wherever stiles was, it wasn’t a good place.
“genius in the house,” stiles says, but he doesn’t try to talk about it. or just try to talk past it, force the conversation back into lighter territory. he dips his head, breathes deeply against his knees for a while.
“i could go,” derek says, and stiles says, “it’s worse when you're not here. when i can’t tell where i am, it’s a million times worse.”
“there could be something,” derek says. “a lamp, or something. some kind of reminder.”
“a sign,” stiles says. “‘that’s over, dummy! calm down.’”
“exactly like that,” derek says.
“see? you do make jokes,” stiles says. “you’re just so dry with it. covert joke agent.”
his breaths are almost back to normal.
“you really don’t sleep?” he says. “how long until you crash now?”
it could be hours. or a few days, or somewhere in between.
“there’s no way that’s healthy,” stiles says, and derek says, “i don't think i said it’s healthy. it’s manageable.”
“it’s bullshit,” stiles says. “you’re gonna get brain damage. or, or early dementia... you could die from not sleeping.”
“i’m fine,” derek says, and stiles says, “i don’t care. lie down right now.”
but he doesn’t wait for derek to make a decision. he’s already grabbing his arm.
it shouldn’t work, stiles moving him. werewolves are generally a lot stronger. stiles would know that better than a lot of people.
but it does work, somehow. stiles rolling over, giving derek space.
“don’t hurt yourself,” derek says, and stiles says, “it’s barely even bad. it’s nothing.”
it’s not. but stiles says, “fine, you can glare at it all in the morning. close your eyes.”
derek knows the fizzing darkness inside of his eyelids too well. knows the shape the blur turns into, after a while.
when your stomach drops, and you’re trapped in it.
“easy,” stiles says. “you’re not gonna see that. you’re gonna see me.”
somehow reading his face again. or his spine, or the catch of his breath.
“that’s gonna be the whole dream,” stiles says. “just me, okay? just me talking to you. probably boring you to tears, have you ever seen lord of the rings? well, it’s gonna be a wildly faithful recap. with bonus commentary. viggo mortensen broke his toe for real! i bet you didn’t know that, huh? kicking the thing.”
“the thing,” derek says, and stiles says, “yeah, i also don’t remember huge parts of it. i might have to improvise.”
there isn’t a dream. just stiles, in the morning, curled on his side next to him.
derek closes his eyes again.
part one / part two / part three / part four / part five
omegaverse au. humans don’t heal like wolves do. but for now, the wounds are manageable. stiles will manage, with them.
it’s nothing he hasn’t done before.
with this new target on his back, derek’s never been luckier to have no family. no close associates, no friends.
he’s kidnapped stiles, but he leaves him alone. he’s not the monster emory is.
he’ll get stiles somewhere safe, and he’ll swear he lost him.
stiles doesn’t take being saved as well as you’d think.
it takes him four hours to get bored.
“you’re bored,” derek says. “you’d be more entertained, if he was still terrorizing you.”
“i don’t know, it’s the adrenaline,” stiles says. “it gets addictive. i’m really fucked up now,” he adds, and his voice shakes. “in case you haven’t... noticed, i’m not exactly...”
derek has no idea what to say to that. he has no idea.
he says nothing. and stiles says, “hey, sourwolf. anyone in there?”
“derek,” derek says, finally.
“derek,” stiles says, and looks at him assessingly. “you don’t look like a derek.”
“funny,” derek says. “you look exactly like a stiles to me.”
“heh, he’s got jokes,” stiles says. “there’s a sense of humor under that dour face.”
he’s still wincing. and a flash of rage lights derek’s vision red for a second.
standing over emory, wrapping that belt around his throat—
but he quiets his head, eventually.
the scent blockers kick in soon enough. stiles could—go for a walk, if he keeps his head down, if he’s careful.
“no thank you,” stiles says, and derek can’t blame him. but one of them has to, because stiles eats his way through everything derek thought to grab in the forty seconds before there were guns on them.
“you could’ve told me,” stiles says, ridiculously stubborn for someone who, half a day ago, had to modulate every expression on his face. “i would’ve grabbed stuff too, if i knew you were actually planning a prison break.”
bold of him to think that wouldn’t’ve gotten him tackled on the spot. and maybe he knows that, deep down.
“whatever, i could've done something,” he says, like derek’s wearing all that on his face. “i could’ve grabbed the nearest blunt object...”
like he isn't hurt badly enough. derek’s jaw locks tight.
“fine, great,” stiles says grumpily. “i was a total damsel. feel better?”
there’s nothing better about it. nothing short of a nightmare.
there are some jobs where, the second you take them, you need a plan. either getting out and taking it all down when they least expect it, or going out fighting, taking out as many of them as you can.
but this one had stiles. stiles, who grabbed his arm before derek could leave the safe house. who said, “don’t you dare freaking leave me alone here. after that?”
“it’s safe,” derek said. “fortified. he can’t track your scent.”
“yeah, and not to sound ungrateful or anything, but... what, do i just live here now?”
“he’s gonna be looking for you,” derek said, and stiles said, “yes, thank you. so i’m just waiting for him to die?”
“something like that,” derek said. stiles raised his eyebrows at him, whistled.
“i hope that’s half as foreboding as your face thinks it is.”
“so do i,” derek said, and stiles grinned.
“you got any method in particular planned?”
“a belt feels poetic,” derek said, and stiles’ grin went wider.
“you couldn’t’ve done it while i was there?”
no. sometimes, things take time. and in that time, a lot of things can happen to onlookers.
“yeah, you’re a real badass,” stiles said, and derek said, “he wouldn’t be the first one.”
“really,” stiles said. “what’s your kill count?”
and derek really shouldn’t have answered him. he’s still not sure why he did.
“eleven,” he said, and watched the grin drop off stiles’ face.
he rebounded quickly. derek shouldn’t have been surprised.
next to emory, everyone’s a saint.
and it’s a survival instinct. making the best of a bad situation. making friends with the tiger in your cage.
“so you’re a tiger, huh?” stiles says, tearing through the last of the onion rings derek brought him. “tigerwolf. your fursona.”
derek had no idea stiles was this talkative.
“yeah, you’d never believe what the constant threat of harm’ll do to a person,” stiles says, and derek’s vision fills with a future emory's choking face. he’ll need to look at the belts, find a sturdy one. one that’s thin enough to really pull taut.
“tiger beat,” stiles says. “your favorite magazine. it’s not pictures of beat-down tigers,” he adds. “it’s, who'd make that magazine?”
emory, probably.
“yeah, i guess that’d be on brand, huh,” stiles says. like he can just read the name on derek’s face. “what a fun guy! pillar of the community.”
but a second later, every inch of bitterness is gone. “did you ever read those types of actual magazines? the teen heartthrob stuff. with folded up posters of hilary duff in the middle. zac efron... i had freaking jesse mccartney up on my wall for a while as a kid, and no, i did not realize it was obvious. why, what kid doesn’t love jesse mccartney?”
he’s laughing. impossibly, like he’s been through nothing at all.
“hey, no,” he says, wagging his finger at derek disapprovingly. “don’t give me that tragic face. i just ate hot fries for the first time in... i don’t even know how long. don’t bring down this moment with all your downer energy.”
“you ate onion rings,” derek says. “you’re still eating them.”
“which should just tell you how much i missed hot fries, then,” stiles says, and licks his fingers. “don’t get the wrong idea! definitely bring me more onion rings. and curly fries.”
“the hot ones,” derek says, and stiles says, “yeah, i see how that can get confusing. the... i mean, they are spiced, technically. and hot in terms of actual serving temperature. but yeah, unrelated to the bagged convenience store crunchy guys. although, if they do make a snack kind of curly fries now, i probably would wanna try it. out of morbid curiosity, at least.”
derek nods studiously.
“i can make a list,” stiles says, and that is probably a better idea than derek just trying to remember all of this. it’s a little harder when rage isn’t involved.
“aww,” stiles says. “yeah, the guy taking down my snack order is super scary. tigerface.”
“you do remember that i’m a werewolf, right?” derek says.
“a cuddly one,” stiles says. “you’re a bodyguard, that’s not... you’re a guard dog. hey!”
he’s grinning again.
“guard-wolf,” he says. “guard wolf-dog. man’s best friend.”
it’s impossible to argue with him. it just turns into word association. to stiles walking into a pun, and gaping at him, so surprised at it himself that it’s hard not to absorb half of his excitement.
derek’s really not used to living with other people, but he’s sure it didn’t feel like this before.
he would’ve remembered something like that.
imaginary friend au. in which stiles’ mom is scared of him, and it’s eating him alive.
but derek just knows somehow.
knows enough to just stay with him, to not even need him to explain.
it’s just something that helps sometimes. derek just being there, shoulder to shoulder, as long as stiles needs him to be.
stiles shutting his eyes, breathing in for as long as he can.
breathing out for even longer.
and with stiles, it’s never been a secret. what derek is, what he can do. stiles figured it out in about a second, once he could breathe again.
oh my god. you’re a literal werewolf.
and he must’ve looked terrified, or something, because stiles said, whoa, it’s not like that! secret’s safe with me, i swear. why, are people bad about it?
it’s—more than a relief. and in hindsight, derek feels like an idiot for taking his uncle’s warnings about humans so seriously.
when there’s nothing peter loves more than a horror story.
and not that long ago, derek was the one struggling with control. he gives stiles all the same tips his pack gave him.
you just need something to focus on, or someone. anything you can think about that’ll ground you. and then you just—concentrate on that, as much as possible.
someone, stiles says. it could be a person?
it could be anything, derek says. even—an emotion, or a thought.
but like, a person, stiles says, and looks down, and back at him. like, mine could be you, hypothetically.
if it helps you? derek says, and stiles says, yeah? so you’d be, you’d be my…
and derek says, it’s called an anchor.
[and maybe that’s why he doesn’t question it. when someone else knows everything about him without him ever saying a word.
and it’s bound to be a little bit different, right? dating someone in real life.
it feels too good to be true. too dream-come-true, too easy.
but looking back, derek has no idea what he was thinking.]
part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4
derek changes his shirt. finds a clean one, without any blood on it. and a jacket he hasn’t almost died in.
he’s not sure if bear can sense things like that.
he buys food, too. clears out the toddler aisle. all the little cartoon-wrapped packages.
a high chair. that feels a little too obvious. and a little bear-head shaped plate.
bear for a bear. and stiles would really be making fun of him.
if he wouldn’t be going along with it.
the ears are separate sections. like, for snacks, or something. carrot sticks, maybe. blueberries.
he takes a detour, empties out that aisle too.
some parents put their kids in the seat part of the cart, maybe. with the leg holes. but derek’s not sure bear’s old enough.
and it’s easier just to hold him, let him hide his face.
and maybe bear knows something derek doesn’t. because nothing feels more natural. bear’s arms around his neck, breathing soft warm breaths into his shirt, and he can almost believe this is normal.
it must be, for some other him. some version of him who gets to do this, all the time.
who probably doesn’t even think about it.
who needs to, maybe. if anything derek’s picked up is right.
he was crying ‘cause of you?
not around, and laura’s spinning some story about it. trying to reassure him.
no, no, he wants to be here. he’s just locked away in a castle.
no, bear, he misses you so much.
typical laura, solving a problem by making a new one. giving her nephew nightmares, making stiles cry trying to explain it isn’t true.
no, he just doesn’t fucking care. at all.
but of course he can’t say that. or feel it, when he knows bear can scent his feelings.
he’s just really busy. but i swear, he loves you. so much, bear, i never want you…
breaking down, and feeling guilty about it. not being strong enough for him.
kicking laura out of the house, for forcing him to do that.
it’s too easy, his own head creating it. all the ways it could’ve happened.
some other derek, ruining it.
taking stiles for granted, or getting too overwhelmed. getting distracted by something, or someone, and forgetting what’s really important.
kate fucking argent. he can just imagine. or some other stupid obsession that ruins his life before he can think about it.
and stiles’ face, when he finds out. her? that’s why you’re doing this?
some other derek, with some stupid look on his face. caught in the middle of it.
and if that’s even close to the truth, derek’s gonna find and strangle him.
in which derek’s gotten a lot hover-ier since the nogitsune. a lot more careful with stiles, in general. which is sweet, and weird, and also kind of infuriating. sure, having derek’s full attention, that’s a nice surprise, but stiles kind of misses the manhandling. that specific getting-pinned-against-the-wall brand of adrenaline, the intensity in derek's eyes.
there’s still intensity. it’s just, like, a million times gentler. which is kind of wholesome, in a way. kind of heartwarming, kind of… way too surreal to even really process, sometimes. without stiles, like, half-leaving his body, or watching from the back of his mind.
but it’s kind of a gut-punch, at the same time. how much it keeps on happening.
derek going to grab at him, and hesitating.
boxing au. it’s not exactly the most promising career in beacon hills. but it’s all derek knows how to do. all he’s really good at.
and by now, coach stilinski feels like family. that tough love, that leadership. pushing and pushing and pushing.
maybe a little too much, sometimes.
stiles still flinches when his dad picks up a bottle. goes to shield his face, automatically.
only to realize what he’s doing, and rush to take it back, play it down.
no, dad, that’s not what i... it’s not even remotely about that, i swear.
it’s just, like, the dumbest unrelated instinct.
